She ignores him, as she always has. Ignores the way his eyes hardly leave her; how his lips barely curl at the ends. He enjoys making her uncomfortable and she is thoroughly sick of it. She sighs and rolls her eyes before standing and dismissing herself from the banquet table; complaining of a sour stomach.
She is worn too thin to play polite tonight; to suffer through an entire meal while exhaustion creeps into her bones. He knows this, which is why he is behaving this way. He is driving her away from the herd to move in for the kill.
Her husband is a snake in skin; always coiled and spitting lies like venom. Odin commends her for her fidelity, Thor for her endurance, and Frigga for her patience, but her husband has himself twined about her and she's struggling to breathe. Some times she wonders if he's toying with her; seeing how long she can suffer through their farce of a marriage before she goes crawling to the Allfather begging to have their bond broken.
She shuts the door to her chambers as she gnaws worriedly at her bottom lip; crossing the room and crumpling onto the bed. With a flick of her fingers the enchantment holding her intricately braided hair loosens and then completely untwines. She slumps back against her pillows.
"You're getting better at that." Her eyes flick up to where he leans against the chamber wall. His arms are crossed over his chest and his gaze holds none of the amusement that was present at the table. He is handsome; but he holds as much warmth as ice in the middle of winter. She thinks she could love him, if he were not so cruel.
"What do you want, Loki?" Her voice cracks and she flinches at the sound. She watches as he slips from the wall and comes toward the bed; the steady footfalls echoing in her ears. There is a slight hesitation before he lies down beside her; her eyes stare up at the blank ceiling as icy fingers trail up the flesh of her arm before wrapping around the crook of her elbow.
"You said you were unwell."
"I wished to be alone."
"You do not sleep," he murmurs and she turns her head to meet his eyes, "I think I can see the stars in the dark hollows about your eyes."
Sigyn has seen the change in him through the passing months. He has become more reserved and cautious around his family. His servants say he never seems to sleep, but spends his nights reading ancient tomes and studying spells. She thinks this lack of rest is what brings her husband so quick to anger; and what brings her to what feels like unending misery.
"You are upset," she says in the quiet of the room. He can hide it well but she knows that is why he has come to her tonight.
"I do not belong here, among these people," he spits the word and his lips curl into a snarl, "He struts about like he already sits upon the throne. As if there is a crown atop his golden head and he is king. He behaves as a child and they all embrace his follies."
She has the endurance and the patience to weather the storm that is her husband, she can bear his anger and fury, can withstand his wrath and the destruction that comes with it, but she cannot fix a man who shatters inside himself. She cannot see the pieces to fit them back together. "He will learn." She says simply, but she knows it is the wrong thing to say.
His grip about her arm tightens and she can feel the bruise that will be there come morning, "I will show them that a crown would suit him ill. It is me that should sit upon that throne, not him."
Sigyn thinks she can almost see a realm turned to ash and a family torn in two. She speaks the words before she knows what she's saying, "Your ambition will be the end of you, Loki. And you will drag all of us down with you."
He says nothing and they lay in silence.
His hand never warms against her skin.