Yikes! So many apologies for taking so long to update this story! If you're still reading, I thank you for your patience. "Real life" and all its worries has a way of bottling up my creative inspiration and tossing it abandoned into some dusty corner. All too often I have to try to go after it again while fighting off anxieties about silly things like money and jobs. How inconsiderate. Doesn't Real Life know I have a story to finish?!
When you returned, there was a fresh dress waiting for you. This one was silvery like the one the day before, but with rich green embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. Even now, you had yet to really get used to the beautiful things provided to you here at the castle, and a part of you was just waiting for the day when you would receive a simple shift of rough cotton instead of the fine silks. Loki must have caught you staring reverently at the dress as it laid across his bed, must have seen how you held one sleeve carefully in your hand and touched the tiny stitches of emerald thread as though they were something precious, because he came to you. His hands found your hips and pulled you backwards, against his body even as he rested his chin on your shoulder.
"Tell me what you are thinking," he said. It was an order, of course, but delivered in a tone of voice which softened it almost into a request. That was simply how Loki asked for things. You felt a faint smile turn up the corners of your mouth. Of course the man would not be used to asking for things nicely, with pleases and thank yous. Somewhat emboldened by the fact that he could not quite see you, you turned your face just slightly to press your cheek against his.
"I am just remembering the clothes I had in the village, and how I never in a a hundred lifetimes would have thought I'd end up here, wearing such beautiful things."
You heard him laugh, a short puff of air through his nose, and his arms tightened around you. "My lady, you would make a rough-hewn sack look beautiful. Would you like help dressing?"
"Only if you can keep from ravishing me, my lord." Your tone was light, and you closed your hands around the prince's wrists as they lay at your waist, just in case he needed assurance that you were joking. But of course he did not.
"I make no promises." You could not be certain, but he seemed to smile as he spoke. He extracted his hands from yours, and soon you felt his lips like feathers against your shoulders. He worked the buttons that ran along your back, and slipped the dress down your shoulders, then past your hips, and allowed it to pool on the floor. But he did not step away to allow you to pull the new one on. Instead, his cool hands ghosted down your arms and then up your belly to cup your breasts as he pressed his face against the nape of your neck. "You smell wonderful," he all but rasped against your skin.
"My lord, I smell of pond water, and probably dirt and sweat besides," you protested. You would have liked to bathe once more, but that would be a waste—of both time and water. In response, the prince closed his hands around your hips again and pulled you up flush against his body. He was aroused. It pressed against you through his trousers, and the realization that it was because of you was dizzying.
"Does my lady believe me now?" His breath was hot against your ear. Your eyes slipped closed and, despite yourself, a quiet moan escaped your lips. He held you for just a little bit longer, his fingers spread wide as though to touch as much of your skin as he could, but then he released you.
Right. Clothing. Because you were going to dinner. A bit flustered, you picked up the lovely dress and pulled it on. It fit perfectly, as they all did, and you entertained the notion that there might be a room somewhere in the palace full of seamstresses or possibly magicians whose sole purpose was to create these works of beauty on a daily basis. But of course that was ridiculous, and you laughed to yourself as the prince pulled at the strings that would hold the dress together.
"One day I will know the insides of your mind," he murmured as he closed his hands around your shoulders. "Sometimes you are truly unfathomable to me."
But he needed no response from you—his touch slipped away and, when you turned to look at him, he was shucking his clothes in favor of cleaner ones as well. You should have looked away, turned to work your hair into a braid or something so it would not look so wild in front of the King and Queen, but his skin caught the flickering lights in the room, which in turn caught your attention. You watched, captivated, as his lean musclesstretched and flexed with his every movement. When he pulled a clean shirt on over the smooth expanse of his back, it left you feeling almost...bereft.
He turned, and something must have been showing in your face, because a smug smile crept across his as he stalked back toward you. "Do you see something you like?" His fingers hooked in the waist of his trousers as he moved, and he worked them down his hips. By the time he was standing in front of you, he had already stepped out of them. He was still erect. You felt your cheeks burning as you tried to find a safe place for your eyes, but between the smug look on his face, and...his arousal, there wasn't much else to look at.
You took a step backwards, and lost your balance as your legs hit the bed. Well. This was familiar. You sank down among the furs and blankets, and the prince followed you. One hand crept beneath your skirts again, and you squirmed beneath him. "Loki—" You pushed against his chest, but there was no panic or fear coursing through you, only laughter. "Your family is expecting us."
"I am a prince. They can wait for me." He sucked greedily at your skin, teeth nipping your collarbone and sending goosebumps out like ripples in the pond. "Besides, they have my brother. What use have they for me?" His fingers climbed higher, but you pushed harder against him.
"Loki." Feeling bold, you cupped his face in both of your hands. "My lord. You will be missed." You sat up a bit to kiss him—lightly, so as to keep from inciting anything else. "Now will my dear prince please put his trousers on so that we might go to your family?"
"If you insist," he sighed, and slid off of the bed. You managed to keep yourself from watching as he moved catlike across the room, and to keep your eyes averted. He fastened his trousers and extended one long, pale hand towards you. "My lady."
Loki's family, it seemed, was used to his lateness. His mother smiled tolerantly at you as the prince pulled out your chair, and the king? Well, he was unruffled. As before, you immediately found yourself swept away into the conversation of the ladies around you. They were kind, but just shallow enough to keep from turning the conversation towards you. By the time the second course was brought out, you had turned it into an amusing game: watching as each woman took her turn to bask in the attention of the others sitting at the table with you and waiting to see how long she would hold it before another swooped it up. In any case, it was not particularly different from the bits of Loki's conversation with his brother and the soldiers at the end of the table. Honestly, you were not sure how anything even got done, with the lot of them squabbling and interrupting each other. At least the ladies felt no need to shout.
Something in Loki's voice pulled your attention away from the ladies. He sounded distressed, almost—frustrated. You had missed whatever had put him into such a state, but reached over beneath the table and rested your hand on his knee. He did not move for a few moments, and you could only assume that he was so wrapped up in his argument that he had not noticed, but then his long fingers were covering yours. His thumb brushed soft circles against the back of your hand and sent strange but lovely chills up the length of your arm.
"Perhaps the lady will know!" Thor's voice boomed across the table, as though perhaps he thought you were in another room instead of just a few seats away. You looked up at him, more than a little surprised and uncomfortable at having been pulled into their conversation. "My brother is of the opinion that an army of men can turn a week's journey into one only three nights long. Have you ever heard of something so ridiculous?"
The prince's eyes were warm, but there was something in his voice that you did not like. You struggled to form an answer, while Loki squeezed your hand.
"Brother, do not bring her into this. Unlike me, she has not yet grown accustomed to your ways. I assure you—"
"It has been done," you finally managed. Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at you. "In my village, one of the elders was very ill, and so a team of riders were sent to fetch a healer. Forgive me, I cannot remember if the journey was meant to take six days or seven, but they returned on the afternoon of the third day, and the woman was cured." You looked around. If you had not been so confident in your story, you might have been unnerved by the looks you were receiving, but you had been old enough to understand the panic that coursed through the town, and to have loved the kind old lady dearly. "If a person is riding for something they feel is truly important I think there is very little that cannot be done."
Silence descended upon the table. Of course, you were still surrounded by the noises of the rest of the guests carousing at their respective tables, but even the ladies beside you had stopped talking and looked over. Your cheeks burned. It was not as though you had been telling a great and epic story, or even any story of much importance whatsoever. But everyone seemed...rattled, somehow. Should you have held your tongue, instead of contradicting the prince? But there was no danger in the air, and you did not feel afraid. He had asked you a question, after all, and you had merely answered. It was the truth: you had not made up some fantasy. Thor studied you for many long moments, his expression wholly unreadable. Just as you were about to stammer out some disqualification about how one of the horses had been nearly lame by the time the men returned, and how all of the riders had needed the next three days to recover from the grueling journey, a smile broke like the dawn across his face and he raised his goblet to you.
"Brother, if the lady says she has seen it done, then I shall believe her. I was mistaken!"
Everyone was still looking at you, and all you really wanted to do was hide your face and perhaps crawl under the table to hide, but of course that was ridiculous. The most you could do was duck your head and study the goblet set before you. It held a deep red liquid, almost black. Vaguely, you remembered seeing a similar goblet the last time you ate at the table, but you had been so nervous that you'd barely touched your food, let alone any drinks.
Cautiously, you took a sip. It was cool and sweet, with a curious biting heat somewhere in the back of your throat, or your nose. Still, it was lovely. You took another drink and allowed your eyes to slide closed as you savored the taste and the way it filled your senses. It would be wine, you knew, or else some other kind of alcohol: the smell reminded you vaguely of your father, though of course without the stench of his body mixed in.
A bracing warmth spread through you with only a few sips, and somehow it seemed to matter less that all eyes had been on you. Gradually, the conversations at the table went back to normal, and as they did, you felt Loki's fingers tighten around yours once again. He leaned in close.
"Was my lady defending my honor?" He whispered. His breath tickled your ear, and you could hear the faintest trace of a smile in his voice.
"Your brother asked me a question, my lord, and I answered honestly," you replied. "I hardly think one such as yourself truly needs defending." You smiled at him for a moment before allowing yourself to be drawn back into the ladies' conversation. They looked at you differently now, though, and a few of them were actually asking you questions—where had you come from, what was it like there, things like that. You took another long drink from the goblet, hoping to steel yourself against their fleeting curiosity until it finally gave out, and smiled with gratitude at the girl who came up behind you, seemingly from nowhere, in order to refill it.
It was not that you were ashamed of your home, of course—at least, not just that you were ashamed. If the blonde servant from the other night knew about your humble origins, then surely everyone else did too, and you had to expect that at least a few other people shared her feelings towards you. But you found yourself relaxing as you spoke, at least partly thanks to the wine but also because no one was sneering at you. The ladies wore expressions of open interest and fascination, and encouraged you to speak long past the point when ordinarily another would have interrupted. You couldn't help but feel a growing sense of...strangely enough, of belonging, even as they made little exclamations amongst themselves about how hard it must have been to live in a tiny cottage, or to have been without a mother. The differences should have served only to increase the divide between you, but they...didn't. A smile crept across your face as finally the conversation began to turn to other things.
Someone came up behind you once again and, thinking it was another servant, you moved aside and turned your head to thank them, but it was the prince—Thor—and his face was very close to yours. "May I have this dance, my lady?" he asked. It was only then that you noticed that many of the other guests had cleared a dance floor in the middle of the room, perhaps too taken with the band's lively music to think about propriety. Or perhaps, you realized as you saw that the King himself was twirling the Queen into the middle of everything, with her head thrown back in laughter, this was proper. You looked past Thor's expectant face to Loki, but he was apparently still deep in conversation with the man sitting across from him. Very well. You drew in a deep breath, ignoring the way your head and limbs seemed to be buzzing with the alcohol, and offered him your hand.
"Of course I cannot say no to you, Sire," you said with a smile. He grinned and whisked you away from the table, into the throng of people moving together to the music.
He was so different from your prince, large and warm as he held you to him on the floor. In fact, the only thing that gave him away as the brother of Loki was his skill at dancing. He moved with a grace that belied his size, just as Loki had seemed enchanted at the ball. The ball. It felt as though that had been years and years ago. But just as you had felt like a graceless animal dancing with your prince in the ballroom, you felt clumsy and foolish dancing with Thor here among everyone else. You had not even had that much wine, or so you'd thought: plenty of others around you had had their goblets refilled many more times than you, but here you were, uncoordinated and dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the royal prince before you.
"I must apologize for my behavior," Thor whispered conspiratorially against your ear. His breath was thick and sweet. "I think I have had a bit too much to drink." He spun you then, out and away from him for just a moment, and then swallowed you back up into his arms. One hand covered yours easily, and the other gripped your waist. You fought back the feeling of being trapped, held captive, because that was silly.
"I may have overdone it a bit myself," you confessed. That would be that, then: in the future you would have no more than one serving of wine at a time. A little bit of it seemed to calm you, but too much of it set your heart and mind to racing. If you were in full control of your faculties, surely you would not be so uncomfortable dancing with the prince like this. He was being perfectly respectable, and it was only polite to get along with Loki's family, was it not?
"It becomes you, my lady. Your cheeks are flushed a most wonderful shade of pink." He pulled you closer still, and you couldn't be certain, but it felt like his lips had just grazed the outer shell of your ear. You straightened your shoulders and did your best to focus on your feet and the music. The song should end soon enough, and then you could retreat back to the safety of the table. When you realized that you were somehow associating being at Loki's side with being safe, you found yourself giggling aloud. How absurd a thought—and how mortifying your laughter. It soon dried in your throat, however, because yes, that time you had certainly felt Thor's lips press against your temple.
"It is not often that I envy my brother of something." Thor's voice came low, rumbling somewhere between his chest and his throat. "There is very little, after all that, he has that I do not already have. But you belong in the sunlight, don't you? Not locked away in a stone cell here in the castle." His hand was creeping lower along your back, still far from impropriety, but too close for your own comfort. What were you to do? You did not want to be here, like this, with him, but you also did not want to make a scene by pushing him away. Was this simply the way he was with people? Thor had always seemed friendly enough, and about as nonthreatening as a royal prince could seem, but the last time you had rejected a prince, you'd been locked into a bedroom by yourself for days on end.
So you did the only thing you could—you held your back ramrod straight and put as much distance between the two of you as you could without risking the anger of the man before you. "I—I am not..." You were not locked anywhere at this point, were you? The only thing truly stopping you from roaming the castle freely was the fact that you were unfamiliar with the twists and turns of the corridors, but that would come with time.
"May I cut in?" Loki's voice was tight, and you could hear the barely-restrained anger simmering beneath frail civility. Thor seemed unaffected: he looked at the other man and grinned as widely as ever, releasing you and stepping away.
"But of course, brother! I would never stand between you and your lady!" He winked at you and latched on to a passing lady, spinning her effortlessly through the crowd and away from the two of you.
Something was wrong. Loki was holding you too close. His grip on your wrist and around your waist was less about the expected form for this sort of dance and more...possessive. On the one hand, you were grateful for the support, because you were still feeling unsteady, and uncertain on your feet. But on the other hand, he was moving too fast, and his nails were cutting into your skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, which proved to be a mistake as you stumbled against him. Was there something you could say? This silence was oppressive, but something was preventing you from speaking. So you did the only thing you could do: you held tightly to your prince and tucked your head under his chin.
Not long after that, you felt him pull away from you. He did not release his hold on your wrist, even as he stalked away from the dancers and toward the door. You tried to keep up as he dragged you down the hall, worrying all the while that he would not stop even if you tripped and fell. The thought of him yanking you along the floor by your arm was simultaneously comical and frightening, but you made it to his quarters, where he finally let you go. He was pacing the room as he had the last time he'd stormed off down the corridors and away from dinner, muttering once again as you stood unsteadily in the middle of the room. After several long minutes, he turned to you, cool deadly rage seething on his face.
"Were you having fun, my lady?" His voice was deceptively calm. You took a step away from him, but he followed quickly and pressed deeper and deeper into your personal space. "Is my brother a good dancer? Are his arms strong and comforting?"
"What?" Your head was spinning now, and you were positive that it was not merely the alcohol. "Loki, what are you—"
"This is what he does," he hissed. He spun and strode away from you, but then seemed to think better of it and returned, once again standing too close. "Has he promised you the kingdom? Will he make you his Queen one day? Or is he more interested in a quick tumble in some sunlit corner of the palace while you still sleep in my bed so that you can laugh together about making me the fool?"
"What?" Your voice trembled as you fought to find more words. Where were such accusations coming from? It was hard to put together any coherent thought whatsoever, let alone something that might convince the prince in front of you of what he should already have known to be truth. "My lord, please..."
"Thor, the grand golden son who cannot stand to see me with anything he likes. It is not enough that he will be King, or that our father favors him." His voice was dripping with venom, his face a mask of hatred. But instead of setting your body to trembling, the sight somehow steeled your nerves.
"Loki, stop. I am no plaything or belonging. I am a person. And I am here with you." But you spoke softly, cautiously. He seemed more caged animal than prince, and such creatures could turn so easily.
"But you were not telling him no, were you? How am I to know you are not simply biding your time, waiting to move up the ranks as soon as you are able? All your protestations that you were no whore, your stubbornness and your reluctance to touch me, were they an act? The poor sweet virginal slut from the village here to sleep her way into power."
That was enough. Caged animal or not, you could not just stand here and allow him to shout such things at you. You planted your hands on your hips, hoping that the stance would give you at least the illusion of solidity. "I was raised never to tell a man no, Loki, let alone a bloody royal prince!" Your voice was shrill and wobbly, but it somehow satisfied you as the words ripped from your throat. You allowed all of the fear, all of the anxiety that you had felt these past few months to come out in your voice. "And might I remind you what happened the last time I refused to let a royal prince manhandle me on a dance floor?" Your heart was thudding in your ears, but for once you did not think about what the consequences for yelling at a prince might be. He clearly had no regard for consequences, so why should you?
"Yes, my lady, you wound up here with the prince of nothing." His level tone shamed you for your outburst, and his eyes burned like embers in his skull. "I am truly sorry, my lady. What torture. Believe me, I would send you away if I could."
It was too much. Your stomach was churning now, threatening to rebel against you entirely. You crossed your arms protectively in front of yourself and made your way to the edge of the bed. Maybe he would throw you to the floor, or ridicule your presumptuousness, but if you did not sit now, the dizziness would almost certainly send you to your knees anyway. What was going on? Why in the world would anyone like feeling like this, seek it out night after night? Perhaps this feeling was why your father was always so terrible. It was all you could do to remain sitting upright and maintain control over your stomach, and so you had no choice but to allow the tears to fall. You could only keep your head low and hope that the tears would disgust him, that he would turn around and leave you alone.
"Do not think for a second that childish tears will win you this argument," he finally said, but the anger in his voice was giving way to discomfort. When you did not answer him (because what could you even say at this point to change his mind?), you heard him sigh. You got the sense that he was standing at some safe distance with his arms crossed, trying to determine whether you were only pretending. Hah. "Are you ill?"
You shook your head. Would he acquiesce if you asked him to take you to your room, or call for a servant to do the same? Or would it be better if you told him he was right? Of course you were a cheap lying whore whose sole desire to someday be queen of the land. Your pride would not allow that. So all you could do was hold your tongue and do your best to pull yourself together for another bout with the prince once he became frustrated at your silence. You heard water being poured somewhere in the room, and then felt the prince return to stand in front of you, but instead of demanding that you rise and look upon your prince, he dropped to his knees before you, peering up into your face.
"Loki—" Your voice was as pathetic as it had ever been, broken and pleading. You just wanted to go to sleep: here or in your own room or in the stables, if you had to. You couldn't fight any more, not tonight. You tried to cover your face, make him go away, but he pulled your wrists down into your lap and held them there, so you closed your eyes instead."I drank too much. I swear I did not mean to, but then when your brother asked me to dance, I couldn't say no, then then his hands were on me, and his mouth, and he is a prince, Loki, I did not know how to stop him."
"Okay," he said, and his voice was low. "It's alright, pet. I know." You drew in a shaky breath, and something cool and damp was pressed against your face. Your eyes shot open and met his as he drew the cloth along your heated skin. "Father does like his wine exceptionally strong. I'm afraid you're going to feel even worse in the morning."
"I'm not sure that's possible," you groaned, and stopped fighting to keep your eyes open. The prince laughed and kissed the back of one of your hands before pressing the cloth into it.
"Do this yourself, and I'll undress you." He climbed onto the bed behind you and made quick work of the ties on your dress even as you hid your face in the blessedly cool rag. Thankfully, you remained steady on your feet when you stood to take the dress off, and Loki sat on the bed, watching as you slid between the blankets. When you were finally settled, he took the cloth back from you and held it to the side of your neck.
"Loki, that feels wonderful," you sighed, and lifted one hand to close your fingers gratefully around his elegant wrist. He brushed the thumb of his free hand across your cheek and you turned to press your face closer to his touch.
"Go to sleep, pet. With any luck, you'll sleep through your illness in the morning." With that, he moved the rag to rest upon your brow and slid off of the bed. You pried your eyes open just in time to see him pause in the doorway to look back at you.
"What about you? Where are you going?" You sat up, but he raised his hands as though to stop you. Even from across the room, it felt as though he had placed a heavy weight upon your shoulders, and so you allowed it to press you back into the mattress.
"I wish to be alone for a while, to think. I'll just be walking through the garden. No need to worry yourself. Just go to sleep."
You nodded quietly and settled back amongst the pillows as the doors clicked shut behind him. You were asleep even before your body's heat had time to turn the rag warm again.
It was late when Loki returned, and there was a headache threatening just behind your eyes but the cool darkness of the room offered some comfort. He must have woken you as he was removing his clothes, because you heard him go around to the side of the bed and slide in behind you. You cringed from him at first, as his skin was frigid from time outdoors, but then allowed yourself to melt against him, trading the heat of your feverish body for the comforting chill of his. He seemed surprised, but not particularly uncomfortable, when you turned to press your face into his chest, and snaked his arm around your back to hold you close.
Your lips shaped his name against his skin like a whispered prayer, and maybe he pressed his lips to the top of your head, but between the alcohol and your drowsiness, everything was still fuzzy around the edges, so you couldn't be sure.
"It's late," he rumbled. "Go back to sleep. The monster will protect you."
"My prince," you answered—maybe a correction, maybe an assurance—and if you added 'I love you', murmured half-asleep into the stillness of his chest, you could not be sure you had actually spoken it aloud, or merely called the thought to mind while you drifted into sleep.