CHAPTER 7

A rose of a rare, disarming beauty to captivate the embittered and reluctant holder, engrossed to contemplate it for some time, heedless of the handmaids who ply their trade around him to prepare him for another duty owed to his title.
The scarlet petals draw intense iridescent shadings from the dim light, their color so dark that the rose looks almost black, in stark contrast to the original intense crimson of the petals. Welcomed by an impressive porcelain vase, Loki took care to place the flower in an antique niche next to him, so that he can enjoy its sight during the grueling preparations. A comforting vision, which helps him ignore the women's hands on his body, and tolerate the unwelcome suit made of black leather, twisting his nose in distaste while seeing shiny silver motifs on tight sleeves, trousers, and small emerald gems both on the collar and on the sides of the boots.
‹‹ Be gentle, so I can take a breath! How clumsy you are, dammit! ›› He complains when the maid closes the zipper purposely placed to exalt the sinuosity of his back.

‹‹ Forgive us, Prince! ›› She is quick to apologize, knowing well the bad temper of their Lord, but he is now lost in intimate thoughts, sweet and bitter at the same time.
Today Loki has to have lunch with the Queen and Thor, his future husband, in the same room where they celebrated the engagement just a few hours ago.

Two more days before he would have presumed that event - his intolerable humiliation - a formalization of his captivity, but now Loki is not so sorry to have lived through it.

He is forcibly imagining how it may be to be bound for life to his former older brother.

"Do you really love me Thor? Do you love me so much to accept everything that I did to you? "

He continues to wonder, wondering also why his heart is beating stronger every time he is rethinking the words on the small parchment, jealously kept between his fingers.

"Would it be the same if Midgard wasn't lost? Would you nevertheless choose me, even if you could see her? "

He grinds his teeth to evoke the image of Jane's sweet face, the human who made his brother fall in love with her unquestionable inner beauty.

Jane, devoted to high ethical and moral principles, so suitable for a man like Thor.

And he, Loki?

Quite the opposite to a faithful and loyal companion.

'How do you think you can compete with a woman like that?'

Impossible.

"You will never be a true Prince, you're only Thor's temporary bed toy, you are his whore." Fandral's harsh statements echo in his head and intensify his fear of being only a plaything for his betrothed.

"And if that animal had been right? Besides, Thor forced me to make love to him like I was his property."

The parchment shrinks when his hands fist to vent frustration, but the handmaids don't realize his torment, although they're admiring the gentle oval in the discrete reflection of the mirror.
Loki is a master of deception, his expression remains impassive while despair ravages within.

The soldier guarding outside makes a sudden entrance and stops at the threshold, honoring the Prince with a respectful bow.

‹‹ Her Majesty the Queen and Lady Sif ask permission to enter, my Lord. ›› The man announces, minding well not to meet his gaze.

Loki raises a hand to dismiss the handmaids and receives puzzled his female visitors who perform a respectful bow, even if the gesture is not reciprocated.
‹‹ My Prince! ›› Loki's gaze, full of hate, rests on Sif's arrogant smile.

She pays him homage greeting him with convoluted theatricality.

‹‹ Forgive our impromptu visit. ›› The beautiful Warrior continues, amused by the impatience on his face. ‹‹ You look splendid, our Lord Thor will be charmed! ›› She concludes the humbling elocution that so irritates the haughty Prince.
‹‹ I can't expect an appropriate attitude from a vulgar woman like you, ›› Loki retorts, pleased to wipe off her arrogant look.
‹‹ Prince Loki, future spouse of the heir of Asgard. ›› Even the Queen tries pleasantries.

She lifts the long purple robe in her hands to ease her pace while advancing towards the ethereal young man.

‹‹ Mother … ›› He says respectfully through gritted teeth, wary for the unexpected visit.
‹‹ My beloved son, let me hug you. ›› She asks when she finally reaches him.

Loki wants and fears their closeness, as he fears that the gesture does not reflect in any way the emotional participation of the woman.
‹‹ I'm so glad to have you back! Fate was magnanimous with me! I am again by my two beloved sons, that I so feared to lose in an absurd fight for the throne! ›› The Queen soon disbands the cold embrace to take his hands in hers and admires, moved, the ancient family ring, until Loki frees himself from her grasp, visibly upset.

‹‹ What do you want? What is the reason for your visit? ›› He questions without fake pleasantries as he uncomfortable diverts his gaze, unable to hide his feelings. ‹‹ If you're coming to remind me my duties towards my husband, I have them in mind. Leave now! ››

The maidens turn away from the two royals, the guard chooses to go away and return to his task, Sif shakes her head somewhat aggrieved, but she does not intervene to support the Queen.

Frigga is hurt by his rejection, the glacial aggression against her hurts her mother's heart, but the eyes of her rebel son show regret for his harsh words and make her not to give in yet.

Loki's affection is still alive and strong.

His mother quietly rummages inside the old dresser where she retrieves a brush, the same that Loki transformed into a stiletto two nights before to attack Thor.

"I'm the Queen of Asgard, I'll be strong and I will address his cruelty to win his future love."

Frigga says to herself, holding the brush to her chest.

She breaths deeply to recover determination and sternness, before turning and disguising her pain with a smile full of love, the only effective weapon against him in her power.

Gently placing her hands on Loki's shoulders when next to him again, their image reflecting in the large mirror, side by side, an ephemeral family portrait.

‹‹ Let me help you, my son. ›› Is her simple request, with veiled eyes veiled in nostalgia.

The Queen combs the silky dark hair with touching tenderness and she feels with relief the young Prince softening under that loving care.

Mother and son together, together again.

‹‹ If I speak and act intransigent, now and in the future, it will only ever be... for your own good. ››
Her voice breaks, her hands stop, her mouth presses delicately on the crown of his head and kisses it with all the love she repressed until then.

Loki feels his mother's tears wetting his forehead, but he goes on impassively watching his image in the mirror and forces himself to ignore her obvious suffering.
‹‹ You must believe this: I love you as much as I love Thor. ›› The woman confesses.
‹‹ Truly? ›› The young man asks amazed, trying to read her eyes while taking in that statement, so twisted for him.

She nods to confirm the revelation, and after one last caress to his beloved face, Frigga finally turns and exits.

Loki shakes with harsh chills, as if the temperature in the room has dropped suddenly; he turns to observe her dignified exit accompanied by Lady Sif, unmindful of good manners, not saying goodbye as he should.

It's painful for Loki having to admit his unchanged need of her motherly warmth.

Returned to the attentions of dutiful servants, the Prince lets out a slight sigh, but none of them is aware of his inexcusable weakness.

Thor detests waiting: his warrior nature has done poorly for his patience.

The heir nervously drums his fingers on the banquet table due to the wearing time spent expecting his beloved while his mother pours some wine in three golden chalices, trying to fill the waiting.

Sitting at the large table in the center of the room, the Prince of Asgard looks distracted at the vast surroundings that appear even greater in their renewed somberness.

The curtains conceal the door windows of the terrace; daylight radically changes the room where the ceremony of betrothal with the only person he desires to have for ever at his side took place. Loki.

Beloved brother, precious friend, deadly opponent, and now, for his own immense joy, faithful companion.

Loki adores making an entrance onto the scene; it's in his nature to push it, constantly looking for attention through morbid histrionics.

Showing up in the dining hall an hour in delay, he knows exactly how to pose for Thor to forgive his lack of respect without any complication.

And he makes no mistakes.
His sinuous walk emphasized by the height of the heels draws the attention of his betrothed; the erotic magnetism of the black leather clinging to his legs, the long green cloak, which sways behind like a deadly and beautiful snake exalts his innate charm.

‹‹ My love! ›› Thor heads towards him, meeting him with such ardor that he flips his chair with his red velvet mantle and drops it heavily on the polished marble.
It's sweet for Loki to feel enclosed in his strong, protective arms again, as he laughs for that momentum of impulsive euphoria.

His fiancée's arms enclose his hips and the younger man is pulled off the ground.
‹‹ So much fervor, my Lord! ›› He exclaims amused.
‹‹ It's the excitement of meeting you! I almost feared you wouldn't come! ›› He whispers to the Prince, smiling happily. ‹‹ I'm glad you're here, I missed you like I miss the air I breathe! ››
‹‹ The fault is yours and your horrible taste of clothing. ›› Says the younger man ‹‹ This attire demanded an enormous extent of time to be fitted to my figure! It's impossibly complicated ... and uncomfortable as well as vulgar! ›› He hisses pungently in Thor's ear, sending shivers down his spine.
‹‹ I say that every minute of waiting was well spent, ›› Thor replies. ‹‹ It is really worth it, you're beautiful Loki! ›› Thor tells him, looking at him with eyes full of love.
‹‹ Barbarian! ›› The younger prince replies, with a haughty smirk, eyeing the severe dark clothing under the silver armor.

‹‹ Spoiled brat! ›› The Thunderer retorts, bringing his lips closer to those of his sensual teaser, to claim a long, passionate kiss returned once without hostility.
Pleased by the persuasive dance of their tongues, the two lovers are lost in each other until the Queen decides to pull them back to reality.
Her clapping is an obvious warning for the servants that they can start bringing in the courses, so, obedient to her call, they cross the threshold, carrying huge silver trays heaped with delicious steaming dishes.

‹‹ My children! Take a seat next to me. ›› Frigga urges them gently. ‹‹ You will spend pleasant moments together later, but now let me enjoy your agreeable company. ››
‹‹ Sorry, mother. ›› Thor says embarrassed, promptly retrieving the fallen chair in the silent laughter of his two companions.

Sitting himself at the head of the table, Thor turns a smug look to his left where it meets Frigga's serene face, then to his right, pausing to contemplate Loki's beautiful eyes turned towards the other end of the table.

His happy demeanor fades away; Loki's disappointed.
Thor knows what Loki's thinking.

‹‹ Our father will sit with us, soon. ›› He says.

Loki hears the compassionate voice breaking through his intimate thoughts and, ashamed to have been caught in a moment of vulnerability, goes back to his usual attitude.
‹‹ I don't care about him. Three more days and I'll be free to choose in whose company I'll have my meals. ›› He acidly retorts, while tasting a mouthful of spicy meat from his plate. ‹‹ Ah! This is disgusting! ›› He complains loudly.

The long fingers seek the cup, leading it to his lips, and he drinks, eager to remove the unexpected nauseating taste as soon as possible.

‹‹ Loki! ›› Thor chides quickly, disillusioned in seeing Loki's hostility resurface so soon.

Something in the Trickster's eyes changes drastically, as he is still distressed.

The gleaming emerald irises fade into an eerie crimson colour, his diaphanous skin takes a slight tinge of turquoise, the thin lips recall the intense color of blood.
Just a few moments, and then he turns back to normal, but it's enough to upset Loki, who instinctively checks the horrified look of his betrothed in a silent request for explanations.
‹‹ You don't feel well, my beloved? ›› Thor enquires of his condition, seeing Loki pale and rising a hand to his chest.

‹‹ What … what happened? What have you done? ›› Loki says, but it is clear by now by Thor's baffled look that he's totally foreign to Loki's sudden illness.

Somebody completely different is responsible and he suddenly knows when looking in her crystalline eyes brimming with tears, from the violent blush of her cheeks, from the tremor of her fingertips.
‹‹ Forgive me, if you can … ›› Frigga manages to say in a broken voice, her face marked with the agony of a mother forced to hurt her own son.
‹‹ YOU! You've been to ...! ›› Loki hisses in pain, pointing his finger at the cause of the cryptic malaise. ‹‹ You, damned Asgardian, you betrayed me again! You have no right to decide my life! ››
Anger, dismay, pain.

The deceived young man brings a hand to touch his flat stomach, his breath becomes labored, sudden cold sweat pearls on his forehead, as a colossal heat assaults his insides, alternating to intense piercing pain forcing him to cry out in discomfort.
‹‹ Loki! ›› Upset, Thor leaves his place to help his visibly troubled companion, but his support is not well received.

‹‹ No! Do not come near me! ›› Loki yells at him, punching him in the chest with frustration, while he bursts into desperate tears.
‹‹ Stop it! Don't dismiss me, I mean you no harm! ›› Thor is upset by the inexplicable occurrence and tries to appease his lover's panic with all the affection within himself.
‹‹ Don't touch me! ›› Loki shouts and leaves the table to avoid any physical contact with his fiancée, trying to reach the exit.
‹‹ NO! Come back! ›› Thor prays loudly, but it's not enough to stop his lover's hasty escape.

Thor sighs broken-hearted, looking dismayed at the large door for moments that seem to last an eternity.

‹‹ Why, mother? ›› He questions her. ‹‹ Your thoughtless deed ruined everything! I do not know what wicked trick you have inflicted on Loki, but I lost his hard won confidence and it is only your fault as it seems! ›› He says, while he furiously advances towards her, his face hardened in anger.
‹‹ It is the will of Odin, my son. I followed your father's strict command; he deemed this necessary for you to join in marriage with his blessing. ›› Frigga tries to justify her actions facing her son's rage she knows she well deserves.
‹‹ What did our father demand of Loki? Speak to me! ›› He urges for enlightenment.

The Prince's question does not receive any explanation.

The Queen remains composed, still in place, despite the chilling shouts of the wild warrior, her eyes fixed on his clenched, quivering fists, aching to quiet his restless mind.

Frigga, wise ruler ready to make difficult choices, even the extreme sacrifice in order to defend her beloved children.

That wretched fate requires of her this day her honor to be sacrificed in order to protect the union between the two young princes, worshipped and loved.

The fair Queen has fulfilled her duty; she did not falter an instant.

She's willing to pay the cost with her broken heart, shattered into thousand pieces.

After leaving the palace, Loki finds sanctuary within the peaceful quietness of the Royal Garden. The Prince looks at the placid waters of the private lake, where magnificent swans have found plentiful accommodation. Attracted by the elegant birds, graceful in their bearing, he's lost in his thoughts.

"My body begins to rebel against my mind. I have to find a way out, or it will be the end for me." He says to himself, while his fingers play with a delicate orchid plucked from the lush lawn, and, distracted by the rhythm of his own heart he is swiftly taken under magical influence.

The Lord of Deceptions lowered his guard, and fell into the trap.

He is aware of the arcane spell that struck him defenseless as his body is bent inexorably to its powerful effects.

Witch blood, skillfully mixed with wine he drank from his cup, absorbed without having any suspicion.

As an undisputed expert sorcerer, he recognizes the uncommon ritual, through which he has acquired the ability of a woman to procreate.

Thereafter it shall be sufficient to lie one night with his fiancée, to accept the fertile seed in his womb, and Odin, Allfather, ruler of Asgard, will finally have what he expects from the two princes: an heir to his Kingdom.

Loki does not intend to grovel to the hated King, but it won't be easy to resist the call of lust.
Because of the spell his libido is increased and blurs every sparkly thought; the magic pull to join his charismatic fiancée in flesh and soul amplifies his natural desire raised in recent heated nights.

"I won't let myself be lost to the weakness of my body. I won't allow you to control me, Allfather!" He proudly avows.

Forcing himself to take in long regular breaths, he ignores the thrumming in his ears and rise of body heat, focusing his interest on a majestic black swan, floating apart from the others, perhaps rejected because it's different.

That unusual swan, singular, distinct, swims away from the others.

"I understand well how you feel, my little friend."

Loki cannot help but compare himself to the black swan.

‹‹ Alone. ››

The idea in his mind echoed in an unexpected voice, blatantly mocking.

Fandral.

Emerald eyes suddenly meet the glacial ones of the intruder while his body is too close to him and he feels all his warmth, despite the mighty armor, a feeling that sets his impaired senses aflame.
‹‹ What are you doing here, remote from everything and everyone? Where are your servants? Where is your Thor? ›› The swordsman asks.

Loki has never felt so afraid of him as in this moment.

‹‹ Go away ... you idiot! ›› Loki insults him, resisting to the impulse to kiss those lips, suddenly turned irrationally attractive.
‹‹ There is something different in the way you look at me … ›› The Asgardian warrior ponders, taking in his blown pupils and the slight blush on pale cheeks. ‹‹ Is it perhaps a perverse attraction to your tormentor what I read? ›› His hot breath confuses Loki, craving to taste that blasphemous mouth with increasingly fierce beats, his hot body trembles, pleading to join that handsome man , but he instantly repents.
‹‹ You see what you want to see! ›› The cunning Trickster defends himself, but his words are empty.
Fortunately, pride comes to the rescue, saving him from committing an unforgivable error and stopping his womb from becoming a hot shelter for the future descendants of one he hated fiercely.

‹‹ NO! Stop! ›› Loki cries out, venting his frustration from the conflict between flesh and mind, rejecting Fandral's daring hands. ‹‹ You know what I'll do? I'll ask Thor to give me your head on a silver tray as a wedding gift! ››

Fandral consents to the refusal at the last moment, partly amused.
Fickle, misleading, Loki - irresistibly fascinating.

‹‹ You're like a peregrine falcon, a quick and skillful predator, impossible to capture. Thou will never grovel to anyone! ›› Fandral voices his thoughts loudly, while he watches Loki slide away with hurried steps .

"A Peregrine Falcon."

Loki's smug smirk is back. He finds Fandral's comparison spot on, but his silence, as he eagerly wants to return to the Palace, as far as possible from the swordsman, guards his thoughts.

"Damn it! I need those rune stones now, more than ever, but there's no time to wait for a suitable opportunity to break into Thor's rooms ... I'll have to rethink my plans."

The deceiver considers, obsessed with retrieving the mystic stones, his last hope to regain his much desired freedom.

In the meanwhile, Fandral observes the ethereal figure of Loki blurring increasingly against the horizon.

"Three more days to the wedding, but before that date, you will be mine. And after that, you will be dead!".

An irresistible and seductive fragrance of almonds.

As it often happens at dusk, Thor heads towards the Rainbow Bridge, a silent ritual he repeats ever since Loki's madness forced him to cause damage beyond repair.

An important place for the Asgardian heir, as it helps him mend his confusion, torment, insecurities, and find himself, his lost peace, his balance.

On that bridge he swore he wouldn't make any more mistakes, when he thought Loki was hopelessly lost to the void.

The universe answered him, acceding to his loving heart.

Love and death.

Thin is that border for Thor.

The ramparts are wrapped in the dark mantle of night, the towers are mute sentinels, iridescent in the moonbeams to such an extent that they reflect in the Lake like huge liquid crystals.

Mysterious, the night; the moon makes it strange.
It looks so big and bright compared to the obscure nine worlds visible to the naked eye in a rich and bright firmament enthralling the eyes of Prince Thor, who stands at his window in contemplation for a while now.

The creaking handle warns Thor that he is no longer a solitary witness to the spectacular view and he instinctively turns to watch the mysterious guest.

The prince looks puzzled at the silhouette that crosses the threshold.

His heart takes to beat furiously when recognizing the figure, even partly hidden by darkness.

Excited about the unexpected visit, Thor props his naked back against the wall in search of instant support. His hand instinctively seeks for the leather purse where he placed the magical runes, feeling it between the massive belt and pants fabric.

‹‹ A beautiful Moon, isn't it, my Lord? ›› Loki mutters in a velvety tone, advancing few steps just to show his face.

Thor watches Loki walking towards him, beautiful, sensual, provocative, as no woman will ever be to him.
‹‹ It's your work, isn't it? ›› The heir says, pleased to see him. ‹‹ You have bewitched the sky, haven't you?! ›› He heckles Loki, hearing a sly sneer as a tacit confirmation.

‹‹ I did it for you, my Lord. ›› Loki gently whispers.

His thinned eyes are mischievously observing Thor's sculpted abdominals, so inviting.
Thor notices his particular interest; that look makes him feel like a valuable spoil, but it intrigues and excites him.
‹‹ Due to what? ›› He asks, curious.

Loki does not respond with words, but he smiles, while his long fingers trail over Thor's chest, slipping to his belt, where they are captured by strong, calloused hands.

Thor observes his enigmatic face.

There is something devilish in those emerald eyes, the cold sneer is disturbing.

But it doesn't matter to him; he does not intend to investigate the reason for Loki's presence.
Loki is in his room now; he wants to make love to him and craves him.

Deception or truth?
It's no longer relevant for the utterly in love prince.
Nothing has to make sense now.

-Translation by:

Alessandra Zago
-Edit by
Sigynthefaithful