"That's an interesting name," Astrid remarked, and sat down on the library floor without further invitation. She wrapped a strand of her hair around her forefinger, rocking back gently with her legs crossed in front of her. The boy, Loki, said nothing, as though he agreed with her. The flame of the candle flickered curiously, as if it were reflecting the boy's thought patterns. This boy this…this Loki knew about magic. Someone taught him, but he was obviously built out of the raw power and energy.

"Most say that practicing the art of magic is a woman's chore," the boy said quietly, as if speaking much above a whisper would disturb a hidden silence that he was relishing in. Astrid could already tell that this boy was not like any simple healer. He did not speak incantations in order to bend the wills of the elements. He was so much more powerful, stronger, and skilled. Natural. That was the word that described the way he had so easily waved his fingers about, causing the flame to dance like he had created an invisible wind that teased at the tendrils of golden heat.

"Well," Astrid mused after a moment, "they probably say that because the female is much more intelligent than the average blundering oaf." She rocked back and forth sharply. "You do not really strike me as the blundering oaf type, though."

The boy's lips curled upwards into a crooked grin. "Then I would be most inclined to thank you, Astrid. There is little appreciation for magic these days when it is not used by the palace healers for science. Only my mother—"

"Your mother? Does she live here?"

"Of course she does," the boy said like it was painfully obvious. His brow furrowed. "You are visiting the Asgardian palace on the demands of your mother the politician, right? It did not occur to you that at some point in your visitation, you may just run into some of the residents?"

"What—what do you mean 'the residents'?" Astrid's hazel eyes stretched wide.

"My mother, the Queen of Asgard?" the boy groaned in exasperation, pressing his agile long fingers to his temples like she was giving him a headache.

Astrid's eyes got even larger, if that was possible. "You're—you're a prince?" She turned the thought over in her head.

"Please, pick up your jaw; you might swallow flies."

"Um, should I bow or…or curtsy or something?"

Loki's ocean colored eyes hardened. "No," he ground out. "Please don't bow. Of all the things not to do in my presence, please don't bow. And you do not seem the frilly curtsying type yourself, Astrid. From where do you hail? You seem awful keen to go back there right now. I can see plainly that you are not overly fond of politics."

"Vanaheim. But my mother says that Anaheim and its brutish warlike ways are more accustomed to my taste. I didn't even know I had a taste until she pointed that out. I have always been a little too different for their tastes, though, my lord."

"Just Loki."

"What?"

"Call me by my first name, please, it's a lot easier."

"All right then, my—Loki. It's not that I dislike politics, but some of the stuffy diplomats and senators and representatives. Nothing ever seems to happen unless our Queen decrees it. Everyone else seems a few centuries behind the times."

"Look at that, you are a natural. With a bit of practice, you will be using my name as though it is second nature. Now, you said that you wanted to see more magic, did you not?"

Astrid nodded, her still wide eyes brightening. Loki cast a sidelong look at the snacks lying in their napkin, and the book. He bent down and picked these up, and Astrid got a glimpse of the treats hidden within the napkin's folds. When he stood up again, the height difference was renewed once more, but it didn't make her feel uncomfortable. It oddly enough made her feel safe.

She had heard rumors, of course, about the other Prince. The rumors had never come with a name, but words floated around a mysterious figure. Most of all of the elaborate stories boiled down to two simple things: mischief, and trickster.

He did not appear to be deceiving her now. Of course, if he was actually trying, she wouldn't know firsthand.

"Come," he commanded, "there's someone that I think you would like to meet."

"How do I know that this is not just some trick?" Astrid didn't budge from her seat on the floor. Loki rolled his eyes. Sarcasm, the girl noticed, seemed to be another one of his strong suits.

"There seems to be nothing that I can say that will in any way sway your judgement, so the decision to follow me, I am afraid to say, is completely yours." There was that infuriatingly charming grin again, and the fact that this boy, this Prince could have charm and wit and still annoy her was another talent of his. Well-rounded, she figured. Blasted magicians.

"The term that we prefer is Mage," Loki informed Astrid, who had yet to budge from her position. "Oh come now, really, you honestly are under the impression that I would rat you out?"

Astrid nodded. The last thing that she wanted to have happen was the younger of Frigga's sons deporting her to her mother and having to deal with the consequences. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You mean…you're not going to turn me in to my mother?"

"Obviously not," the prince groused, running a hand through his raven hair, tousling the locks out of place. Astrid had her own opinion that it made him appear more approachable, less rigid and cold, like a sharp icicle. Like he was what the rumors had all said—mischievous. "Why do you think I come here to this part of the library?"

The thought struck her back. It would make perfect sense, especially if he were to practice magic. He would want his own space, a place where his secrets were his own and no one else's. This room in the middle of the catacombs of ancient texts was absolutely perfect for that one sole purpose.

"Why exactly were you hiding out here then, my—Loki?" Once again, she caught herself on the slip of the tongue. She saw the boy smirk. When he smirked at her, she had the stinking suspicion that she would be seeing a lot of that smile for a while.

Why had he given her permission to use his name? Why? The prince of Asgard had no idea what had driven him to that. He was supposed to maintain an air of authority, which, he did suppose, had worn off a little bit after the girl had seen him stowing away in the library, practicing magic. And here was his second question: Why had she not been afraid? Magic could be harmful, deadly even. It was the art of bending reality, and wielded by the wrong hands, could have disastrous repercussions. She should have been afraid of him. She had every right to; he would not blame her. Being afraid of snakes and spiders (he was inclined towards snakes, very intelligent and graceful and mysterious beings, while spiders made him inwardly cringe in disgust at the small hairy bodies and spindled legs stretching and grasping) was one thing, but fearing magic was entirely respectable.

Hardly registering the weight of the tome in his arms, Loki wordlessly took a small pastry from within the napkin and handed it over to the girl. Astrid took it reluctantly, but not as though she didn't trust him. She hesitated as if she was still trying to wrap her mind around everything that she had seen and done within the past few minutes. It was plaintively obvious that the poor girl was overwhelmed. Meet a strange girl in the library and you give her sweets, Loki scolded himself. By the gods, you've finally gone mad from spending too much time around Thor.

Astrid gave the pastry a once over, marveling at its soft, flaky exterior that was puffed fat and fluffy with air. The pastry was brushed with some sort of delicate powdered sugar that tasted almost feathery as it touched her tongue. She blinked when the sweet and tart fruit filling was released from its airy prison, relishing every little sensation that she got as the pastry danced its flavors over her tongue.

Even on agricultural Vanaheim such delicacies were a fine treat. Astrid supposed that she would never taste something so wonderful again.

"Are you trying to bribe me?" she said around the mouthful of pastry, and the prince had to hide a grin when he saw that the area surrounding her lips was dusted white with decorative sugar.

"Now where in the Nine Realms would you come up with such a notion?" The grin was now visible. And when was the last time that he had smiled like this, out of sheer pleasure and mild amusement?

"Well, Loki, whether it is or not, it's working," Astrid remarked, licking some of the fine sugar out of the crook of her mouth. She sighed happily.

She said it. His name. His grin widened.

"The person that I want you to meet is not truly a person if you will. He is my instructor—only my mother and I know where his chambers are. My father does not know, and the all-seeing gatekeeper Heimdall has sworn himself to secrecy unless in dire times in which desperate measures are required."

"What is he like, this instructor of yours? Is he the man that teaches you magic?"

"Yes, and as for what you think of him, you will have to establish that for yourself. He is not at all what you would expect."

"He must be odd."

Loki sighed. "True, true that. Come along then, follow me. And try to stay close behind. Getting lost in this place can be a blessing and a curse."