Be aware that this is the story of Anastasia and her influence in the Marvel Universe and the first four or so chapters act as an origin story. This is looking into the psychology behind Loki's actions as well as Anastasia's, so watch out for those signs. But yeah, I hope you enjoy!


Of all the insufferable curses bestowed upon her by the powers of the universe, this was by far their cruelest trick of the decade. She stared at what lay before her, her fists clenching in frustration while her muscles tightened, prepared to burst through her skin in a senseless tantrum. She had done everything her mere hands would allow to fix the broken heap of metal that she so desperately craved to. It had been almost a dream, tracking down the overlooked beauty and loving it until it purred for her, full of life and full of gratitude. But now the beast simply mocked her, almost earning itself the shattering of its glass.

"Bastard," she cursed under her breath before directing her rage into a more productive area; hurling the grease laden ratchet she held across the garage, her chest heaving unsatisfied as it riquiched off the wall to the ground with little disturbance. It gave her relief to know that at least she no longer had a weapon of which she could beat the troubled metal. "You win this round," she huffed as she strode out of the garage, making sure to pound her fist on the hood in farewell before pulling the door down, unable to make any further progress today.

Kicking at the dirt under her feet she pondered what she was doing with this whole distraction. It was a release, for one reason, working to fix something beyond repair with her own two hands rather than easily buying it. This Bel Air was her final conquest, the car that sent her into a frenzy when she caught a glance at one passing by. Repairing it herself only made the thrill of finally holding the wheel and pressing her foot greedily on the gas pedal so much more gratifying. Only for now did the beast elude her skilled, mechanical hands.

Before turning her attention to another task, she drummed her palms absentmindedly on the garage door, the contact almost aiding in the release of her building aches. She stopped after a short moment, deciding to head back inside to clean up, watching her feet kick up the dust of her ill lawn in disappointment, cursing the sky for torturing the land beneath her.

The house was tucked away through a handful of dirt roads that seldom caught the attention of drivers, besides the occasional teenagers that were ecstatic to go mudding further down the road when the weather permitted. It was a small white farmhouse, nothing special from the outside since she had little interest in slowing the impending doom of the structure, but it suited her needs well, seeing as it came paired with a two car garage and an extensive storage facility further down her driveway, hidden by a grove of trees. The boards of the house and its partnered garage were peeling of their faded white paint, even hanging in spots of distress, only worsening the image that it was tilting to the right, aided in efforts by the often relentless winds. There were no screens on her windows, which did not bother her at all, as she welcomed the fresh air when the breeze would flow through the rooms. In some places the glass was even shattered, held together by her remedy of super glue and duct tape. She had no time for such trivial things.

Inside it appeared slightly more well kept than outside, the walls clear of dirt with a fresh coat of light grey paint leaving the random cracks to be the only fault. The hardwood floors had been refinished into a dark walnut that was accentuated by the white trim and crown molding. But the face lift did not hide the squeaks in the wood or the deteriorating condition of the walls giving way at a creeping pace, and that is just how she liked it.

Her furniture was minimal besides a small, peacock blue couch and a minimal television that sat on an improvised stand of a couple stacked cardboard boxes. There was no desire to have immaculate living quarters, for she saw no purpose or gain in them. However, she did have a heavy duty black bookcase next to the couch, overflowing with the newest additions to her collection.

Sitting down on the couch she let out a deep, exhausted sigh, completely oblivious to the grease and oil that stained her hands. Life had begun spinning circles around her lately and she found nothing new that she could entertain herself with. There was no new realm to travel to, no celebration in the multiverse to crash, and no person to think on. She was existing once again, a feeling that led her to rebel centuries ago, which was a disastrous affair for all parties included; one that still haunted her. Residing on Midgard was not up for debate as it was all she knew as a child, spending her many years watching the world's history occur before her very eyes, and she dare thought herself privileged to claim herself a part of it. There was no mother or father for her to hold dear, no family of sorts, and definitely not any real friends, though she had a large number of acquaintances. It was all she ever knew.

The main difficulty in her presence was the ever growing suspicions and the eyes that continued to watch her. She had many identities to humans, her current one being Amanda Johnson. Such a simple and plain name for one such as herself, but outside of Midgard, where lives lived as long as hers, she remained to be Anastasia. She would revert her current long, maple curls to her natural mid length, wavy blonde hair and her brown eyes would become their bright shade of blue and green. Outside of Midgard, she was a beloved guest in the greater portion of the nine realms, excluding Asgard where she seldom ventured. The kings and queens would greet her pleasantly, and even sought her counsel for she was undeniably wise beyond her years and well acquainted with all of their political affairs, but there was one factor she knew that they dare not speak of to her, and that was her power. They had no inkling as to what she was capable of, only hearing rumors of her haunting plunder on Midgard long ago, and that alone made them fearful of crossing her.

Anastasia let out another long sigh thinking upon it, preferring to think they simply respected her as an advisor and a friend to their kingdoms, rather than solely attempting not to make an enemy of her. Then there was the underlying knowledge that she didn't acquaint herself with Asgard formally because her power alone was enough to rival Odin's, and she dared not to go where she could possible be unwelcomed. That didn't mean she didn't explore outside the palace though, and the current idea sounded rather pleasant to her in this moment.

It was a custom to bypass Heimdall with her own means of transportation. All she had to do was remove her platinum shaded cuff bracelet that she constantly wore and twirl it once or twice and she'd be teleported to wherever she pleased. Now she was in a stall of the ladies' public restroom in the middle of the bustling town, as it was generally a safe place and avoided awkward glances. When she had first came to visit Asgard she made the mistake of requesting passage through the Bifrost. Though it was granted immediately and without incident, other than leaving Heimdall slightly confused, the real repercussions were on Midgard where the humans were tracking down the Bifrost's movements. Which then led to increased restrictions on use of the Bifrost, meaning it was no longer an option to connect Midgard to other realms.

But now she was once again Anastasia, her blonde locks bouncing gleefully about her head while her eyes shined bright, her body adorned in a nontraditional sleeveless dress that fitted her curves to her waist before flowing off. Contrary to her traditional black attire, her dress was lighter shade of green, leaving the stitching only to be black and the few accents around the low neckline and waistband were silver. It would also be slightly scandalous for her skirt to only find its way past her knees, but she cared not; she didn't live here. Her bracelet returned to her favored look, turning into a simple, silver pendant that punctured her skin, entering her bloodstream on the underside of her wrist and to the end of her forearm while three loose chains led from the pendant gathering to the ring on her middle finger. It must be the most elegant piece she wore for it was the symbol of her power, unbeknownst to others, and it served as her fairest weapon.

Swiftly Ana exited the restroom and thankfully met no glances from the other women until she stepped outside, where one of the older Asgardian women shaked her head in disapproval before continuing on her path. Come to think of it, most people were on this same path, making their way to the palace for some apparent festivity she knew not what of. She could tell that the shops she enjoyed snooping were not going to be open today, and the gardens would be absent of others to observe silently, leaving her with few alternative options to entertain herself. Her eyes scanned the women and their elaborate gowns, recognizing that though they were merely the peasants of Asgard, they had fine tastes for whatever this event was. She almost envied the way they lived their lives with such little complication, but the thought faded as she reminded herself that she was special, that she held a gift within her that no one could fathom.

"Are you alright, my lady?" a gentleman questioned her, interrupting her train of thought. She turned to meet the eyes of the intruder and saw that he was slightly older than she, his brown hair set nicely upon his square head, and an unimpressive beard attempting to grown around his jaw.

Ana knew the meaning for his asking, for she instinctively carried herself with her head high and her face utterly unreadable, but not blank or unpleasant, rather indefinable with a quiet confidence. "I am well, thank you," she answered politely as the gentleman nodded to her curtly and joined the rest of the march to the palace.

Should she go? The thought was thrilling, entering the palace for the first time and seeing what trouble she could get herself into. She had heard from many tales about Odin, Frigga, Thor, and Loki, the dysfunctional royal family that they were, and she was all the wiser to know why, her eyes seeing clearly through all of their charades. Odin, prized son of Bor, Frigga, his queen from Vanaheim, Thor, the ignorant yet handsome prince, and Loki, the mischievous prankster of a prince. Oh, the fun she could have invading their celebrations!

'I'm going,' she decided.

With a flick of her wrist she was inside the palace, bypassing all of the guards at the front, making the transition much easier as she followed the even more elegantly dressed nobles to the main event, slipping in the crowd inconspicuously. She wasn't very impressed as she observed her surroundings, finding the elaborate golden walls far too predictable for her taste.

The ceiling was ridiculously high, allowing what could have been three extra floors of space go to waste while large, intricately carved columns rose from the floor to perhaps the roof of the palace. The marble floors danced in the shadows of the guests as each took a step, ignoring the wonder that was light while music echoed throughout the great, hallowed halls, the sounds reaching her ears while another tune would begin. The mass of people began fitting tightly together, impatiently waiting for the grand doors to open so they could begin to enjoy the party.

Her dress was every bit as extravagant as she could conjure up. It remained sleeveless out of habit, but this time it was black, hugging her breasts and her waist before it flowed outward to the floor, dragging an inch or so behind her. The slightly lower neckline was decorated by swirling gold accents, swerving their way uncontrollably but yet lightened the sights of the barely textured fabric while gold lace decorated her waist, effectively calling one's attention to her curves. What was probably more shocking was the golden lace covering her bare back, thinly woven together as to intentionally display the most skin she would be allowed. Her hair was restrained to curls across her back and over her left shoulder, a simple braid keeping it all in place so she wouldn't be needing to constantly be adjusting it. The pendant imbedded in her skin remained, only it changed shade into an appealing gold to match her dress, littered in a rainbow of gems that gleamed in the light and shadows.

By Asgardian standards, she was beautiful, surely to be expected as one of the wealthiest maidens in the realm, which was technically true, though she carried herself horrifically well without utilizing any form of currency. She could feel the eyes of onlookers on her, men eyeing her figure while the ladies sized up their competition for the hearts of the noblemen. Such acts humored her as she saw them pathetic, watching these people voice their own insecurities so openly, while others were oblivious to this, lacking the trained eye. There was no competition for the other women because Ana had no interest in romantic affairs; she was only looking for an evening free of stress.

The golden doors suddenly creaked, slowly being opened while the guards pretended not to struggle under the massive weight. Then the guests began hurriedly walking into one another, not exactly pushing as nudging aggressively polite, seeing as they were to behave respectively as nobles. Their mumbles grew louder with primitive excitement, herding together as wild animals often do to ward off predators.

Ana found herself on the edge of the crowd, watching everybody pile desperately through the doorway while she waited for them patiently. She spotted the guard standing next to the door, head up and at absolute attention, his hand at the ready should there be any trouble.

"Good evening," she greeted as she walked over to meet him. She saw that his body suddenly tensed, unaccustomed to receiving acknowledgement of any kind by guests. "On behalf of everybody passing through I would like to thank you kindly for holding the door. I see it is quite heavy."

"You are certainly welcome, my lady" he stuttered, slightly uncomfortable with the fact Anastasia's hand was delicately tracing the width of the door that was very near his armored shoulder. "They are not as heavy as they appear," he noted, smiling before he met her eyes, then quickly looking elsewhere.

"Perhaps you might find time to enjoy the party some time," Ana suggested, turning herself in preparation to enter behind the dwindling crowd. She merely received a nod from the guard as she left his company, still confounded by the friendly maiden.

The partly had been in full swing for some time apparently, judging by the number of wasted gentlemen and the shouting of their wives, calling them to stop drinking while they liberally guzzled their wines. More important persons were arriving fashionably late, she assumed, but the fact was insignificant since no one paid mind to the people entering the floor. The music had calmed down, allowing guests to take a breath from dancing and gave them a chance to socialize and make fools of themselves. Drunken parties were never very relished by Ana unless she partook in the drunkenness, which seldom occurred for her tolerance was suspiciously high.

As she made her way to the grand table to grab herself a bite to eat she was only ran into several times, not hard enough to knock her over but enough for her to mumble curses at the fools. Upon reaching the table she found only one man to be eating and quickly identified him as Volstagg. She had made his acquaintance several times while shopping for new delicacies in the market, and his word had yet to steer her in the wrong direction before.

"Your reputation far exceeds you, my friend," she laughed, placing a light hand on his shoulder.

"Lady Ana!" he boasted upon seeing her, immediately rising to properly greet her and lay a flavorful kiss on her hand. "You look absolutely stunning, but here," he grabbed a chunk of meat, "you must taste this at once." His ginger beard was bouncing in excitement, picking up with their dynamic instantly.

She took the meat without hesitation in her bare hands, quickly biting into the skin as if she were eating barbecue back home. "This is splendid!" she exclaimed, her mouth full of the meat, leaving her to unsuccessfully cover her her mouth in an attempt to be ladylike.

"Sit, sit!" His jolly words came, gesturing for her to sit next to him. "I assume this is your first visit to our palace and first experience at one of our celebrations, therefore I must teach you how to dine properly!" Before she could answer he was piling food on a rather large plate, including various foreign meats and ripe fruits and savory vegetables that steamed as he lifted them to the plate. She couldn't help but let her mouth water at how delicious it all appeared and smelled.

"I wouldn't know where to start," she giggled, staring almost shocked at the mountain of food he placed in front of her, then remembering the chunk of meat still in her hand before tossing it into the pile.

"I recall you saying you are not fond of mixing your meals, but I insist you do so tonight. You must have the full experience or I will have failed you greatly, my lady." With that he went back to tending his own plate, devouring each piece as if it were to be his last, though the trail was never ending. Meanwhile Ana stabbed at the food, trying to experiment with textures and flavors as he wished, and she did not regret his advice at all.

When a moan escaped her mouth Volstagg turned to her, surprise written all over his face. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you found your first love," he chuckled, "Your land must severely deprive you of such flavors!"

"It most certainly appears to be this way," she agreed, taking a sip of wine from his goblet without concern. "I'm keeping this now," she glanced at the goblet before swirling it for another sip.

Within moments the now empty cup was stolen from her grasp as she her words booming behind her "You cannot keep this empty goblet!" Then there was the sound of glass shattering on the ground while the same voice yelled "Another!" and the entire room cheered.

"That wasn't very necessary now," she turned, near chastising the man who took her drink, whether it was empty or not. When she recognized him as Thor, she didn't so much as flinch, rather excited at the chance of mouthing off to the future king of Asgard. "I prefer to smash my own goblets and yell for another."

His blue eyes were nothing but amused, clapping Volstagg on the back, "Now where in the Nine Realms were you hiding such a spirit?"

"She is a friend of mine from the market," he answered simply. "Thor, meet Lady Anastasia. This is her first venture into the palace and her first party, and I have already taught her to enjoy the feast!" He slapped the table gleefully before stuffing his face once more.

"Is that so?" Thor grinned. "My, any friend of Volstagg is a friend of mine indeed. We shall show you one of the greatest experiences of your life. Please," he held out his hand to her, "let us dance in merriment!"

Ana gracefully took a goblet from the tray held out to her by a servant, ignoring the Prince's outstretched arm to her. "I would have to politely decline such an offer at the present moment," she told him before tasting the new wine. Setting it on the table she continued as she saw his hand fall in disappointment, "As you can see I have made a commitment to my meal, for I clearly need more sustenance."

"My lady," he laughed, his gaze turning to her body innocently, "Such talk is nonsense! You are positively radiant this evening. But do not fret, I shall come retrieve you shortly!" With that, he grabbed her hand from her lap and brought it to his lips, placing a friendly kiss upon it.

She snatched her hand back, "I would expect nothing less." She laughed to herself at the fact that so many Asgardian men felt the need to kiss the hands of all the women, but she didn't fully object to the action. After Thor left, taking with him the servant's tray of wines, to speak with several other guests, Ana returned to her plate, eating in comfortable silence beside Volstagg, amazed at how much his stomach could contain.

The voices around her back became increasingly quiet, eventually slowing to whispers as she was made aware of the clanking of her utensils on the plate. Ana turned in her seat to get a better look at what was going on behind her, deciding to stand on her chair, surprising Volstagg by using his shoulder to balance herself. Over the heads of the crowd she could distinctly see the King leading his devoted Queen through the doorway to the open floor and it dawned on her that the king was much older than she ever imagined and even though he carried himself strongly, there was no mistaking the age in his figure. The queen, however, appeared as young and beautiful as ever, her peaceful smile reminding her of the lovely Vanaheim. He shined in his golden armor while she flattered him in her coral gown and matching golden breastplate. If there was anyone in Asgard she admired, it was Queen Frigga.

"Sit down!" She heard Volstagg urge her, tugging at her skirt for her to obey, but it was useless. She slapped his hand away annoyed and returned to watching the two most respected people in the Nine Realms approach the dancefloor. By no means was she starstruck, rather she was once again excited, wishing that she could at least make the Queen's acquaintance, but she remained nervous about Odin, not that she made it apparent. The fact that he was not in possession of Gungnir, the weapon she feared most in the universe, allowed her to relax only slightly, still on edge in this new environment regardless of the amount of adrenaline flowing through her.

For the briefest of moments the Queen met her gaze, a smile crossing over her peaceful face before she nodded to Ana in some form of recognition. Her heart thumped inside her chest; nerves she hadn't felt in decades were creeping up her spine, sending spurts of energy uncomfortably through her body. This was not the place nor the time to lose control for shortly she would be speaking with Frigga who she hoped bore purely good news, but judging by the way she quickly averted Odin's attention explained otherwise.

Music began to fill the hall as the supreme leaders began the first slow dance of the evening, despite the fact the party had started long before. Ana removed herself from her temporary perch, only to find Volstagg gone and the crowd splitting into pairs, joining the King and Queen for the dance.

"My la-" a voice commanded, suddenly shocked the moment his hand contacted her skin, sending a painful tingle down his arm to the tips of his fingers.

"Dear," Ana covered her mouth embarrassed, immediately recovering her wits and control. "I sincerely apologize. My gown creates unbelievable static," she excused, trotting over to the man she unintentionally harmed.

He shook his head, shaking out his arm in clear discomfort, "Please, make it up to me with a dance."

She cocked an eyebrow at him before taking his other hand as he led her to the floor. They made their way towards the middle of the couples and she easily deduced that this man viewed himself as more significant than the others. He held onto her right hand, placing his free one fairly low on her waist, sensing the warmth of his fingers through the thin lace.

"I don't think that is the way you shock most men, is it?" he eventually grinned, his blue eyes shining flirtatiously as he flipped his disheveled blonde hair from his face.

"Not normally, but it lasts the same amount of time I reckon," she smirked, feeling playful, though that was as far as her thoughts carried her.

"Oh," his eyes widened, not expecting her to join him in his innuendos. "You must handle yourself like an expert to achieve such heights so quickly?"

"Definitely," she gasped as he pulled her in closer to his chest, dancing into her rather than with her. "You have already gotten a taste, but I assure you I tend to begin elsewhere."

The man furrowed his brow at that line, "I assume you have as steady a hand as I, for my sword is the most versatile."

"Immensely so," she nodded. "I have handled several of such worth before, and I promise they were all left shining bright."

"My lady, your tongue is too quick and it is quite misleading, teasing a charming fellow as myself in such a manner," he chuckled, playfully chastising her.

"I am doing no such thing," she argued, spinning under his hand as he pushed her away, bringing her back close to his chest. "I am merely making casual conversation, though I must confess I have mastered a number of different swords; I only hope we are speaking of the same one."

"You are too much!" he raised his enthused voice, pulling away from her, stopping their dance. He pulled her hand to his lips for a gentle, lingering kiss, "I am talented in many things besides with my sword." With that said, he turned away from her, eyeing a younger woman in the distance before chasing after her.

That man surely had to be Fandral, since Volstagg's description of his antics fit perfectly. She watched as he strode across the floor, a bounce in his step and a smile so wide she need not see his face to feel its infectiveness.

A finger tapped on Ana's shoulder and she spun around to meet the owner, her words escaping her mouth without thinking, "I suppose I was feeling a bit horny," she glanced up at the man's helmet. When she met his eyes, she instantly regretted meeting the younger Prince with such an inappropriate comment.

Before she could utter an explanation he took her in his arm, snatching her right hand in his left, allowing his right to rest along her waist. "I understand that Fandral has gotten into you already," he spoke innocently as he led her into the dance, but his underlying meaning left her only to glare at him.

"I am not that easy. He related to my nature, which is something I tend not to hide," she retorted, poking at the overzealous armor on his shoulder. "And speaking of nature, I could get the idea that you are overcompensating for something with such a helmet."

His grip on her tightened, his fingers passing through the wide lace, digging into the skin of her back as he brought his lips near her ear and warned her, "Do know you are speaking with your Prince." The sudden roughness caught her off guard, but she did not react, her gaze remaining steady and light.

"Do know that you are not anything to me," she retaliated, unphased by his tone. When she felt him slowing their dance, she pushed him forward, resuming their pace. Tales of this man's stubbornness roamed the realms and he clearly had never encountered a woman like her, having the audacity to shrink from her jest.

"My brother did warn that you had a spirit," he scoffed, looking off momentarily before returning his attention to her. "But do tell, Lady Anastasia," he accentuated, "who are you really?"

"Exactly who you think I am." Her eyes followed his as he raised her right arm to get a better look at the jewelry on her arm. She had a feeling he suspected she was the woman of which legends were written and horror stories were inspired, but his calmness worried her.


Loki inspected the jewelry, intrigued by its elaborate designs and by how seemingly pointless the accessory was. But even more intriguing was the woman in his arm, dancing with him, keeping herself his equal, even guiding him when she wished for a change. When his steps were too large, she pulled him in and when he turned too much, she straightened him out. The feeling was utterly annoying.

He glanced down at her face, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. Pools of enchanted oceans lay within her eyes; blue and bright, with luscious green around her pupil, but they were unreadable. There was no sign of fear, nerves, curiosity, or even attraction, simply brightness staring back at him.

Frigga had pulled him aside momentarily after she had her dance with Father to quickly share with him her recent discovery about this young maiden, mentioning the unseen 'blood magic,' which was only heard of in stories since no one could attain the power to perfect such an art. And here was this woman, of perhaps legends, dancing without a care, appearing to be having a pleasant time teasing him.

"You are incredibly vague, my lady." His plan would be to charm her with his words. A woman of her caliber could not resist the tempting language of the man said to have a silver tongue, he was sure of it.

"What would you like me to say, My Prince?" She hissed at him with her last words, having little respect for his position as royalty. And before he could snap at her, she pulled away, lifting his arm with hers then turning herself under it, the gold of her dress shimmering, then returning to his grasp, placing herself in rather close proximity to him.

Loki played along, although he was conflicted on whether he should punish her for her ignorance or continue tempting her. "Watch your words, darling. We wouldn't want you saying something you might regret."

He watched as she rolled her eyes at him, hiding the surprise in his own at how comfortable she was with him to behave like a high class temptress. If she were any other woman she could easily be brought up on charges for her actions this evening, and she clearly realized that she held some immunity. "I would expect you to appreciate my honesty," she poked at his armor, tracing her fingers over it softly before reaching for his emerald cape. "I generally do not approve of capes, but the look suits you quite well."

A smile crossed his lips before he had the chance to stop it, "I am well aware. And if you wish to be honest, I would be more than willing to lend an ear." He glanced at her arm again, "But I must ask, what is the purpose behind this?"

"It's just jewelry," she shrugged, her eyes unblinking, staring straight back at him.

"You're a talented liar, my lady, but perhaps not as good as you may have thought." He ran his fingers over the chain and the pendant, watching her gaze drift to his touch, trying to identify some logical conclusion.

She eventually snatched her arm away, restraining his curious hand in hers, "I do not lie, though I confess I tell partial truths."

The lady was clever, he would admit that. Her responses may be vague, but they were specific enough to ward off another question that would be slightly rude. If only he could get inside her head. Her mind must be wonderous. She appeared to be far more intelligent than most Asgardians, seeming to have experienced many worlds beyond her own, compiling that knowledge over the centuries and transforming herself into the woman before him. He could see it in her eyes. And she was far too pleasant to be as murderous as stories have depicted her, but then again, not everyone is who they appear to be on the surface.

Her hair was shorter than most, falling a hand's length past her shoulders and there was a lack of perfection about her, though she still remained beautiful by all means. She was blonde, but it wasn't solid, mixing in shades of her blonde and light brown around her round face, but her facial features not accentuated, however, that aided in the peaceful and honorable look she maintained even through her vulgar talk. A mole poked from her skin next to her right eye, somehow serving to break up the symmetry appealingly, drawing him back into her eyes. Her lips were voluminous, the bottom one slightly bigger, brought to life with blood red lipstick that wasn't tacky in this instance. The entire ensemble that was her body and her dress were charming, yet stunning at the same time, combining two of his own signature colors. His gaze trailed lower, her neck was long and proportionate to her head, the skin bare where it met her shoulder and he could make out her collarbone. And even lower-

"Do you want to fuck me?" he heard her voice break through his thoughts, his eyes darting back up to hers in shock, but even more alarming was his heart pounding inside his chest, as if he unconsciously wanted to.

"Oh, so you can hear me?" she laughed, her hand patting him on the chest amusedly. "I've been trying to catch your attention but you zoned out on me."

He shook his head, trying to regain what senses he still maintained, her question mulling over in the back of his head. "My apologies, I was lost in thought. I suppose you're beauty has this effect on me."

"I hope you realize that I didn't mean it sincerely," she giggled, a sound that was infectious to him, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I recall that you tell partial truths is all," he smirked. When she bit her lip and averted her eyes, a small tingle ran through him as he watched her, fully believing what he had told her, wondering if she could see it herself.

When she opened her mouth to speak, her words were stilled by the sudden stop of the music, and they paused their dance, but Loki didn't let her go, keeping her exactly where she was. She didn't pull away from him either, and there was a surprising comfortability between them to be content being so near one another without purpose. There were mumbles around them and he was made aware that others were watching them, so he reluctantly released her as she searched around the hall.

"My friends!" he heard Thor erupt, his mood instantly dulling. "Let us celebrate in merriment! Quicken the music and let us rejoice!" Once he concluded the laughter began again, the music picking up dramatically as people danced rapidly around he and Anastasia, bumping them closer together as they both tried to deduce what just happened.

Then came the thundering footsteps of his brother drawing closer. Ana snapped out of her confusion, grabbing his hands in hers so she could speak without being dragged away. "I must be going now," she nodded in the direction of the incoming Thor.

"I would run as well," he joined her in reality, slightly disappointed that she would be leaving so soon. "But before you depart, the Queen requested I ask you to join us for breakfast in the morning." When he saw the conflict in her eyes he added reassuringly, "It will only be the Queen and myself."

"Very well, Loki," she responded quickly, the footsteps growing nearer. "I shall see you then."

He could have sworn she was going to place a kiss on his cheek when he pulled him to her level, her eyes obviously searching for a spot, but his helmet blocked any proper kiss. Though he was still offered a final touch as she placed her hand partly on his face, her thumb rubbing a circle near his eye before she pulled it away and smiled at him sweetly. As soon as it happened she turned and walked away quickly, as if sensing Thor was closing in and preferred to maneuver through the dancing crowd rather than dance with him. The feeling she brought to him was strange as he watched her disappear, her hands lifting her dress slightly to avoid it being stepped on and he couldn't help but take lay his eyes down her back, not noticing how revealing it was until now.

"Brother! Did you scare off Lady Anastasia?" Thor gripped a hand on Loki's shoulder and shook him friendly as he stood beside him.

"No, that was your own doing."

"I promised her a dance and a memorable evening!" he sighed, not too upset over the fact.

Loki didn't deliver his usual jest this time, his gaze still following Ana.

"Brother?" Thor lowered his tone, getting his brother's attention from where Ana had disappeared. He made the connection instantly. "Do you fancy this maiden?"

"Do not be so ridiculous." He should have bit his tongue. Thor knew him better than anyone, and he'd see right through his defensive words.

"I did tell you she had a spirit!" he slapped Loki on the back in excitement, almost causing him to fall forward. "I do hope we see more of her if this be how you feel," he spoke genuinely.

"Indeed, though I do not know under what circumstances," he joked. The feeling in his gut made him uneasy, finding himself wishing that she was not who Mother thought she was. If it were true, he just might find his next mischievous act to be with Lady Anastasia.

"We must celebrate!" Thor chanted. "We need ale!"

Loki shook his head, but smiled at his brother's happiness. Tonight he might actually decide to join Thor in celebration, considering the circumstances.