He studied the young woman closely, not feeling the need to be discreet. There was little point in doing so, as Raven's empathetic powers must have already picked up his intrigue. Denying it would be an insult to both their intelligences.

Despite his words, Slade knew Raven was no pawn; she was too powerful. There seemed to be no end to her abilities, as new ones cropped up every day. She was the key to winning it all. No, Slade knew that the little bird was the queen.

And no matter what the pale teenager thought of him, the mastermind knew he was not a pawn, but a knight, able to maneuver around and over the other pieces, into a position set to his advantage.

The thoughts filled his animated corpse with sardonic humor. He was no chivalric knight anymore than Raven was a noble queen. They were both too stained. After all, what knight led his lady to her demise? What queen presided over Apocalypse? No, the description was not fitting at all. They were what they were—a dead criminal mastermind and a tarnished hero.