Loki shot straight up in his bed, a thick sweat coating his entire body. He had been dreaming of the day he barged in on Weth in the bath house—only with a significantly different outcome. He wished, in hindsight, that he had confessed his feelings then and there; that he had joined her in the water, and caressed her the way he did in his dreams. Alas, he dashed out of that room like a fool. Loki wiped his brow, ridding himself of the perspiration there. He glanced around his chambers, the early morning light forcing his eyes to adjust. In the golden glow of dawn, his vivid green sheets nearly matched his irises. A host of heavy mahogany bookcases flanked a sofa on the opposite end of the room. It was there that Loki spent most of his time. He whiled away the hours studying magic, and had grown to be the most skilled sorcerer in Asgard. In recent years, this was his only advantage over Thor.
Loki stretched, and nimbly leapt out of his large bed. He shuddered as his bare feet hit the cold stone below. From a nearby armoire, Loki selected his outfit for the day: leather trousers, boots, and a black button-down shirt—a perfect ensemble for an unremarkable day. He caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror as he dressed. Now in the latter half of his twenties, Loki was a remarkable creature. His features, which once seemed too severe, gave him a nearly elfish charm. His thick, raven locks hung loose around his head, stopping at his jaw line. Loki failed to recognize the pleasant aspects of his appearance; Thor's gargantuan muscles, bronzed tan, and fair hair caused every woman in the vicinity to ogle, thus ignoring his darker brother. Needless to say, Loki had poor self esteem. The only area of his body he somewhat liked was his abdomen; though not overly muscular, it was chiseled and sinewy. Loki closed the last fastening on his shirt before heading towards the banquet hall for his morning meal.
He strode down the various corridors of the palace, quickening his pace as his stomach growled. He nearly overlooked Weth as she cleaned a window at the opposite end of the hallway. Over the years, Weth had followed in her mother's footsteps and become a palace maid—not of choice, but due to the fact that her ill temper had prevented employment in other professions. Loki felt she had the potential to be a great warrior, but many believed her to be too volatile for the heat of battle. Cursing quietly to herself, Weth scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the glass. Loki froze in his tracks. Ever since that day in the bath house, he had been unable to formulate a coherent sentence when around Weth. Not that this mattered; she made no effort to speak to him after that incident. This brought him a searing pain that cemented his solitude. Their brief exchanges were the only conversations of interest to Loki, and without them, his days passed in a haze of apathy. Words perched on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out. His newfound nickname, Silvertongue, seemed like a cruel taunt at this moment.
Before he could utter some disjointed jumble of words, a man entered the hallway from a nearby servants' passage and sidled up to Weth. The man, whom Loki now knew to be a guard, whispered in her ear, his hand roaming over her lower back. Weth continued cleaning, pausing only to give the guard a playful smile. Having not noticed Loki standing a ways down the corridor, the guard squeezed Weth's right buttock, earning him a flirtatious smack on the arm. Loki felt his nails draw blood as they dug into the flesh of his palm. His eyes locked on a vase a few paces away, which he knocked over with a jealous vigor. The shattering of the ceramic caused the couple to start and turn towards Loki, who now trembled with rage. As the guard apologized for having misbehaved while on duty, Weth's golden eyes coldly accosted the Prince. Loki ignored the guard's ramblings and pushed past him, bumping his shoulder as he exited the hall. Appetite gone, Loki made his way to Thor's chambers, where he knew he would find his brother.
He squeezed the tears from his eyes as he tread through the palace. This had not been the first time he had seen her with that man. Twice before had he witnessed their playful interaction; but neither of those times had included the fondling that occurred moments before. Loki's head swam with images of Weth making love to that guard. He wanted to vomit. He ran his hand through his hair, closing his eyes and attempting to rid himself of the haunting visions in his head. When he opened his eyes, he found himself at Thor's door. He rapped three times, stinging his knuckles with the force. After a few unintelligible mumbles from within, the door opened to reveal his older brother, covered only by a sheet wrapped around his waist. Eyes half closed, he questioned Loki with a hint of irritation.
"What is it you want, brother?" he leaned against the doorway nonchalantly.
"I need to speak with you." Loki replied tersely.
"Did it not occur to you that I might have company?" Thor retorted. Loki rolled his eyes. His brother took a new woman to bed nearly every night.
"I would not care if you had a dozen women in your bed," he hissed, "I need to speak with you." Thor heaved a sigh before retreating into his bedchambers. After a few minutes, a haphazardly dressed blond scurried out of the room. Thor bade him entrance, and Loki stepped inside. As first-born and Odin's obvious favorite, Thor's bedchambers were much more luxurious than Loki's. With scarlet and gold furnishings—along with a massive four-poster bed—the room spoke to its occupant's ego. Loki stood near the doorway as Thor sat at the edge of his bed, now clothed in leather trousers.
"You have my attention." Thor quipped. Loki took a few moments before speaking.
"Where would I go to find a woman?" He gazed out the window at the opposite end of the room.
"A woman? Looking for a wife, are you?" He teased. Loki grit his teeth at his mockery.
"A whore." Loki spat. "A woman willing to give me whatever I desire." Thor's eyebrows rose.
"I believe I know a place for that."