Thank you to those who followed and favorited! I truly expected nobody to read this (except for maybe my mom) so this is already a wonderful surprise! Here's to hoping you enjoy the second chapter and please feel free to reach out with any comments/questions/flattering remarks/compliments/general kiss-assery ;).
Time seemed to pass slower than usual as the two women paced the hall. No words were spoken, the only sounds coming from their shuffled steps and occasional sighs. Just when Emilie was about to venture out of their confines to explore an option of exiting, heavy boots on stone echoed towards them. Six soldiers came into view sporting less-than-stellar expressions and firmly gripping various weapons.
"You are to come with us," they commanded, forming a semi-circle around the girls.
"Where's Thor?" Jane questioned, standing up straighter and speaking with an edge to her tone.
"You are to come with us," the man in the front repeated, his grip tightening around his golden spear.
"I've seen 'Cops', I know the drill," Emilie replied, moving forward with her hands in the air.
With one half of the duo surrendering, Jane gave up her act and followed behind Emilie, falling into step next to the guards.
They continued to walk until they reached two large doors carved from deep red wood and etched with foreign markings. With a single unified stomp of their boots, the guards stood back and the massive gates opened, revealing an enormous room supported by ivory columns and golden trim. At the center of the space atop a half-dozen marble stairs was a grand throne neighbored by two guards similar to the ones leading Jane and Emilie. Perched upon the royal seat was someone Emilie immediately recognized. News of the attacks in New York had spread like wildfire across the nation accompanied by blurred photographs of the alleged perpetrator. Sitting across from her, she could see that his raven hair had grown a few inches and his cheekbones had become more pronounced, yet it was still the same God of Mischief. An impish grin was spread across his ivory skin, his green eyes gleaming wickedly.
"Ah! You've arrived! So lovely to have guests gracing our halls once again," he purred, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his leathers chafing audibly as he did so.
Neither girl said anything in response, instead allowing themselves to be led further into the room until they stood at the base of the stairs. Emilie wasn't sure to look, so she settled for the floor. Her mind still felt as if she were travelling through space, racing a hundred miles per minute.
"Where is Thor?" Jane ground out, her bravery far surpassing Emilie's apprehensiveness.
Loki barked out a bitter laugh. "Don't fuss. My brother has informed me of your situation and I, being a God of benevolence, have allowed him to take up quarters in the dungeon. I assure you, he'll be most safe down there."
"You can't," Jane started, fists forming at her side.
"Oh but I can, and I did," he replied, leaning casually back into the marble throne.
"How are we supposed to figure anything out if he's locked away?"
"Quite simple. I'll lock you down with him."
"I thought they said you changed," she spat, anger radiating off of her small-framed body.
Another cheeky snicker echoed off the walls of the room. "You don't know me very well."
With that, he sent a commanding nod at the guards, who quickly rounded up the girls and began to guide them out the same way they had entered.
"One moment," Loki called, causing the sentinels to halt. "I don't think I got your name, girl."
Cursing under her breath, Emilie spun around slowly to face him.
"Emilie," she muttered, her gaze lingering on his roguish smile.
"Emilie," he repeated, sending an involuntary shiver through her body, "I hope you'll find the cells as comfortable as I did when my own father and brother sentenced me."
"I'm sure they had reason," she retorted, bringing a hand to cover her mouth once she'd realized she'd spoken her inner thought aloud.
Suddenly, without warning, he was no longer perched high above her out of harm's way. Instead, he was mere inches from her face. She could feel his hot, angry breath kissing her face and she shrunk inwardly into herself.
"You dare to speak ill of me out of turn?" He snarled, his hand forcefully grabbing her chin and steering her eyes to meet his.
Suddenly, her mouth went dry and her stomach flipped. Of course, she out of all people would be whisked away to another planet and probably murdered by a villainous God all because she was a few minutes late to work.
Closing her eyes, she prepared for the worst.
"I believe," he mused, "some hard work would do you good," he finally spat, dismissing the other guards while doing so.
"No, wait-" she pleaded.
"Let her come with me!" Jane shouted as she was led further and further away. Her voice continued to fade until the doors opened and closed, leaving Emilie to share her space with Loki, who now sported a look of mischief rather than anger. This somehow frightened her more.
"To start, you'll need to rid yourself of those pathetic rags," he nodded to her outfit and she unconsciously crossed her arms over her chest.
He noticed her discomfort and shot her a playful smirk. "Oh come now, surely you don't think I'd make you disrobe here? I've no interest in losing my appetite," he explained with a dismissive wave of his long-fingered hand.
For some reason, his remark stung and she tried not to dwell on it as she tightened her arms against herself.
"Well where should I go then?" She inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll round up a room for you, all of the servants are blessed with their own quarters."
Servants?
He moved around her, circling her like a predator before the kill, admiring the way her body trembled in his presence. Her breathing was becoming erratic, the rush of events suddenly catching up to her and hitting her with the force of a ton of bricks. She stuttered forward, her vision blurring and her head spinning.
"Rough trip?"
She managed a nod before trying to center herself again, the familiar pang around her ribs returning with a vengeance.
"Well, let's not delay any further then. I'll have a guard escort you to your new quarters and we'll go from there," he stated, turning his back on her and swiftly returning to the throne, a pleased look gracing his face.
A guard appeared and roughly grabbed her elbow, steering her out of the large space and into the smaller hall. As they walked, the candles grew dimmer and the space grew narrower until they were forced to walk single-file.
"Your room," the stranger ground out, opening a creaky door and stepping aside to let her through. She walked into the room and blanched. A single mattress lay in the corner of the room, it's only decorative counterpart being a small wardrobe placed against the opposite wall. Before she could protest, the guard disappeared, the slamming of the door and the distant echo of his footsteps being the only indications that he ever existed.
She shuffled over to the wardrobe, tentatively opening the poorly constructed door, only to have it fall off and clash noisily onto the floor.
"I've always preferred open wardrobes anyway," she muttered to herself, the sound of her voice comforting against the stale air of the room.
Inside hung a pale gray sleeveless dress and a stained apron.
As she regarded the garment, a stern knock from the main door stirred her out of her thoughts. Pulling away from the wardrobe, she hesitantly placed her ear against the door in hopes that whoever sought entrance would soon leave. Just when she thought her first wish had come true, she was pushed unceremoniously against the damp floor as the door came crashing open.
"You'd do well to open when someone knocks," a gruff voice advised.
Looking up, Emilie regarded the stout woman before her. Long, inky hair freckled with gray sat in a haphazard braid against her own servants dress. An apron similar to the one in Emilie's wardrobe hung dutifully around her thick neck, which housed an bloated head and a permanent scowl.
"Up! Up! Get up! This is no time for relaxing!" She shrieked, pulling the dress out of the wardrobe and throwing it angrily upon Emilie's head. "You're to put this on and report to the throne room. And put these on as well," she demanded, dropping a pair of black slippers at her feet.
When Emilie did not move right away, the woman struck her against her face, drawing a trickle of warm crimson blood from her lip.
"You will listen and respond when I tell you to do something," she spat, turning to exit. "Midgardian trash," she snarled before she slammed the door behind her.
Emilie sat for a moment, stunned at the turn of events. She'd never been hit in all of her adult life. The last time someone had slapped her was in elementary school. Curtis Baker was a pint-sized little shit who'd hit her when she'd knocked him down accidentally by jumping on the swing bridge at the playground. He'd thrown a fit and after the shock had worn off, she'd pushed him down intentionally, threatening to give him the biggest wedgie to rival all wedgies if he ever raised a hand to her again. After that day, he'd avoided her like a disease carrying rat during the bubonic plague. Now, she felt the familiar anger boiling inside of her and part of her wanted to throw open the door and track down the old hag, giving her a taste of her own medicine. Something inside of her told her that would be a very poor decision and she decided instead to flip off the back of the closed door.
Wiping the excess blood from her lip, she pushed herself off the ground, grinding her teeth as her ribs screamed out in protest. With the back-to-back falls, there was little doubt that she had at least bruised them.
Sighing once more, she began to shed her clothes until she was left standing against the cold in a pale yellow bra and unflattering pair of purple panties. She slipped the dress over her head and found that it fit perfectly. It smelled of sweat and mold and the bottom was tattered with stray strings tickling her shins as she moved, yet it was exactly her size. The slippers also fit wonderfully, snuggling against the paleness of her feet and warming her icy toes. With the comfortable clothes, she almost forgot that she was quite literally transforming into a servant when a mere hour or so ago her biggest worry was being late to work.
Swallowing the urge to cry and pout and throw the biggest tantrum, she pulled herself together and began the long, grimy walk back up to the throne room. The guards separated, clearly expecting her and standing by as she passed through the large doors yet again. With her head held as high as she could manage, she sauntered to the base of the steps, keeping her gaze ahead.
"Much better," he observed, "now you fit the part."
She held back a retort, instead choosing to painfully dig her nails into her palm.
"I'll start out with a simple task for you, how does that sound?"
When she said nothing, he once again leapt from his resting position and stood over her, his hand raised and ready to strike.
"Did you not hear me, girl?" He dipped his head so he could see her face. "Ah, I see you've already earned a token from the staff." Drawing a long finger against her lip, he let out a low chuckle. "We don't want to mark up your pretty face, not just yet," he crooned, placing his hand back at his side.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust and she squeezed her hand once again, beginning to feel her half-moon indents break skin against the pressure of her dull nails.
He stepped back but did not return to his throne.
"You will help to prepare the meals in the kitchen for now. When I think of more use for you, you'll be summoned again. Is that understood?"
She nodded.
"Speak," he commanded, folding his hands behind his back.
"Yes," she answered, her tone venomous.
"Good girl, you may return to your room now."
"Where are Jane and Thor?" She asked, lifting her gaze to plead with his own.
A visible snarl erupted on his face. "You will not concern yourself with either of them any longer. You fall under my rule now and you will, therefore, busy yourself with matters of my desires and wishes. Are you unclear about any of this?"
She shook her head, her eyes wide and fearful.
"Return to your chambers before I decide to add to your wounds."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and quickly left the room, hurrying down the hall and to her own space. Collapsing onto the mattress, she hardly noticed the filth and dampness. Instead, she allowed herself a good cry, her body heaving and shaking with sobs of frustration, fear, and confusion. How the hell did she manage to wind up here?