It went more smoothly than she could have imagined, and if "Theoric" was a little less drunk, a little more witty, a little more prone to dry laughter, people could excuse it as a symptom of a good marriage — his happiness in his chosen wife.

Loki's absence was noted with disapproval from Odin, but Thor laughed and claimed his brother was broken hearted and maudlin, and his presence would only mar the happy day. He'd clapped Loki on the shoulder and hugged Sigyn cheerfully, and Loki had glanced at her and grinned.

She could not help but grin back.

At the ceremony, when the officiator had asked them to kiss, she had had a moment of hesitation and fear. "Theoric" had lifted one eyebrow — an expression she had not seen on his face before, and touched her chin gently with one long finger. A deep breath, a brush of cold lips and a gentle squeeze of her arm, and then there had been cheering and she'd been able to pull away, feigning embarrassed laughter. When she'd dared to look back up, her husband's face was full of hearty thanks and boisterous pride.

She'd touched her own finger to her lips then, to a coldness that seemed to linger, and wondered that everyone could not recognise him.

The speeches were predictably long and boring. Loki sat next to her and laughed and toasted with the rest, occasionally leaning his head close to hers and touching her hand with his. She found herself inching her own hand, clutching its wine glass, closer to his, and tried to stop. She knew she was seeking shelter… acknowledgement… something to make up for the looks she got from Theoric's family, proud, envious, disbelieving…

None of them knew he was dead. She would have to tell them, eventually. It was all she could do not to clutch Loki's hand and will him to be Theoric in reality as well as illusion… yet…

…she did not want Theoric back.

At one stage during the night she stumbled into an alcove, tense and tired and wishing, to hear gasps coming from the shadows. Worried, she walked further into the darkness to find Theoric — Loki, with his hands against the wall, head down, sweat dripping from his face.

"By the Allfather," she swore, rushing to his side and putting her hand on his shoulder. "Loki, are you not well?"

He wrenched his shoulder away from her. "Go." He said shortly.

"The transformation," she said, realising. "It is taxing you. Loki, you must not hurt yourself with this! It was my crime…"

"Go. I will have this under control presently."

"Loki!"

He spun to her, snarling, and she took an involuntary step backwards, eyes widening. It was still Theoric's face, broad and strong and bearded, hair falling down his back in waves, but his eyes glowed red and she could have sworn… sworn for a moment that in his skin there was a touch of blue….

"Loki…"

He closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm with one hand. The strength in him was shocking. "Please," he said. "Let me do this."

She looked up into his eyes, and even as she did, they cleared and his skin was rugged and bearded and Theoric once again.

"It is hurting you," she said.

He let out a gasp of laughter. "No. No no no, it is merely… " he swallowed, more colour returning to his cheeks. "Merely like a brisk walk in the sun." He grinned lopsidedly. "A short fight with Thor —" the grin deepened "— or a long talk with my father."

She searched his face, and if his eyes blinked more rapidly than was strictly normal, his breath was smooth and the sweat was drying on his brow.

Without thinking she reached up to tuck a strand of the auburn hair behind his ear. His eyes widened in shock, but he did not pull away. "Do you need anything?" she asked softly. "Ask, and it is yours."

He laughed — a short gasp of a sound. "You…" he shook his head. "You are truly worried for me," he said, as though it were odd for a lady of Asgard to be concerned for the Prince of the Realm who had saved her from exile or prison… or — she thought of what might have happened had she not killed Theoric — or worse.

She let her hand drop and could have imagined that he leaned forward as she did so, as though her hand was somehow still connected to him. "I am," she said. "Whatever else, Loki, whatever our debt, I…" she could not think of the proper word. "I value you," she settled on, and winced internally. But Loki smiled, a genuine smile that tugged at her heart.

"Well then," he said. "We should be seen, dear wife. It would not do to be caught skulking in the corridor on our wedding night."

She smiled and he took her arm, leading her back out into the crowd, all trace of his weariness now gone.

They danced. It was expected of them, naturally, and she had always enjoyed it. Theoric's lack of skill had been notorious, and Loki matched it, causing laughter and catcalls from his friends and family, but she was aware, in his arms, that he did not stumble the same way, and that his incompetence never touched her the way Theoric's had. She was never caught with him when he faltered, but smoothly moved aside. It was a dance of its own, of someone completely in control of his body, yet only she was witness to it.

At the end of the evening they stood, bidding goodbye to their guests, exchanging pleasantries, fixed smiles in place, his cool, dry hand in hers. Her feet ached and she wanted the oblivion that sleep promised. With every pleasantry, every dip of her head, every laughing kiss she bestowed on a guest's cheek, she thought just a little more.

When finally she was able to take her leave, only the most dedicated of revelers remained. Theoric's friends, all, rowdy and drunk and everything her pounding head and aching feet did not need. Loki leaned close to her and kissed her cheek as she begged her leave, then stood and laughingly announced that he needed simply one more drink before he had the courage to face his wife in the bedchamber. Theoric's friends cheered and laughed, and Sigyn thought wildly for a moment that it was lucky his mother had left earlier, before remembering Loki's pretense, and that was a measure of how skillfully it had been accomplished, that she could for a moment forget the feeling of taking that life, and imagine there would be no consequences for it.

Back at the chambers - Theoric's family had arranged for a lavish and secluded villa — she undressed and slipped into her night clothes, wondering if Loki would make an appearance. She had spent many nights alone since becoming Theoric's betrothed. They had been preferable to the alternative, yet Loki was part of this, and she wished for company — company in which she would not have to pretend — with a fierceness that surprised her. She sat at the dressing table and stared at her reflection, the eyes of a murderer looked back at her.

They looked the same as they always had.

She sighed and removed her jewels, pulling the pin on her hair, and letting it fall down her back, rubbing the places on her head that had born its weight for the long hours of her wedding. As her fingers worked she became aware of a presence in the room and she turned on her stool.

"I am sorry, Sigyn," he said, and his voice was Loki's, not Theoric's. A small thrill chased itself down her back as she looked at him, dressed in Theoric's finery, but unmistakably the Loki — brother of Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard…

… not her husband. Not even a friend. Yet they were bound together. "Sorry for what?" she said.

"I was going to sleep somewhere else… but Fandral insisted on escorting me to the bridal suite…" he shrugged and smiled. "I think he was afraid Theoric would lose his way otherwise."

"It wouldn't be the first time he couldn't find his way home."

"Perhaps it would have been healthier for him if he did that more often." She raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head, laughing. "Forgive me. My father keeps telling me my humour is inappropriate."

She allowed herself a small smile. "Well then," she said. There was a pause. "What were you planning to do? Theoric cannot be seen to leave the wedding chamber so soon after he arrived and I suspect…" she chuckled, "were you to leave in your own form there would be talk."

He grinned. "Very interesting talk."

"Did you plan to stay then?"

He looked contemplative. The wedding outfit had included a headdress — ridiculous, as most Asgardian fashions were — although privately she admitted it was not half so onerous as the one Loki normally wore. The closed wings of an eagle graced its sides and cheek guards had hidden Theoric's somewhat weak, bearded jaw. Loki pulled it from his head and turned it in his hands, freeing his own dark locks, mussed from being trapped under metal for so long. "Well, m'lady, that rather depends on you."

She swallowed. "Is this where you collect on your debt?"

He shook his head and turned from her, tossing the helm on a chair and stretching his arms. "No. Our debt is precious to me. I would not squander it on something so base. Also…" he looked back over his shoulder, and smiled again. "I rather hoped I wouldn't have to."

Her eyes narrowed and she tried to control the urge to smile. "Loki, you courted me for months. What makes you think you have a better chance now?"

"Well for one thing there is a distinct lack of competition." She scowled at him. He ducked his head, clutching a hand to his heart. "Ow, m'lady you wound me."

"Be thankful I didn't do more than that."

Loki stood, a faint smile on his face as he looked at her. "If you wish me to leave I can," he said, after a pause. "Theoric's is not the only form I can take, as you well know."

"Animals leaving the suite would cause even more talk," she pointed out, and his eyes widened in offended shock for a second before he shook his head once more. She smiled to take the sting out of her words and crossed the distance between them, reaching out one hand but unable to quite bring herself to touch him. Her hand fell to her side and she straightened her shoulders, swallowing. "You can stay, Loki. I owe you that much, and more." He stepped closer, dipping his head to look into her eyes and smiling. She raised one hand as though to push him back, but it hovered over his chest as though there were magic keeping them apart. He looked at it and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah," he said, covering her hand with his own and pulling it so it rested against him. She could feel his heart beating, skipping faster the longer her hand rested there. His long fingers curled around hers and the pad of his thumb gently brushed across her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

She should pull her hand away.

She looked up instead.

"What…?"

"I can go," he said softly.

"You do not want to."

He shook his head, smiling. "I do not."

"Then don't."

His smile widened and he leaned further forward, gently brushing his lips against hers. She opened her mouth in a gasp which he chased, hands finding the small of her back and pulling her closer to him, flush against his body. The chill in his skin made her shiver, but even as she did he started to warm, almost as if he were pulling heat from her and storing it.

She wondered that she had enough warmth in her to drive the chill away, but when they finally parted, her breath coming far faster and his cheeks flushed, the hands on the small of her back were as warm as her own.

One of them came up to cup her jaw and his thumb brushed her cheekbone. "You are certain about this?"

She tried for a smile. "Technically you could say we were married," she said. His eyes glinted in the firelight and he led her towards the bed.

Afterwards he fell asleep, so suddenly and completely that she was shocked, until she remembered his struggle earlier in the evening. She was no magician — they were rare, even in Asgard — but she had never thought that magic might come with a physical cost. It was obvious he was paying it now.

She watched him for a time, head resting on her elbow, the rise and fall of his pale chest, the sweat cooling on his skin, dark lashes resting on sharply defined cheekbones. He was so different to Theoric. She reached out one hand to brush hair from his face, noting that his chill was returning after their exertions, wondering if she should pull the covers up to keep him from it, or if it would go unnoticed while he was so deep in sleep.

In this moment, privately, she could admit to herself that he was dear to her, and that owing him a debt was not a weight on her heart, but rather something she would guard jealously should he attempt to collect it.

Once it was paid they would have nothing left binding them.

He shifted in his sleep and she blinked suddenly, looking at his hand, where the gold of the wedding band had caught in the light. She clenched her own fist absently, feeling the weight of the matching ring, before tucking her head under his shoulder to settle into sleep.

It was deep and dreamless.