Chapter Eighty-Four

Clara sat alone in her office, feeling a bit more of that strange emptiness that had been creeping in lately. She supposed it was to be expected; after all, Taren and Orin didn't visit her as much as they used to. Both of her adopted older sons were incredibly busy with their high-ranking positions—Taren as the formidable High General and Orin as the ever-scrutinizing High Inquisitor. And to top it off, both had girlfriends now. Of course, she was thrilled they were happy. Orin's choice, Blackberry, that famous pop star, was at least tolerable. Clara had heard a few of her songs and, truth be told, had even hummed along to them in private. It felt a bit silly, but she was happy to embrace it.

But Taren's girlfriend, Lya Antaris...ugh. That woman. Clara felt a chill just thinking about her. Lya was the brothel operator who had been involved in the Dome Baby scandal—a disaster that nearly toppled Eden's reputation. She'd expected Taren, her sensible son, to see Lya for what she truly was: trouble. Instead, Taren had practically pleaded her case to Mark, vouching for her like she was some kind of misunderstood saint. Lya had the audacity to open another establishment in Eden of all places! In her sacred city, where Clara had explicitly outlawed such enterprises to keep Eden pure and free from what she called "the peddling of flesh."

And, oh, had she acted on that. The moment she heard about Lya's new "business," Clara had Orin's Inquisitors break up the place, backed up by a few of her own Church Guards. Unfortunately, that little stunt hadn't gone over well with Taren. He'd been furious with Orin for spilling the beans to their mother. The fallout from their dispute had even forced Mark to cancel their daily ice cream brunch—a tradition she cherished. Clara still held a bit of a grudge against Taren and Lya for that. But now, with Taren busy directing the campaign in Westeros and Orin off with Blackberry, she felt that strange emptiness growing again.

Only she and Mark still lived full-time in the White House, its vast halls echoing with the silence of two divine beings and a thousand faint-hearted servants. Even Daenerys, her newest adopted daughter, was away at university. Of course, Clara had the attention and reverence of her staff, but it was impossible to get close to them—if she so much as asked them how their day was, they'd collapse in a swoon. She missed the company of someone who wouldn't require smelling salts if she asked them for tea. So, naturally, her mind wandered to the idea of getting a pet.

"Why not a dog?" she thought, half to herself, as she rang for her butler. The last dog she'd had, a Golden Retriever named Maximus, had brought her years of joy before passing away. And with Mark being such an animal lover as a child, she thought he might be cheered up by the presence of a new canine companion. The butler entered, as elegant as ever, ready to fulfill her every whim.

"I'd like you to order a Golden Retriever puppy," she said. The butler's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded with the professionalism she'd come to expect.

Of course, she knew Mark's feelings about dogs. His first pet, a German Shepherd named Roxy, had been brought into the family by Clara's late husband. "May that bastard rot in hell," she thought with a grimace, remembering all the pain he'd caused both her and young Mark. Roxy had been Mark's companion through thick and thin, loyal to a fault. She lived to a remarkable age of 20, only to pass away from a heart attack in Mark's arms. Since then, he'd refused even the thought of another pet.

But Clara was nothing if not persistent. She could already picture Mark rolling his eyes when he saw the dog, grumbling about how no pet could ever replace Roxy. But she was confident she could win him over.

The next morning, as she expected, Mark reacted as if she'd ordered a crocodile. He crossed his arms and looked at the little golden ball of fur with the kind of serious expression that belonged in a war room, not the living room.

"Mother, you know how I feel about this," he said, his voice filled with the stoic authority of a Supreme Leader, which, truth be told, was a bit much when talking about a puppy.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Mark," Clara said, laughing as she nudged the squirming pup closer to him. The dog, completely unaware of the Supreme Leader's tragic past with pets, bounded up to Mark and licked his shoe. Mark looked down, suppressing a reluctant smile, trying to keep his icy demeanor intact.

"You're going to love him," she insisted. "And besides, you need a little company in this big, empty house. All we have are servants who faint if I so much as look at them."

Mark sighed, finally allowing the puppy to crawl into his lap. It looked up at him with big, adoring eyes, and for a moment, he melted just a bit.

"What's his name?" he asked, still trying to appear indifferent, though the puppy's tail wagging against his chest didn't help.

"I thought we could name him... Venice," Clara replied with a grin, knowing full well that Mark was somewhat tired of the new "Venice" city that people were practically worshipping as his birthplace. Mark rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the irony.

"Venice? Really, Mother?"

Clara shrugged. "You're already god to half the empire, so what's wrong with having a dog named after your 'hometown'?" she teased.

Mark chuckled, scratching the dog's ears. Venice, as if sensing his success, looked up at Mark and gave him a big, slobbery kiss right on the nose. Mark scowled for a split second but then finally laughed—a sound that hadn't graced the White House halls in far too long.

And as she watched her son play with the puppy, Clara felt that sense of emptiness melt away. She might not have Taren or Orin nearby, but she still had Mark. And with their new little golden companion, she knew the halls of the White House would feel a bit less lonely.