The Monday morning sun over Long Island was a cold, piercing gold that glinted off the ocean. For the average sixteen-year-old, today was defined by the looming dread of a mid-term biology test. Ethan, however, was not an average teenager. As he sat at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of orange juice and listening to the rhythmic clinking of his mother's breakfast prep, he ran a final simulation through his mind on the lab experiment.
"Ethan, honey, you're going to be late," his mother said, pausing to press a hand against his forehead. "You look a bit pale. Are you sure you're recovered from that 'study session' at the library?"
Ethan offered a reassuring, practiced smile. "Just a little nervous about the test, Mom. I think I'll head out early to get some last-minute cramming in."
"That's my boy," his father chimed in from behind a newspaper. "Go get 'em, sweetie."
Ethan bid them farewell, the front door clicking shut behind him. The moment he hit the sidewalk, the "student" persona dissolved. He pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed a number that had been etched into his memory since his first week in this universe.
Back then, during their first encounter at the Hellfire Club, Emma Frost had tried to peel his mind like an orange. In the struggle, he built a mental library to hide his secrets. Ethan then found his way into her mind and recorded her phone number, the only thing he felt he could access at the time, and not alert her to his intrusion.
The phone rang twice.
"Yes, who is this?" said the voice on the other end, which was a low, dangerous purr. It was the voice of the White Queen—someone used to being the predator, never the prey.
"Hello, Ms. Frost, it's me," Ethan said calmly. "The boy who showed you a green Mars."
There was a sharp, audible intake of air. "...Ethan Kane? How did you get this number?"
"You tried to look into my head once," Ethan interrupted. "You left a door open, so I walked through. Relax, I didn't see much. I just remembered the address. I'm at the St. Regis. Penthouse breakfast suite. We need to talk."
"I told you I would think about your offer," she snapped, though the underlying note of shock was still there.
"Think while we eat. The view is better here anyway. I'll see you soon."
The St. Regis New York was an icon of old-world glamour, a place where the marble was polished to a mirror sheen and the staff was trained to ignore even the most bizarre clientele. Ethan had secured a corner table in the Astor Court, situated perfectly so he could see the entire dining room while remaining obscured by a decorative floral arrangement.
He had arrived twenty minutes early, ordering a simple pot of Earl Grey. He watched the city move below him—a sea of people unaware that something like a gang war was on-going, or that soon the Exemplar would come.
When Emma Frost arrived, she walk in with an elegance that showed she belonged here. She was dressed in a pristine, white silk power suit that looked like it cost more than the average Queens mortgage. Her blonde hair was a sculpted wave of platinum, and her blue eyes scanned the room with the clinical intensity of a laser. When her gaze landed on Ethan, her expression shifted from professional boredom to a deep, simmering suspicion.
She took the seat across from him, her movements fluid and predatory. She didn't look at the menu. She didn't look at the view. She looked only at him.
"You have a terrifying habit of doing things you shouldn't do, Ethan," she said, her voice dropping into a telepathic register that made the air around them feel heavy. "And an even more terrifying habit of knowing things that haven't happened yet."
Ethan took a slow sip of his tea. "I'm sure you've figured it out by now, Ms. Frost. I'm from the future so I'm aware of events to come. Many people always want to settle for spoilers rather than living through history when given a choice."
"Why am I here, Ethan? I'm quite busy managing my own school. I don't have time for random breakfast meetings with you."
Ethan leaned forward, his expression losing its boyish charm. "I'm here to ask a favor. Or rather, to offer you a play that makes you the hero of the X-Men."
Emma arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Go on."
"My associates have already rescued Charles Xavier," Ethan said, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of a landslide. "He is currently resting in this very hotel, along with the men who pulled him out of the fire."
The silence that followed was absolute. Emma's composure didn't break—she was too experienced for that—but the silver spoon on the table rattled for a second as her telekinesis flared in a brief, uncontrolled burst.
"Charles?" she breathed. "We searched. Jean Grey spent forty-eight hours searching. The Hellfire Club's global satellite network found nothing. How did you find him?"
"Because I know the future," Ethan replied. "He was being held on the island of Alcatraz, managed by Cerebro, the rogue AI. But that's secondary. What matters is that he's back, and he's exhausted. He needs to go home to Westchester."
Emma's mind was clearly racing. She began to lean in, her eyes glowing with a faint, psychic light. Ethan felt the familiar pressure of a telepathic probe—not a scalpel this time, but not like a battering ram it was more like a snake attempting to slithering in.
"Don't," Ethan said, his voice turning cold. "If you try to force your way into my mind today, Emma. Try it, and I'll flood your visual cortex with so much raw information. I promise you'll be catatonic before you see a single one of my memories. It would be… unpleasant for us both."
Emma froze. She pulled back, her lips curling into a frustrated sneer. "You are a remarkably rude child."
"Am I? Well, you and I are both pragmatists. So let's talk business. I need you to 'smooth things over.' The X-Men are currently a hive of suspicion. If my friend—Spider-Man—shows up at the front gate with Xavier, they're going to interrogate him. They might even blame him. They might even attempt to read his mind. Eventually, such a connection will lead them to me, which I would like to avoid."
"And you want me to help you avoid such a thing," Emma deduced.
"Yes, I do. If you're willing, I'd like for you to go with them to the X-Mansion. You're going to tell Cyclops and Jean that you received a tip from an old associate—Destiny. Tell them the blind seer reached out to you with the coordinates. It's a lie they'll believe because it fits the narrative, and Jean won't be able to read your minds to find out the truth."
Emma leaned back, her mind already spinning the web. "And in exchange, the X-Men owe me the life of their founder. My standing with the Institute becomes untouchable."
"Exactly. You get the credit, you get the leverage, and you get a private audience with Charles once he wakes up. But there is a condition," Ethan's gaze sharpened. "While you are there, you will act as a psychic shield for Spider-Man. Charles is a powerful telepath, even when he's tired. If he tries to 'thank' Peter by reading his mind to see who he's working for, you will block him. You will ensure that no information regarding me or my real identity reaches Xavier or Jean's mind."
Emma smiled then. It wasn't a kind smile; it was the look of a shark that had just found a wounded whale. "So, you're using me to keep the 'Greatest Mind on Earth' in the dark. I like it. It's devious. It's elegant."
"It's necessary," Ethan corrected. "Charles is a good man, but he's a man who believes he has a right to know everything for the 'greater good.' He's quite the arrogant man who believes he should be able to do as he pleases. I don't fit into his version of the greater good."
"Neither do I," Emma admitted quietly. She looked out the window at the skyline. "Very well. I accept. I'll play the herald. I'll deliver the lost King to his castle and keep your secrets that are inside the little spider's head tucked away."
Ethan nodded, satisfied. He signaled the waiter for the check. The meeting had been a success. The pieces were moving. The X-Men would be occupied with Xavier's recovery, and Emma would be able to get a favor from them. Peter would be safe from Xavier's prying mind.
"I must say, all these moving pieces in the background. What good does it do you, Ethan?" Emma said, standing up and smoothing her suit. "You've got to create a mutant future for Destiny, and now you've saved the life of Charles Xavier. I suppose I really should start considering that alliance seriously."
"I'm glad to hear it," Ethan said.
He stood up as well, his expression returning to that deadpan, clinical neutrality. He looked at her—the White Queen, a woman who had ruled a portion of the underworld.
"Oh, right, I almost forgot. There's one more thing," Ethan said.
Emma paused, her hand on her designer bag. "Yes?"
"Will you marry me?"
The silence that followed was longer than the one after the Xavier reveal. Emma Frost, the woman who always had a witty retort, who could read the intentions of a thousand men at once, simply stared at him. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. She looked for the punchline, for the smirk, for the nervous twitch of a teenager making a joke.
She found none of it. Ethan Kane looked at her with the same intensity he used to discuss the Mars terraforming.
"...I beg your pardon?" Emma finally managed, her voice cracking for the first time in years.
"Be at ease, I'm not asking you because of hormones. It's the most logical progression," Ethan said, his voice flat and analytical. "You see, I have an identity I use to do things that are inconvenient for Ethan Kane to do, named Isacc Maddox. Using that identity, I am currently building a global empire under the Maddox name. However, I cannot appear before people, as you can see, so if I had a wife who could make an appearance for Isaac in the future, I could buy myself some time. With that time, I could deal with the problem at a future moment. You also need a legitimate, high-society anchor that will give you enough influence to control the Hellfire Club, but isn't tied to its criminal past. A union between Frost Technologies and NeoCore Systems would create a financial and political juggernaut that makes you untouchable. I can serve you the club on a platter, if you'll marry Isacc Maddox."
"You're sixteen," Emma whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and genuine fascination.
"If it helps, I'll be seventeen soon enough. And legally, Issac Maddox's age will allow for the marriage contract. We wouldn't need a traditional arrangement. It would be a merger of interests. You keep your freedom, I keep my secrets, and together, we own and control the infrastructure of the new world. Afterall didn't you leave the Hellfire Club because Sebastian Shaw has recently "returned from the dead"? Don't you view him as a chauvinistic relic? Doesn't he treat you more like a prize or a tool than an equal partner? Don't you find Shaw's singular focus on "wealth and mutant supremacy" to be short-sighted? Don't you believe that focusing on the education and protection of mutant youth is a more "noble" use of power? Isn't the Club as a powerful machine that is being driven by idiots? Well, with me at your side, you can take it over "do it right."
Emma began to laugh. It started as a sharp, dry chuckle and evolved into a genuine, melodic peal of laughter that drew eyes from across the Astor Court. She leaned against the table, wiping a stray tear from her eye.
"You truly are a monster, Ethan Kane," she said, her voice breathless. "You don't want a wife. You truly wish to turn me into a real Queen."
"Is there a difference? As a King, my wife will always be a Queen," Ethan stated.
Emma straightened her jacket, her eyes sparking with a new kind of fire. She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no. She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the very first time—not as a kid with a gift, but as a peer.
"I see why Destiny wanted us to meet." She turned toward the exit, pausing for a brief second. "And as for your proposal… I agree. Sounds impossible, but something tells me you never make a promise you can't keep."
Ethan watched her walk away, her white suit a beacon in the crowded room.