The group exchanged glances, and Adrian took the lead, stepping forward into the grand hall.
"Good evening, gentlemen. We are here to greet you," said the blonde woman seated elegantly on the sofa. She crossed her legs, waving a white-gloved hand lazily. Her demeanor was relaxed, almost dismissive, despite her words of welcome.
Adrian gave her a faint smile and turned his attention to the man dressed in black, standing stoically beside her. "Well, it's truly our fault for intruding so late at night and forcing the host to receive us personally," Adrian said with a measured tone.
The blonde nodded slightly, as if conceding to his words, and gestured to the man in black. "This is Black Bolt. Please forgive his silence—he is a man of few words."
The man in black slowly lifted a finger to his lips, his movements calm and deliberate. Even this small gesture exuded an air of restrained power.
"Black Bolt?" Clint muttered, eyebrows raised. "The King of the Inhumans?" He sounded genuinely surprised. Inhumans had faded into obscurity decades ago, their presence all but forgotten.
Adrian noticed the flicker of a smile on Black Bolt's otherwise impassive face as Clint's confusion deepened.
"My name is Emma Frost," the blonde woman interjected. "Welcome to the Mutant Forbidden Zone." She brushed back her long hair and motioned for several green-cloaked attendants to arrange seating for the guests.
However, none of Adrian's party sat down. They stood their ground, unwavering.
"Not going to sit, Hawkeye?" Emma asked, her tone light but slightly mocking. "If you won't, then perhaps you'd like to explain why you've brought this group to my territory in the dead of night."
When no one moved, she sighed, exasperated. Her gaze lingered on Clint, who was still eyeing Black Bolt. "Honestly, I can't understand what's so fascinating about two grown men."
Her voice took on a sharper edge as she pointed to the Magneto helmets they were wearing. "And where, pray tell, did you find so many Magneto helmets? Do you really think you need so much protection here? This palace won't harm you." She placed a hand on her chest in mock sadness.
Clint sneered, tightening the helmet's straps. "If you hadn't betrayed us back then, maybe I'd shed a tear for you." His voice dripped with cold disdain.
Emma didn't deny the accusation. Instead, she shifted to a more comfortable position and replied smoothly, "It was survival of the fittest, Barton. Life and death. If my husband hadn't been here, we wouldn't have been able to save so many mutants."
Clint scoffed. "Save mutants? Don't make me laugh. Go ahead and call them all out. Let's see if the mutants you 'saved' can even fill half this hall."
His biting sarcasm struck a nerve. Emma's composed demeanor cracked, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists.
"No new mutants have been born in decades," Clint continued mercilessly. "Everyone knows what's been happening to them. Even an idiot can tell who's to blame."
"You have a sharp tongue, Hawkeye," Emma snapped, rising from her seat abruptly. Her blonde hair fell messily around her face, her composure slipping further.
Clint merely smirked, unfazed. "The boss brought us here, not me," he said, jerking his thumb toward Adrian.
Emma's icy gaze shifted to Adrian. For the first time, she scrutinized him carefully. The purple helmet he wore obscured most of his face, revealing only his mouth.
Adrian stepped forward, his voice calm yet commanding. "It's a pleasure to meet you, White Queen. Tell me, why do you hide your true face from us?"
Emma stiffened, clearly unsettled by the question. Her voice wavered slightly before she regained her composure. "Everyone has their secrets, Mr. Adrian. Whether I wear a mask or not is none of your concern."
She studied Adrian's posture, but his expression remained unreadable beneath the helmet. Unable to use her telepathy due to the helmets, she could only guess at his intentions.
Adrian smiled faintly, taking a seat on the plush sofa as if it were his own throne. "You're right; we've never met. But I know you," he said, crossing one leg over the other in a deliberate imitation of her earlier pose.
Emma's sharp eyes followed his every move. "And I think you'll recognize him as well," Adrian added, motioning with a wave of his hand.
From behind the group, Pietro stepped forward. His silver hair, peeking out from under his helmet, gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Emma's breath hitched. Her icy composure melted into shock as her gaze locked onto Pietro. "Quicksilver?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "But... you died. Forty years ago."
Pietro shrugged nonchalantly, his voice tinged with weariness. "Not completely, apparently."
Black Bolt's expression, too, softened in recognition. Though the years had passed, the memory of Quicksilver was unmistakable to those who had fought alongside—or against—the Avengers.
Adrian leaned back, watching Emma's reaction with quiet satisfaction. The White Queen, for all her power and cunning, was momentarily at a loss.