I know, I know; I'm a horrible person and I deserve what's coming to me – but I just couldn't help myself with this one! It was prompted by some rather… steamy Loki imagines that were tossed back and forth between myself and my very good friend the-bonny-wordsmith.
Yes, this story is set before the events of Thor, so Loki's character is not going to be as evil, yet he will still retain his natural mischievousness with – maybe – a few darker streaks nestled deep within his personality?
We shall see! This is rated M for a reason! In the meantime, just enjoy what I have to offer!
Chapter One
Loki's fingers curled around the goblet of wine that lounged in his hand; his father's recent words still echoing in his ears.
"You must find a wife within the next cycle, Loki, should you wish to secure your place as second in line for the throne," Odin had warned – rather than explained – and the words caused the golden goblet to instantly shatter in his hand.
The deep maroon liquid spilled over his wrist and trickled down his arm, and he scattered the remaining shards to the floor and wiped his hand on himself – his clothes now permanently stained.
"Why must I search for a wife while Thor still does as he pleases?" Loki had argued through his disbelief. "Thor needs a queen, does he not?"
Loki had been right in his words, and Odin did not deny his second born that. Instead, the All-Father had tried to mask the irritation on his withered face, and lowered his voice so as to not fan the flames of the potential argument that could follow.
"Your brother's coronation depends on finding a suitable wife," Odin reasoned carefully. "He will not be crowned until he marries; it is a delicate situation at best, my son."
Loki now stood alone in his chambers, and he loudly scoffed to himself – something he wished he had done moments ago to his father. Loki then flew across his chambers and fell to the plush couch with an irritated huff, arms coming to fold over his chest almost childishly.
"Why must you put so much scrutiny into this, Father?" Loki had asked in an exhausted tone. "I believe that finding a wife for myself does not hold such precedence over more pressing matters."
Loki stiffened when Odin's visible eye went as sharp as a blade.
"It is an old custom, Loki, that requires each member of the royal family in line for the throne to find a suitable partner for which to lead from beside him. I would not have survived as long as I have without the love of your mother."
Groaning to himself, Loki stood from his seat on the soft upholstery and stalked over toward the enormous window that overlooked the extravagant gardens of the palace, entwining his fingers behind his back.
"But I may never become King."
"That aside," Odin had said firmly, "I want you to find a wife – to make a life for yourself and live happily together."
"I have an entire lifetime to find a suitable woman," he argued back, still not satisfied with his father's reasoning.
"You have until the next cycle to find a wife," Odin quickly stated in a tone that did not dare warrant any further words from Loki – whom was gaping incredulously at the older man standing at the throne above him and the words he had just spoken.
As Loki composed himself, he still opened his mouth to argue, and as he took in a breath, his father's next words caused what further argument he had to die on his tongue.
"If until such a time passes and you have not yet found a bride," he warned, "then I shall choose one for you."
With a loud yell, the fireplace beside Loki burst into an inferno, singing the walls around it along with one of the draping tapestries, while vase after fragile object shattered helplessly in the wake of the young prince's pent up frustration; how dare the All-Father bestow such cruel orders upon a son who was most likely never to assume the throne – and how dare he undermine his abilities to find a suitable bride?
It was adding insult to injury; he knew as well as Odin did that Loki would never assume the throne in his lifetime unless something tragic were to happen to Thor. The very thought of having to assume his brother's shoes due to an untimely accident made his heart constrict painfully; he loved his brother more than anything, but the fact that he was clear favourite among them did not prove to soothe his tattered emotions.
Thor was going to be King soon – if anything, he should be assisting Thor in looking for a queen to rule beside him, not instead pushing Loki to find a wife to replace the sore wound of never going to become King of Asgard.
The next cycle was to turn over in one month's pass – nowhere near enough time for Loki to waste his nights flitting from one boring socialite ball to another. Yes, there were women who were after him, yet they only desired to be married to a prince who would grant them jewels and only the finest things that money could buy – a trait in women that Loki despised greatly.
He wanted a simple woman – not too pretty, not too embellished; with a hunger for witty repertoire – someone who could hold a conversation, and, most importantly, one who shared the same affinity for literature as he did.
But the noble women of Asgard were all too shallow for his liking – far too preoccupied with trivial aspects such as appearances and gossip. He could not stand a vain woman who would only prattle on about what she was going to wear to the next ball. It infuriated him.
Thor had slapped him across the back, causing Loki to choke on his mouthful of wine, and called him picky – that trying to find a woman with his few simple traits was going to take a lifetime, and that he should just settle on any woman of noble birth whom was healthy enough to bear children.
Yes, because finding a woman with a soul was, apparently, being picky.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Loki turned away from the window and placed himself in a different chair; one with wide arm rests and a towering head. He sagged low in the chair, and let one elbow prop itself on the arm rest and letting his hand rub tiredly at his face while the other rested next to him.
Why was this such an important subject? The disbelief still swelled within the confines of Loki's chest, and it burned him. Why couldn't he just find his own wife in his own time – and why did it have to happen so soon?
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