Note: This chapter is an expansion of "Look", Chapter 16 of Miri1984's piece "30 Ways To Trick a Trickster"


Theoric decided to formally introduce her to court at the autumn ball. Sigyn was not quite sure what to expect, she had not been to an event at court since she had been presented with the rest of the youths and maidens when she entered collegium, which was decades ago. All she remembered of the ballroom was the massively high ceilings and the crowds of people and the huge fire pits that seemed specifically designed to singe the hems of the unwary.

Her mother spent weeks developing the perfect attire, and Sigyn fought her on every detail from how many layers of sheer overskirt she should wear (the final number was three) to how many inches of her abdomen was to be exposed (Sigyn lost that battle, as her mother was insistent that her skirt be low enough in the back to expose the dimples on her back). But Sigyn was able to leverage that loss into finally winning a victory on the head piece.

"His colleagues may think you a nag, but at least they will know he can keep you in your place." Her mother said, her mouth a thin, angry line as Sigyn carefully arranged her hair around the head piece.

"Yes, I am sure that is precisely what they will be thinking," Sigyn said, keeping her tone perfectly even and not at all sarcastic.


By now Sigyn was fully aware that she was not the type of woman her betrothed considered attractive. But her mother's efforts had not been in vain, and when Theoric arrived to escort her to the palace she saw an actual glimmer of interest in his eyes when he looked at her. "You look lovely, my lady," he said in his bored-sounding way.

She smiled and smoothed her skirts. "Thank you. My lady mother is quite adept at fashions."

He made a noncommital grunting sound, which he always made when he was not particularly interested in a topic but wasn't willing to put the effort into changing to a different one. Sigyn tried to think of something worth talking about that would also interest him, but found herself at a loss. So they traveled in silence.


The palace was just as big as she remembered, the ceilings soaring so high they were lost in darkness. The crowd was not quite as noisy as the last time, due to the more mature age of the guests. Though they were innumerable, and all seemed anxious to congratulate her and Theoric. She smiled until her face hurt, doing her level best to appear the happy fiancee.

It really wasn't that hard. The others were more familiar with Theoric, and addressed him more than her, and so the number of lies she had to tell didn't pile up too high.

There was dancing, of course. And Theoric was, as always, reluctant to dance.

"Please," she said quietly, her voice calm. She refused to reveal just how badly she wanted to dance. "Would you humor me with just one? You will look so grand in the firelight in your armor."

Theoric looks her over, the earlier glimmer of interest thoroughly stoked by the several glasses of wine he had before the meal, and the several more with the meal, and then several more after. "As you wish, my lady," he leered and kissed her fingers with damp lips before rising and leading her to the dance floor.

Of course, his earlier disparaging of the art played out in a way that she really should have expected. Theoric was a terrible dancer, stumbling over her feet and lurching haphazardly. She managed to dodge the worst of it, and even was able to correct them enough that he didn't make a total spectacle of the two of them. Of course his habit of constantly glancing over her head to watch the other dancers only made things worse. By the blessed end of the waltz she was grateful that she had only asked him for one.

"Thank you, my lord," she smiled up at him, reminding herself that he specifically told her that he did not care for dancing so it really was a nice gesture he just made for her.

Theoric was about to say something in response when he frowned suddenly, looking over her head at somebody behind her.

"Theoric! What an unexpected pleasure it is to have you grace us with a dance."

Sigyn turned to see Prince Loki approaching them. She dropped her gaze respectfully and held her hands behind her back, waiting for Theoric to introduce her.

"Your highness," Theoric was too drunk to mask the undercurrent of deep dislike in his voice and Sigyn stole a glance at the taller, leaner man, wondering what could have transpired between them.

For his part, the prince smiled at Theoric. "Will you not introduce me to the lady?"

Theoric frowned. "Prince Loki, Lady Sigyn. Lady Sign, Prince Loki."

Sigyn curtsied deeply to the prince. "It is an honor to meet you, your highness."

"You grace our humble palace with your presence, my lady," Loki caught her hand and chastely brushed her knuckles with his lips. Sigyn's eyes widened at the unexpected chill of his skin, and her heart skipped a beat.

Theoric coughed and layed a hand on Sigyn's arm. "You are far too kind, your highness."

Loki lifted a hand to stop them from leaving as the music started again. "Might I beg the honor of one dance with the lady?"

Theoric glowered at Loki and then at her. Sigyn met his gaze, his watery eyes narrowed in anger. "Far be it from me to deny his highness," Sigyn said before turning her eyes to Loki. "I would love to."

"So be it. Your highness," Theoric nodded stiffly and then made his way back to the table and the wine.

Sigyn offered her hand to Loki and he held it delicately, gently pulling her closer as they stepped into rhythm with the music. After dancing with Theoric, which was more akin to wrestling than dancing, the prince's easy grace and perfect rhythm left her feeling like she was floating.

He looked down at her, a glimmer of humor in his glass green eyes. "I understand you have the dubious honor of being betrothed to Theoric."

She blinked, taken aback, but recovered quickly. "There is nothing dubious about my honor, your highness."

"Truly? Is it not more interesting when there is room for doubt?" His voice dropped a little more, and he subtly pulled her closer.

"I would prefer room to breathe. You hold me so close, my lord." She pulled away slightly, covering the shiver up her spine .

He smiled and spun them, leading them toward the balcony, looking away from her for the first time to navigate through the crowd. "The room is close, m'lady. Perhaps we should take some air outside."

"As attractive as that thought is," and it was an intensely attractive thought, "your honor is more dubious than mine. There would be talk."

He laughed, genuinely delighted. "Of course there would be talk. Unless you prefer we occupy ourselves with more pleasant pursuits."

Sigyn couldn't help but smile, and found herself feeling mischievous. "I confess, nothing more pleasant than talking comes to mind, my lord."

His gaze on her turned heated. "A thousand more pleasant pursuits come to mind when I gaze upon your lips, m'lady. Perhaps I could introduce you to some new diversions. Your education appears to be lacking, and your betrothed uninspiring."

She blushed and glanced away, her ability to be clever suddenly abandoning her. "My lips?" A hit. A palpable hit. Damn him.

"Yes." He spoke low in a purr as he went for the kill. "I can think of so many things more interesting than mere words to pass between your perfect lips. And, if I do not misjudge the exquisite blush on your cheeks, so can you."

She scrambled to recover. "You do misjudge me, my lord."

He chuckled, a warm rich sound. "Oh, I doubt that."

She lifted her chin, her lips curving in an arch smile. "Your hand has slipped lower on my waist and your fingers are very cold. The surprise made me blush."

He held her closer, his hands already feeling warmer. "Perhaps you could help me warm them."

"Perhaps the fire would suffice." She was left breathless, and longed to close the distance between their lips, to taste and feel him. Her head spun. It was overwhelming.

"Perhaps you could join me there." His long, cool fingers trailed up her spine, and for the first time in her life, Sigyn was grateful for her mother's meddling. "Between you and the fire my hands would be very warm indeed."

The music ended and she stepped out of his hold, now thoroughly convinced that he was the man who had appeared in her dream. "Perhaps I am needed elsewhere. By your leave, your highness." And she turned and glided back to Theoric's side before he could answer, resisting the urge to run.

She did not leave her seat at the table for the rest of the evening. If the prince tempted her a second time, she was not sure she would be able to resist. But every once in a while her resolve would slip, and she would steal a glance at the prince who both excited and frightened her. And every time he met her gaze, his lips curved in a smile and something deeper than humor or mischief lurking behind his eyes.