But...it was a game, wasn’t it? she thought as she sat in Kingsley’s antique leather swivel chair behind the grand old Art Deco-era desk. Take the money and run? Or stay and work and make two, three, four times that amount?
And yet...it wasn’t really the money she cared about. Money was a means to an end and that end was power. She never wanted to feel the way she felt half an hour ago when she’d knocked on the front door of Kingsley’s town house knowing that if he shut the door in her face, she had nowhere else to go.
On Kingsley’s desk sat a chessboard with red pieces and white pieces. When she and Søren played, he took red and she took white. When she and Kingsley played, she took red and Kingsley took white. Chess...a strange old game. She wasn’t very good at it and neither was Kingsley. Søren alone had the gift for it. She’d asked him once why he made her play chess with him when she wasn’t good at it. He’d answered, “Chess teaches that actions have consequences and the wise man—or woman—will always look to the endgame...”
Elle picked up the red bishop. The bishop moved diagonally along a straight line. The poor pawn could move only a square at a time. Although if it were played well, it could become a queen. She put the bishop back on the board and picked up the red queen and the white king. The king was a strong piece, of course. The most important chess piece and the most vulnerable to attack. But the queen...the queen was the most powerful chess piece. More powerful than the king. And the queen could move any way she wanted...
Kingsley opened the door to his office.
“What’s your decision?” he asked standing on the threshold.
Elle placed the king and queen side by side on the chessboard and looked up at Kingsley.
“Let’s play.”
Three Ways to Be a Queen
“GOOD ANSWER,” KINGSLEY said, snapping his fingers at her to indicate she was to follow him. Elle stood up and followed him out of his office.
“Did you really think I’d take the money and run?” she asked as they walked down the hall side by side.
“In your shoes, I might have,” he admitted.
“I was tempted.”
“What made your decision? Him?”
“You,” she said. “I’m not done beating the shit out of you yet.”
Kingsley laughed and it was a sight to behold. His face was handsome, striking, even in repose, but when Kingsley Edge laughed it could drop a girl to her knees for more reasons than simple obeisance.
“Plus, being a queen sounds more fun than being the wife of some rich old man.”
“When I’m done with you, you will be the domme of many rich old men. Instead of you cooking and cleaning for them for free, you will beat them and use them and they’ll pay you for the privilege.”
“Sign me up for queenship, then.”
“It’s not that easy,” Kingsley said as they headed down the steps and to his private sitting room. “There are, in fact, only three ways to become a queen. Signing up isn’t one of them.”
“What are the three ways?” she asked. “Marry a king, I guess.”
“Will you marry me?” Kingsley asked.
“No offense, King, but I’d go back to the convent first.”
“And I’d join the priesthood before marrying you, as well. You and I are not husband-and-wife material. For each other or anyone else.”
Kingsley opened the door to the sitting room and Elle followed him inside. When she turned on the Tiffany lamp she saw nothing had changed in the room while she was at the convent. Same bookshelves filled with leather-bound classics in French and English. Same red velvet fainting couch. Same gilt-framed portraits of naked nymphs at play. Same everything and on a night of upheaval and change, the sameness comforted her.
“Sit,” Kingsley ordered.
Elle sat.
“Where was I?” he asked, stalking about the room like a caged wolf, more rather than less dangerous because of the cage. Energy contained is energy focused and she felt almost afraid to be alone in the room with someone this dangerous. She had been at the convent so long she didn’t know how to be alone with a man again.
“Three ways to be a queen.”
“Yes. First, you can marry a king. That won’t work in this instance. Mainly because I already have a consort, and she might not like it if I took on another.”
“Wait. What? You have a new girlfriend?” He’d been so heartbroken over his ex-girlfriend Charlie’s defection she never dreamed he’d take on another 24/7 submissive again.
“Not a girlfriend. Consort. Her name is Juliette, and she is the perfect submissive. She’s also currently chained by her ankle to my bed so I wouldn’t go in my bedroom for at least a week.”
“Chained to your bed? King, you can’t leave her alone chained to your bed. What if something happens to her?”
“I left a bell by the bed to ring if she needs me, and the phone, of course. And the key if she wants to unlock herself. She can get out the second she wants to get out. But I know her—she’ll stay there until I unlock her.”
“Can’t wait to meet her.”
“You’ll love her. I met her in Haiti.”
“Special, is she?” Elle asked.
Kingsley grinned ear to ear, a rare sight and a breathtaking one.
“I’m in love with her. I think she will be with me all my life.”
“It’s good to see you happy. You deserve that.”
“I most certainly do. Now, the second way to become a queen,” Kingsley said, taking a book down off the shelf and flipping through the pages, “is how I became a king. I claimed a territory, called myself a king, acted like a king, and soon everyone simply accepted that I was. But you will become a queen the third way.”
“Which is?”
“By deposing the current queen and taking her realm away from her.”
“There’s a queen? We have a queen? We never had a queen before. Jesus, how long have I been gone?”
“Too long,” Kingsley said with real feeling. They were so much alike, she and King. Too much alike. Impossible to be friends. Impossible to be enemies. But partners in crime? Yes, they could be that.
“Nature abhors a vacuum, they say. When I left and you left, it created a power vacuum. A dominatrix appeared on the scene and started scooping up the best and richest clients. Half of Irina’s clients deserted her. So did Mistress Vee’s.”
“Ballsy woman. I wouldn’t want to get on their bad sides.”
“She’s on my bad side. One of Irina’s clients came back to her, begging forgiveness and asking to be hers again. His new domme sent pictures she’d taken during their sessions to his wife. Thankfully he’d already told his wife about his submissive side, and she’d given him permission to explore with a professional. But it was a petty, vile thing she did, and she won’t get away with it. She keeps her clients in line through fear, not love and devotion. She abuses her power, and I won’t stand for that in my city.”
Elle winced. Kingsley had his reams of blackmail material on anyone