Together, you walked from the stables back into the palace, and you had to concentrate rather hard to keep your focus on the conversation he was making, instead of allowing your mind to turn to the thought of the day's events. The prince noticed your distraction, but, thankfully (and predictably) he seemed to realize the cause. His only action was to slip your hand into the crook of his elbow to guide you along.

"Your company today has been most relaxing, especially after my business away," he said as the two of you stopped in front of your quarters. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and grinned up at you. "I hope you enjoyed yourself as well?"

"Oh, yes, sire," you answered quickly.

"I am glad." He pushed your door open, and beyond him you could see yet another flowing emerald gown laid out on your bed. "I have been asked to ask you to join us for supper tonight," he said in response to the confusion which surely showed on your face. "Before we left, I gave the orders for something appropriate to be brought up for you. I couldn't resist. You are so very striking in green."

Supper. With an "us" that could really only mean the rest of the royal family. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and all you could do for several very long moments was nod in response to his question. "I am sorry, Loki. It is beautiful, sire, but…why would I be asked to join you for supper? Who am I to garner such a thing?"

Loki tugged on the ragged end of one braid. "I have told you. You are a guest, and my mother has decreed it inhospitable to keep you locked up in a cage all day. So you will join us, and you will be charming and graceful and my family will see you the same way that I do."

Your mind flashed back to what had happened not all that long ago, on the blanket in the middle of nowhere with the prince's fingers between your legs, and just barely bit back the "I hope not, sire," that rose in your throat. Anyway, it made no sense for a palace whore to join the royal family for a meal—in fact, this felt much like one of Loki's tricks, but you could not argue. He must have seen the reluctance in your face despite your best attempts, because he lifted your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

"I will come back to collect you in a bit, my lady. Would you like me to send someone to help you dress?"

"No!" The word shot from your mouth with a laugh—the thought of someone coming to help you dress, as though you couldn't do it yourself, or were perhaps too good to do it yourself, or even that your gown was too complicated was so laughable that you couldn't stop yourself in time. You managed an apologetic smile and shook your head. "No, thank you. I will manage just fine, I believe."

"I thought as much," he said with a smile. "I'll be back later." Then he bowed and walked down the hallway leading away from your room. You closed the door behind him and tried to ignore the gown sitting on your bed. Another bath, maybe. You didn't really need one, but there was no one around to make fun of you or hit you for wasting heat or water, so why not? For the second time that day, you filled the tub with warm water and sank beneath the surface.

Sighing at the comfort of the heat against your bare skin, you untied your braids and worked them apart with your fingers before leaning back against the edge of the tub. If you focused on just one second at a time, you might even be able to convince yourself that you would be able to stay there forever, as opposed to sitting through a night with the royal family. There would probably be others there as well: if you were invited, then surely it was not just for the family itself, and they would likely be distracted by other, more important things than your presence, but it still promised to be an excruciatingly uncomfortable night.

But alas, the water did grow cold, and you had to rush to clean the dirt and grit off of yourself quickly. You dried off just as quickly in the chill air of the castle and then twisted your hair into what you hoped would pass for an elegant updo, but which probably only looked like a servant's hasty work intended to keep her hair out of the ashes. It was the best you could do. You sighed and avoided making eye contact with the looking glass as you ventured out of the washroom.

The gown waiting for you on your bed was easily the loveliest dress you'd seen in your entire life—finer even than the one you wore to the ball, or any that had been provided for you since. The silk was soft and shimmering, and the iridescence threw rainbows across the fabric with every movement. It must have been bewitched somehow, because it fit you beautifully, and although ordinarily the low-cut neckline would have made you uncomfortable, you couldn't help but appreciate the rounded tops of your breasts and the way your skin seemed to glow against the material. The only problem came when you realized that there was a row of tiny buttons running up the back of the dress. You would never be able to fasten it on your own.

You fought valiantly, of course, twisting your body and contorting your arms to try to work as many of the buttons as you could, but even so, at least half of them remained steadfastly out of your reach. Just as you were toying with the idea of putting the gown on backwards and then struggling to turn it around properly again, someone rapped gently on your door. Perhaps Loki had seen through your protests and sent someone to you anyway. You crossed one arm in front of your chest to keep the neckline of the gown in place just as the door swung open.

Really, you shouldn't have been surprised to see those cool blue eyes fixed on you.

"Stunning," he murmured, and bowed. Loki, the prince, bowed to you, the no-account village girl who was completely out of her element. You were so taken aback that you nearly forgot how to respond, but finally you sank into a deep curtsy and remained there, unmoving, until he stalked closer and pressed his fingers under your chin. "It is as I have said. My colors suit you well."

"Thank you, my prince," you said. Your voice was small, and you hesitated to ask your next question, but if you were planning on leaving the room tonight, it would need to be done. "Sir…if you wouldn't mind, would you please…fasten the rest of my buttons, sir?"

He smirked at you. "I thought you didn't need help dressing, my lady."

"I was perhaps a bit hasty," you confessed, and tried to ignore your burning cheeks. "I did not know how to call for a servant, my lord."

He said nothing, just kept raking his eyes along your body, and for a very long minute, you thought that he would make you go to dinner as you were, perhaps to teach you a lesson. But then he made his way behind you and you felt his hands skim lightly along your shoulders and back on their way to the buttons. "I do not mind serving you in this manner tonight, my lady. The view is most agreeable." He made quick work of the dress, and then pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just under the hairline revealed by your updo. This time you could not hide the shiver.

"Loki…" You weren't sure what you wanted to say, but his name fell from your lips anyway. His hands settled on your waist and squeezed. The air around you felt heavy. Expectant. If you turned around, things would change, and you were not entirely certain that you desired that. So you stayed frozen, and slowly his touch slipped away. He was in front of you again, and offered his arm. All it took was one dazzling smile from the prince, and the heaviness cleared. You managed your own weak smile.

"My lady, our table awaits."

The hall was nothing like you had expected. In your mind, the royal family sat at their own small, exclusive table, dining together and taking respite in their own company away from others. It was foolish. Instead, rows of tables filled the room, and many people—mostly drunk people—filled the tables. The cheerful din relaxed you as Loki led you to a table placed ever-so-slightly above the rest—the exclusive table, at least, had been accurate. The king and queen sat at either end, presiding over the rest of the occupants as you would have expected. Prince Thor was deep in conversation with a beautiful woman with dark hair and sharp features. He turned to you as the two of you arrived and beamed warmly at you. He was his brother's exact opposite: large and expressive and so warm. He rose from his seat and clasped both of your hands in his.

"My lady! It is a pleasure to meet you. We were beginning to fear that my brother would decide to keep you hidden away from the rest of us, locked up only for himself!" He grinned, as though to show you that his words were not quite as serious as you thought.

You struggled to find an appropriate response to the prince, but it was difficult. Everyone knew that this man was slated to be the next king, and while you had had time to adjust to standing in Loki's presence, Thor was still different. A more clever woman, one with more confidence or wit, might have made a quip about how you had feared the same thing, but it was risky. Your tone, after all, could fall flat so easily—you would risk insulting the entire royal family.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Prince. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the invitation to join you all here this evening."

There, perhaps that would do. Indeed, Thor's face lit up with yet another grin and he nodded, and then excused himself to resume talking to the lady beside him. Loki leaned over, and his breath brushed against your ear as he whispered a singsongy: "Liar." You looked at him with surprise, and he elaborated. "I do not even have to look at you to feel the nerves coursing through you. You would rather be anywhere but here."

You couldn't stop your smile as you turned your head to whisper back: "That does not mean I am not thankful for the invitation, my lord."

"Fair enough." His hand slipped beneath the table to rest upon your knee. His fingers stroked your skin through the silk of your gown, but made no attempt at impropriety. "Relax, my pet. You will be welcome here for as long as I am. Perhaps even longer." A strange note entered his voice on the last few words, but before you could question him, he turned from you to speak to the men sitting beside him. A servant placed dish before you, one full of food that somehow looked and smelled even more wonderful than that which had been brought to your room. After glancing around the room to make sure that the rest of the guests had also received their food and were eating (lest you make some kind of faux pas), you sampled each morsel.

Thankfully, the ladies around you swept you up into their conversation. They all seemed ardently interested in your time spent with Loki, and if it hadn't been for the scene in the garden, you might have found yourself wondering if they were his other women. You were grateful for them, perhaps even more than they could possibly know, because as the night wore on you found yourself becoming more and more comfortable in that room, at that table. Loki did not let go of your hand, but you did not need to cling to him like a frightened child. You could, in fact, hold your own in conversation with high-born ladies: and they even seemed to be accepting you there.

The noise in the room seemed to swell as the men at the tables around you became drunker and drunker, but even that felt more like home than anything else. After dealing with your father, it was a comfort to know that you could likely guide any of those men into their beds and out of their boots without much fuss at all.

A startled shriek, followed by the crash and clatter of dishes against the stone floor, drew your attention to one of those tables. One of the servants—you recognized her as the girl who had joined you in the library—was struggling with a man who appeared to be a soldier. His fingers were locked tightly, painfully, around her arm as he tried to pull her into his lap. The men around him were chuckling and, as you looked on in horror, many other men began to join in as the spectacle attracted their attention. Even with the considerable distance separating you from her, you could hear her pleading with him to release her, and before you realized what you were doing, you had risen quickly to your feet.

Loki joined you immediately, and Prince Thor followed suit not long after. Soon, all of the men at the royal table were standing beside you as you glared balefully at the man terrorizing the servant. Someone nudged him, and he finally looked up. Apparently the full force of the attention of the royal family was enough to douse whatever urges were burning inside him, because, with a disgruntled sneer that seemed directed right at you, he released the servant girl's arm. She cast a grateful look towards you before stooping to gather up the dishes and the mess at her feet, and then hurried away again. The men at your table returned to their seats almost immediately, and conversations resumed around you, but you remained standing until the man finally looked away from you. Of course, it was only then that you realized just how out of line you had been—interrupting dinner with the royal family because someone was mistreating a woman? She was a servant in a room full of rowdy men, and you had seen mothers, daughters, sisters mistreated by relatives in your own town, so what made this palace any different? Your stomach twisted as you realized that she was probably used to treatment like that, and you pushed you plate aside. The rest of the people at your table were acting as though nothing was wrong: the ladies were chatting and giggling, and the two princes beside you were strategizing as though there hadn't even been an interruption. It was very likely that they had stood merely because someone at their table had stood, and etiquette demanded it. Would anyone else have done anything about that girl's struggle? What would have happened to her?

You looked around the table, and your eyes landed on the queen. She was studying you carefully, maybe even thoughtfully. You could feel your face go pale—had you offended her? Quickly your mind began attempting to conjure up some way to explain yourself to the woman, but before you could get very far, her lips curved into a smile of approval and she inclined her head slightly at you.

The night went on, and gradually returned to almost-normal, except for the vague and uncomfortable sensation that you were being watched. It wasn't until many of the men started to clear out of the room that you realized who was doing the watching. It was that man who had grabbed the girl. He was now sitting alone at his end of the table, glowering at you from over a pint. His cheeks were ruddy, and a shock of blond hair stuck straight out from the top of his head. Despite the roundness of his face and body, he had the sharp, mean look of a small man—of a man who had spent most of his life trying to gain the acceptance of the stronger boys. Even worse, he would not take his eyes off of you.

When the ladies decided to retire to their own quarters, freeing many of the seats around you, the small man approached the king, and then slid into a seat beside you. He must have been asking permission to sit at the table, you realized, and glanced at him for the briefest of moments before turning your attentions to the princes' conversation.

Soon there came a hand on your knee, fingers grasping too tightly and stroking too far up your leg for your comfort. You jumped and tried ineffectually to swat the hand away. Loki had yet to notice, and maybe that was a good thing. You didn't want to make a scene tonight of all nights. So you ignored him, straightening your back a few notches more than usual and trying to visualize the battlefields that Prince Thor was describing to his men—and lady.

Until the snuffling. You didn't realize what was happening at first. You just felt a small puff of air against your shoulder, and then a strange heat, and only then did you realize that the man was leaning into you and—sniffing you. You jumped to your feet for the second time that night, this time with enough force to knock your chair down behind you, and, before you could explain yourself to anyone or even look at that man sitting next to you, you fled.

It was only in the relative safety of one of the corridors that you stopped, heart pounding and face burning with shame. You could not make yourself think about what Loki would have to say—he would be angry about your behavior, undoubtedly, which would probably entail more threats and manhandling, but that wasn't exactly new to you, and it would be worth it to escape that other man's mere presence. Your skin was crawling.

There were footsteps behind you, a long and angry stride. Loki, then. You should turn around and face him, you knew, but hesitated long enough to draw in a deep breath. It was too long: when you finally did turn around, he was already swooping down on you. But this man did not have the long, elegant form of your prince: he was thicker, sturdier. Plump fingers tightened around your upper arms, and he threw you against the wall. Your breath rushed from your lungs and you had to fight to regain it, but recognizing your attacker didn't take much effort: it was the same man from the table.

"You stupid whore," he spat. "Why don't you mind your own business?" He lifted you away from the wall just enough to slam you back again. "I know what your place is here, don't you? The prince brought you here to service his men, and that means me. So get on your knees."

You just stared at him as he puffed and sputtered at you. That is, until he wound up and smashed you across your right cheek. The pain exploded behind your eyes, and he took the opportunity to force you to your knees. His crotch was pressed to your face now, even fouler than his breath, and you could feel his…arousal pressing solidly against you. "That's what you're for, stupid. Now take it out and serve me before you make me angry."

Your stomach was clenching and turning, but the rest of you felt numb. There was no one else in the corridor, which meant no one was around to stop this, but at least it also meant that no one else would see it. Gradually, you realized that your cheeks were wet, which then made you aware that your body was wracked with sobs and shivers. You couldn't move your arms to obey even if you wanted to. Your eyes had long since been clenched shut.

One second the man was standing there with his fingers dug painfully into the top of your head, but the next second, he was smashing against the wall on the other side of the corridor. Cool hands slid under your arms and pulled you to your feet once more, and it was only when you recognized the touch that you could bring yourself to open your eyes. You struggled to come up with an apology or even some kind of explanation for your behavior, but Loki's eyes held little anger as he studied your face.

"What did he do?" He demanded in that low voice that you recognized as dangerous. "Did he hurt you? Where did he touch you?"

"Just my face..." You didn't need to look away from Loki to check whether the bruises were already forming on your arms: you could feel them. "My prince, I am sorry I—"

"Stop." It was a command, another one not to be disobeyed. "Whatever you are sorry for, my lady, it was his fault. Are you hurt anywhere else? You are trembling."

You shook your head and allowed him to pull you closer. "Just...shaken, sire," you mumbled. A guard, likely summoned by the sound of a body crashing into the marble walls, finally appeared, and Loki hissed orders for the man to be thrown into a cell for the foreseeable future, but you were somewhat distracted by your own attempts to regain control over your muscles. Loki smoothed his hand along your back and began walking the two of you away from that place. You didn't really pay attention to where you were going until you stopped again.

He had not taken you back to your chambers. Instead, he led you to another door, much larger and more ornate than the few that you had already seen. This…this was the door to a room belonging to someone more important than you. This was a prince's door, which meant that behind it was a prince's chambers. And his bed. And… You turned to gape uncertainly at your prince. Did he expect an act of gratitude towards him for saving you from the brute in the corridor?

"Do not look at me like that," he said, and if you didn't know better, you would almost have called his tone tender. He reached out to brush a tear from your throbbing cheek. "I expect nothing from you tonight. Come inside."

Where else would you go? You hadn't been paying enough attention to know exactly where in the castle you were, so it wasn't as though you could make your way back to your own quarters, so…you followed Loki into his quarters.

It was dark, as you would have expected, and cool, with a strange but intoxicating earthen scent in the air. Once you were inside, he slammed the door behind you and began pacing. You were busy examining his room (tapestries lined several walls, and you might have suspected they were the Queen's doing if their colors did not match the rest of the room. You caught a few words from the prince—"animal" and "treachery" and "filth"—but you tried not to listen. The room was, as you would have expected, quite full of the color green but accents of a bright sapphire peeked through in places as well. You kept your arms crossed tightly in front of your breasts as you turned your attention to the man stalking the considerable length of the room. He was muttering a single string of words now, and when he came closer you realized what he was saying.

"Mine. You are mine." He fixed his eyes on your face. His nostrils flared, but you didn't know the exact reason why until he placed his hand along your cheek where your pulse beat steadily beneath the skin. It was certainly bruised now, and possibly even swollen—although the coolness of your prince's touch felt wonderful on the heat emanating from your skin, the pressure was still painful. "He hurt what is mine." There was a fierceness in his voice but you did not fear it. Instead, you pressed your hand gingerly against his and attempted a smile.

"But you stopped him," you reminded him. If he hadn't nodded, you might have suspected that he hadn't heard you—nothing in his face changed, and his muscles remained taut, strained against his clothing.

"I will spread the word that you are not to be touched," he said. "This should be common knowledge, but I suppose I cannot always expect such intelligence from my father's soldiers. I will not share you, my lady, make no mistake. Any man who lays his unworthy finger on you will be put to death."

"Sire, is that not just a little…too far?" Certainly you did not want to run into the man again any time soon, but at the same time, you weren't sure that he deserved to die for his actions. But the prince shook his head. With a sigh, you slipped your arms around his waist and embraced him, shyness overrun by the emotions that filled the room. After a moment or two, his arms found their way around your shoulders and he held you tightly. Your shivers dissipated as you stood there together, leaning on each other. Before long, his hands moved once again, this time to work the buttons down your back. He was removing your dress, or at least unbuttoning it. Still, surrounded as you were by his arms, you could not exactly pull away to stop him.

"My lady. He attacked you, a royal guest, in your own home. He hit you, and was going to do much worse besides, and still you care about his life?" His expression was unreadable. It was all you could do to keep yourself from smiling wryly at his rage and confusion. Had he himself not done similar things, and worse, to you during your stay here? Had he forgotten, or were his own actions excused? He was a prince, after all. "You smile again. Why are you smiling?"

Was it better to lie, or to remain silent?

"It is nothing, my lord, I just…sire, you are not completely innocent of those things yourself." You could have stopped there, but certainly the damage had already been done. "The first time you visited me you threatened me with much worse than that man in the hallway, and the next night in the garden, you did very nearly the same thing that he did tonight." The silence stretched between you, and you could almost feel the anger bubbling up in the prince. You had mere moments to explain yourself, or to try to salvage the situation. Your stupid, big, stupid mouth. The next words spilled from your mouth in a hasty stream. "Of course, I understand that your birth and my position make things…different in your situation, but do you not at least see the similarities?" You kept your eyes averted and your head ducked low. The more meek and submissive you could make your body language, perhaps the less of an effect that your words would have on his temper.

But still he did not speak. He felt dangerous again. Was there nothing you could say?

"Sire, please do not misunderstand me. That man's intentions were cruel, while yours—"

"Enough."

His voice cut you off, and though the temptation to steal a glance at his face was great, you resisted. "My father's soldiers would rip you apart, given half the chance. There are whispers coming from their quarters that would make you quake with fear. They are selfish, bloodthirsty men who would like nothing more than to catch a lady like you outside of the village one summer afternoon and spend the rest of the day making her wish she'd never been born. It is only my own selfish nature currently keeping you safe."

It was probably true. You remained silent, however, your instinct of self-preservation finally kicking in. He placed his hand upon your cheek again, seemingly mindful of the pressure of his touch. One of the shoulders of your dress had slipped down, and his other hand was tugging on it before you could replace it. With one quick, angry yank, the beautiful material ripped and pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing bare before your prince. You had, after all, received no other garments besides the gown.

"I am aware that I am a monster, my lady. You need not remind me of that." His voice was icy as he walked a tight circle around your body. You crossed your arms in front of yourself protectively, but you could only cover so much, and his fingers raked along the swell of one of your buttocks, making you jump. "But it would serve you well to remember that there are far more terrible monsters out there waiting for you."

In reality, you should have been thanking the prince for his kindness and apologizing for your insolence. Maybe another kind of woman might even have used her body to distract the prince and apologize without words. But all that fell from your mouth as you stood there trying not to shiver was a pathetic "I do not think you are a monster."

Loki snorted bitterly and without humor. "More lies? You've said it yourself. I've kidnapped you and abused you and plan to break you in order to turn you into my whore. If I am not a monster, my lady, then what am I?"

"A prince." You lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "How many have dared to tell you no, and lived to tell the tale?" He did not speak, but the smirk that crept across his face was all the answer you really needed. "And yet here we are. I am standing not three steps from your bed, wearing hardly a scrap of clothing. I could not stop you if you decided to force yourself upon me here and now. But you have promised me patience, and you are upholding that promise, and quite frankly, my lord, the rules are different for you. It is not that you are a monster, but that you are different. I merely wished to remind you, sire, that it is only by a quirk of time and nature that you are not the soldier in the cell, or he you."

"And is that truly the only way in which we are different?" His eyes bored into yours, holding tightly to your gaze despite your great urge to look anywhere but his face. Traces of amusement were creeping back into his expression. He crossed his arms as though to mimic you. There was at least one major difference, of course.

"No," you mumbled.

"Well?" He would not allow you to look away, but you could not stop yourself from squirming uncomfortably.

"That man's advances were frightening, my lord, and…wholly unwelcome."

The lack of surprise in Loki's face did not surprise you much, either. The entire point of his plan had been to charm and seduce you into his bed, after all. What was slightly more surprising was the lack of smugness in his smile. Cocky, arrogant Loki, for once, was not smirking at you. "Whereas my advances are frightening and only a bit unwelcome."

You had no answer for him, because ultimately you had no answer for yourself.

Still grinning, Loki pulled his tunic up over his head to reveal the pale expanse of his chest. His skin was no less striking in the torchlight of his chambers than it had been in the sunlight, and you stood transfixed until he held the material out to you. A peace offering? You pulled it on quickly to cover your body, and once you did, the prince took you in his arms once more. "My lady is never dull," he murmured into the top of your head. "It is a rare few who are willing to speak to me the way you do."

His arms tightened in anticipation, as though he knew you would pull back and attempt to explain yourself. "It is a good thing, pet, a very good thing. I have no interest in the weak and compliant. They are good to rule, but beyond that?" You felt him wave dismissively, and he released you to look at you carefully. His gaze was appreciative, but also...hungry. It was hard to keep from remembering the events of the afternoon, the sun and the heat and the way your body had felt under the prince's touch. You did not—would not—let your mind wander to the thought of his erection standing before you in the glittering light, or the way it might feel, cool and solid, pressing deep inside of you the way his fingers had. His mouth curled into a grin, as though he knew what you were thinking.

Just as you began to move away from him, hoping that the distance might clear your head, he scooped you into his arms and twirled the two of you into his bed. A startled noise escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself, but he held you carefully in the cage of his arms, and you were not hurt. "The things I long to do to you, my lady," he said. His voice was thick. "Our outing today was but a tiny example of the ways in which I can please you." He shifted so that he was stretched out above you and one knee pressed high between your legs. "I can show you stars and worlds you've never even dreamed of, and all you have to say is one little word." He lowered his head to explore your neck with his mouth, and the soft, persistent tugging on your tender flesh was enough to evoke a quiet moan. But it seemed every part of your body was beginning to ache, from the horse and then from the cruel soldier, and so you pushed against your prince's chest.

"Loki..." The words swirled and churned in your mind, resisting your attempts to shape them into speech. Your prince sighed heavily, though it was amusement, not disappointment, which rested on his brow.

"I understand, my lady. You are exhausted, and I am still your kidnapper." He brushed his thumb gently under your eyes and then pressed it to your lips to hold back your protests.. "Just know that, in this matter, you hold me in the palm of your hand. You may sleep safely. I assure you, nothing untoward will befall you while you do." He returned his lips to your neck for only a moment, and his teeth tugged on your skin just enough to make your eyes slide closed. "No matter how irresistible you look here in my bed."

If this was a ploy, it was...effective, you mused as you felt him shift to cover the two of you with a blanket. And despite the strangeness of the situation and the events of the day, you did find yourself nestling closer to the man whose bed you were sharing. His breath was soft on your shoulder, and if you had been more alert, you may have taken a moment to compare it to the disgusting soldier at dinner, but as it was, you let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the prince's breathing.