Max had never seen a man made king before. There was a period of time, maybe a few years ago, when everyone she knew was obsessed with the British royal family. The wedding. The dress. The scandals. It hadn't appealed to her, primarily because the notion of royalty seemed so woefully outdated. It was the twenty-first century, for goodness sake. Why should anyone care about what some family on the other side of the ocean was doing with themselves, especially one with a limited reach and no real power?

Maybe, perhaps, the notion of pointless celebrities had been a sticky issue, one that continued to haunt her to this day. Tiffany had saved a few of magazines, the harpy gossipy ones, that had plastered her face next to Tony Stark's and Johnny Storm's, and on occasion Loki's, back in the aftermath of the Manhattan takeover. She'd never been one for celebrity business, but since then, she'd cared even less. Cue the royal wedding—royal this, royal that. People taking the day off work to watch two people they would never know get married. Max had a care factor of roughly zero for all of it.

She understood the symbolism behind it, of course. Having studied various royal families in her history classes over the years, and having taught the lineage of several more as both a TA and an actual professor, she could get behind the notion in an academic sense and nothing more.

But today she saw a king crowned, and she knew their lives would never be the same.

Loki had stayed locked away with Odin's small council and, she later learned, with a handful of his own representatives. For two whole days she waited, going down to the kitchens to eat, walking through the empty trading floor and wishing for something to keep her distracted. With Odin ill, all business throughout the royal palace had been paused. Even the feasting halls were empty, save one, for the entire staff and security teams within the palace walls could fill one small feasting hall and nothing more. She'd sat on the bottom step of the stairwell leading to Loki's tower, yearning for someone to talk to, wishing to see Loki again, just for a few minutes, so that she was in the loop.

Nothing.

Then he emerged, all weary eyes and tight smiles with the title of your highness following him around. She was greeted with gentle kisses in public and ferocious fucking in private, and after another two days of barely seeing him, she was at his coronation ceremony, seated on the stage before the whole of Asgard. He'd crafted her a gown of purple silk before the ceremony, telling her that he needed her support, that he needed to see her there on that stage. For support. For love. They both knew he wasn't Asgard's chosen son to lead.

He'd told her very little of how he was chosen to rule, but she gathered that the councils had debated the issue for the two days, eventually agreeing that it was in the realm's best interest that, until Thor returned, Loki ruled. She also connected the dots, pulling bits and pieces from his rambling, that major decisions would still need to be approved by the council and that many still thought he had something to do with Odin's situation.

While she didn't voice her opinion, Max couldn't help but agree with them.

But what was she supposed to say?

What words could she give, argue, shout, that would change the way the world around her was turning? She might have been on that stage, seated before thousands, placed amongst high ranking generals and advisors, but Max was still no one—not where it mattered, anyway. So she pressed a smile to her face, one that brightened whenever Loki looked to her with a crown on his head and a camp of red velvet attached to his shoulders.

And she bit her tongue, biding her time, until she could say something that mattered to someone who mattered.

Once he'd been crowned, the crowd offering surprisingly enthusiastic cheers, Loki stood before them wearing his handsomest smile. Even Max found it difficult to resist his charm, her body reacting at just the sight of him. With a magnificent golden staff in hand, an item just as symbolic as the crown, he addressed his subjects in a booming voice, so clear and even, as if this was what he'd been born to do. She clasped her hands together hard on her lap, watching the crowd, watching Loki, admiring him more than she ever had in that moment.

In his speech, he addressed Odin's sudden turn and what a tragedy it was. He commended Thor's bravery in his choice to defend Earth, promising to rule as Thor would: justly and fairly. He even brought up his old bid for power, an uncomfortable silence settling over all those in the golden arena, but claimed that he'd grown. He even glanced back to her briefly, and her cheeks coloured with a prickling intensity when, just for a moment, all eyes were on her too. He saw things differently now, Loki professed, and he desired a stronger Asgard. Unified. Powerful. Stable. After such a long era of war, it was a time for peace and prosperity throughout the realm.

The cheers that followed the last declaration were deafening, but almost expectedly so.

Many promises were made throughout the speech. Increased trade with other realms, with other systems. Working hard to lessen the divide between Asgard and Nornheim. Open marketplaces for all closer to the palace. More funds sent to provincial festivals. A door that was always open during the day to seek audience with the king.

As Max listened, she couldn't help but wonder how many despised the new king. What kind of threats were directly targeted on Loki now, and how many of them would come from the men sitting and standing with her on the stage? What would happen when Thor returned? From what she understood, defeating the army of frost giants shouldn't take long for the Asgardian army. In a short time, he'd be back. Would there be another two-day secret meeting to decide whether Loki ought to step down and hand the crown over to his brother?

All in all, the coronation ceremony stretched on for the better part of two hours, including the processions and speeches and ceremonial tasks. It struck her as odd that everyone would go to so much work for an interim monarch, especially if Loki was going to give the crown over to Thor, or even Odin once he awoke. But she said nothing. She smiled and clapped and nodded because at any given time, a thousand eyes could be fixed on her. Every part of her body stayed tense throughout the whole affair, her skin prickling under their stares, her mouth constantly dry.

Palms coated in a nervous sweat, she took Loki's hand when he offered it to her. With the ceremony over, the king and his court were to leave the ceremonial hall first, and he insisted she walk by his side. Hand-in-hand, they moved down the aisle, a sea of Asgardian faces on either side. Royal guards garbed in gold armor and red cloaks flanked them, keeping the cheering—or maybe shouting—crowds at bay.

She'd never seen Loki look happier. He practically glowed, his hand grasping hers so tight that it hurt. But Max couldn't keep the uneasiness from creeping in. It started in her chest and worked its way out, leaving her feeling sickly enough that she called it an early night. Despite Loki's protests, she ducked out of the feast early, insisting the day had left her exhausted—and when she did leave, it was well into the night festivities anyway—and Loki, the king, eventually sent her on her way with an armed escort.

But when she made it to their shared room at the top of Loki's tower, her space felt so small and her head buzzed with a thousand unsaid words. And, unable to fall asleep, Max pulled off her exquisite dress and wrapped herself in the bedsheets, then sat in the hole in the wall, feet dangling over the edge, and watched the snow fall. Sick. Sick with fear, with nerves, and with love.

Unable to rid herself of any of the three, no matter how hard she tried.

"So…" Max stepped aside, arms wrapped around herself, as a pair of men shuffled by with one of Loki's immense bookshelves balanced between them. "Tell me again why we needed to change rooms?"

"Because I'm the king," Loki told her absently, pointing to the spot where the others had put his writing desk. "There will be fine. Right beside it. Thank you."

The pair watched in silence as the last of the movers struggled to get the immense wooden structure across the room, spindles of shadows dancing across them from the light of the roaring fire. She could understand, in theory, why Loki's old room wouldn't have been suitable for a king. After all, what king had a huge hole in their bedroom? Plus the tip-top of a lonely tower was an easy target for anyone hoping to find the king, so of course it made sense to move.

But if this was only a temporary thing…

Max sighed and nodded at the pair of movers as they departed, both bowing their heads and murmuring something that sounded like my lady as they passed. The words set her on edge, and she shut the door behind them, but not before offering a somewhat strained smile to the four guards stationed in the hall. They all gave a solemn nod in return, and Max finally closed the door with another heavy sigh, standing there for a moment with her palms to the cool wood. Eyes closed, she concentrated on her breathing, all the while wishing away the continued nausea that had plagued her all day.

"It's a room more suited to my new status," Loki mused, his voice carrying across the large space. "I don't know why Odin didn't use it before. It's much better than his quarters."

Something told her that Loki would have liked to commandeer the king's old bedchamber if he could, but Odin had been placed there to rest for almost a week now. The old Asgardian king lay in his bed with attendants monitoring him at all times, and reports were delivered to Loki three times a day on the status of his condition.

Always in front of people. Always where others could see his brow furrow with worry.

"What do you think, my sweet?"

Licking her lips, Max pushed away from the door and turned, arms crossed again, and looked around with a nod. "It's nice."

Nice was an understatement, of course. The room was enormous, with two levels, an en-suite bathroom with its own hot spring, and a domed ceiling with golden artwork etched into the stone, crafted to look like the swirling galaxies behind Heimdall's keep. Instead of living at the top of the tower, the new king and Max lived below ground, somewhere through various hallways and passages, perhaps as a means to keep their private area a secret. Going to bed in the tower meant passing the traders hall, with the eyes of merchants and servants and noblemen watching her every step. As she followed Loki to their new room, nothing but shadows watched—shadows and a battalion of armed guards.

Thick fur rugs stretched across the floor. Loki's old black chairs were arranged in front of the fireplace, which was nearly as tall as she was, set into the stone wall. Maps adorned the walls—maps and old scrawls with golden letterwork. Loki had a closet for his things, as did Max.

"I've asked for the dressmaker to visit tomorrow," he told her as she strolled deeper into the space, one foot at a time. He gestured to the huge walk-in. "You'll have it filled in no time."

"It'd be nice to have more than one dress that you keep enchanting for me," she said after a moment of him staring at her expectantly. The red creation from today hung loosely around her body, something comfortable for moving that Loki had designed at her request. What she wouldn't give, however, for him to design a wardrobe that mimicked the one she'd lost. As annoying as it was to squish into a pair of skinny jeans, she actually kind of missed them.

There was still a lot to unpack. While Loki had asked for servants to move the heavier furniture and set it where he wanted, he'd insisted he and Max unload the smaller trinkets—books, papers, writing utensils. As her gaze shifted over the mammoth pile of books, all of them thick tomes, that she would need to put away, an unwelcome bout of exhaustion took her. Swallowing thickly, Max moved to the fireplace, finding comfort in the warmth of the flames.

For a little while, Loki puttered around behind her, arranging this and moving that. However, she soon heard the familiar footfalls approaching her, and she stiffened when he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

Max nodded as he tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes fixed to the fire. "Yeah."

"You seem quiet today." She closed her eyes as he kissed her. "Are you sure nothing is bothering you?"

"I'm fine." The tremor in her voice, however, probably told a different story. Swallowing hard again, she shifted out of his grasp and settled in one of the grand black armchairs. The heat was starting to change from comfortable to smothering, and her nausea reared its ugly head as she tilted her head back.

"Clearly you aren't fine," Loki mused, sitting on the armrest of the chair beside her, "because you've been all but mute for the last few days. I know the changes are overwhelming, but if you're upset, you should speak with me."

He was right, of course. Bottling it all up wasn't going to do either of them any good—but Max wasn't sure what good would come of what she was about to say either. Inhaling deeply, she sat up and squared her shoulders, turning on the chair to face him.

"I just…" She licked her lips, a cold sweat breaking out across her palms. "I feel like we're sort of… moving farther and farther away from the original goal we had to, you know, get me home."

She noticed the flare in his jaw as he clenched it, and she threaded her hands together, gripping hard to keep them steady.

"Max." Loki shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "You know I… I care very deeply for you, but Asgard is my home once more, and I have a sense of duty to rise to the occasion. The position has been given to me by men who don't believe I can succeed, and I must ensure Asgard survives this ordeal unscathed. Surely you understand that?"

Lips pressed together tightly, Max gave a stiff nod, then said, "I do."

"So—"

"But then if you're king," she continued, forcefully speaking over him, "you can send me home. It was the old king who did the whole forbidden to leave thing to me, but now you can just undo that and send me back to Earth."

"Earth is on the verge of chaos with the frost giants," Loki remarked, the dismissive wave of his hand stroking her anger. "I wouldn't send you there now."

"Loki—"

"And you speak as if I've had time to even consider it." He scoffed and stood, hands clasped behind his back as he strolled toward the fireplace. Max watched, her nails digging into her hands. "You think I've had the time to think of such things? I've been crowned king. I have an entire nine realms suddenly to run. There's just no time to—"

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Loki whirled around at her words, and Max threw her hands in the air. "Did you seriously just tell me you have no time?"

His frown deepened. "Max, I—"

"It takes thirty seconds for Heimdall to send me home," she snapped, standing and pointing behind her—as if that was where the gatekeeper's dome was located. When he opened his mouth, maybe to protest, she spoke over him again. "Okay… Fine, factor in travel time across the bridge and it's like a half hour, but I'm sure we'll take longer putting all those fucking books away!"

"It might come as a shock to you," Loki fired back, "but a king has other issues to focus on."

Max groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "You keep telling me you're the king, you're the king… If you're the king, then you can do this for me. There's nothing stopping you now! That bullshit rule about humans on Earth and Asgardians on Asgard… You can change it. You can do whatever you want because you're the king!"

They stared at one another in the darkened room, the light of the flames flickering across their faces. When he had no response, it finally clicked for her. The look on his face. The way he held himself in that moment. It was almost painfully clear.

"Or… Or do you not want to?" Angry tears glistened, flooding over and trailing down her cheeks. He opened his mouth for a moment, then pressed his lips together and looked away—it was like a knife to the heart. Her breath shuddered out. "You don't want to send me home, do you?"

"Max," he said softly. "It's not that I don't want to—"

"Did you even try?" she demanded, recoiling when he reached out for her. "Was all that… everything we did… Was that just for my benefit? To make it look like you put some effort in?"

"Enough," Loki ordered, his gaze darting to hers with a welcome sense of ferocity. "I see where your mind is going… Enough. You know I care very deeply for you—"

"Stop saying that, for fuck's sake!" Her shout bounced off he walls, the sound harsh even to her ears. "Stop saying you care for me and just tell me you love me! Tell me so I can justify all this!"

She let the tears fall freely now. Her chest quivered with each controlled breath that wanted to be a sob, a gasp, a pant. She'd waited years to hear him say it—properly, not mixed with other words or sentiments. Not laced with undertone. Three words. Three words to make her realize that they were still in this together.

"Surely… Surely by now…" Loki shook his head, disbelief etched across his features. "Surely by now you know that I… I have… I do very much love you."

Even if it sounded like he had to pull teeth to say it, her heart still fluttered at the omission. Unfortunately, it didn't do what she wanted. It didn't take away the ache, the fear. If anything, it exasperated them. Her lips trembled until she pressed them together, and Max looked away as she said, "Then why are you forcing me to stay here?"

All the tension eased from his face, his jaw going slack. It was only for a moment, a fleeting few seconds, and then it was back to a hardened expression she didn't know very well—nor did she like.

"I wasn't aware I was forcing you to stay. I never thought I'd need to…"

"I want to go home and see my family," she insisted, fighting to keep her voice strong. "I know things are different and I can't… I understand why it would be difficult because of what I am now, but they're my family."

Max watched him, waiting for a response—some feeling, empathy for her situation. Loki's gaze seemed distant for a moment, until he finally turned away and went back to the fire, the flames making shapes dance across his hardened features.

"And you're my family."

"Families are big," she pressed as she moved toward him. "Families aren't blood. Well, they are and they aren't, but your family is who you decide it to be. Garret and Tiffany are my family too, and I—"

"You're it," Loki snarled, and she stopped dead in her tracks. He half-turned his face toward her, eyes still on the fire. "It's only you for me. Not Thor. Not Odin. It's you. Can't you see that?"

"Don't." She squared her shoulders and fought the sickness in her core, unwilling to back down. "Don't turn this around and make me the bad guy. Like I'm the asshole who wants to abandon you. I don't." His scowl worsened as she took a deep breath. "It's always been this way with us… You've always been like this."

"Like what?"

"This guy who doesn't want to share," Max snapped, throwing her hands up and stalking away. "It was like that in Masonville and New York—"

"Don't be absurd—"

"Like my friendship with Ben was some awful thing—"

"He was in love with you—"

"And Johnny and Peter… I am capable of forming male friendships without sacrificing my love for you!"

"That's hardly the issue, is it?"

"No!" she cried and whirled back around to face him. "No! The issue is you being manipulative and me being too stupid to see it!"

His eye twitched. "Don't speak to me like that."

"Why?" She gave a little half-shrug. "Why? Because you're king now and I need to watch my tone?"

In that moment the colour seemed to drain from his face, though his anger stayed on the surface. Good. She wanted him angry. She wanted to fight, to hash it out—to finally be honest with each other.

"Of course not," he said stiffly.

"On the topic of king, let's discuss that," Max said, taking on a curt frankness that only seemed to make the tension grow. "Let's talk about how this whole thing really happened."

"Max—"

"Because it's astounding to me, honestly, that you…" Suddenly a gush of saliva filled her mouth. She swallowed hard and took a breath, not wanting to lose her momentum, but then there it was again. Loki watched her, unmoving, eyebrows downturned. Placing a hand over her mouth, she hurried away when her throat started to burn, rushing for the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. Two seconds later, every piece of food she'd eaten that day came racing up her throat and out her mouth. Falling to her knees, Max spilled her guts into the new hole in the ground—fucking Asgardian toilets—and held her hair back with both hands.

Behind her, the door opened and closed, and suddenly instead of two there were dozens of burning candles around the huge ensuite bathroom. A hand touched her back, tentatively at first, then with more purpose when she bent over again for the second round. It went on like that, her vomiting and Loki kneeling behind her, until there was nothing left to expel, until she was shuddering and coughing and shaking and her stomach felt both sore and relieved.

She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, not caring that she was smearing spit and bile onto expensive cloth. Loki left her side briefly, only to return moments later with a large but shallow bowl. He placed it on the ground beside her, then kneeled again and cupped a handful of water. Needing no more with his pointed stare as a prompting, Max leaned into her hands and let him wash her face. As he pressed a cool hand to the back of her neck, she grabbed some water in a cupped hand and brought it to her mouth, rinsing and spitting the liquid into the nearby hole.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked softly as she finally crumpled back to sit on the ground, legs crossed in front of her. She shot him an irritable look.

"I've literally been with you all day moving your room," she said. "Do you think I was taking swigs from a flask when you weren't looking?" Her sigh was her punctuated apology. The concern in his eyes was beyond apparent, but her temper hadn't cooled from their argument. "No, I haven't been drinking. I've been feeling kind of sick for a while. I'm glad this happened finally… Maybe it'll get better now."

His expression hardened, and she ducked out of the way when he tried to touch her face again. She wasn't feverish. She didn't need his diagnosis.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You've been busy, remember?" she said coldly, almost instantly regretting it. His jaw clenched as he stared at her, and she quickly added, "It's probably just a stomach bug. Something I ate, or—"

"Asgardians do not get stomach bugs," Loki remarked, his tone a match to hers. "Sickness is not common. Rare, in fact. Unless you've been drinking, then… It must be something else."

"So I'll take the equivalent to some Pepto Bismol—"

"We're going to the healers," he told her, standing and extending a hand to her. His tone left no room for argument, and she bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from snapping. Ignoring his hand, she pushed herself up, the room spinning a little once she was upright.

"You know, it's probably just stress," she said stiffly as he ushered her out of the bathroom.

"You're going to the healer."

"But—"

"Max," Loki snapped, grabbing her forearm and pulling her into him so that they stood face-to-face, "if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there, you are going to the see the healer."

Colour made her cheeks ache, and she pulled her arm forcefully out of his hold. "Put me over your shoulder and I'll probably puke down your back."

He looked her square in the eye. "I'm afraid that won't deter me."

Once more they were trapped in a battle of hard stares, mouths set in thin lines, until Max finally broke away first, feeling too awful physically to continue.

"Fine," she muttered, "but the conversation we were having isn't over."

"Fine."

They headed for the door together, Loki grasping her forearm again and pulling her along until she finally wrenched it away and stalked ahead of him. She stayed a few good feet in front of him for some time, until walking through the dark hallways with a cluster of men behind her seemed overwhelming and lonely, and she finally fell back and walked by his side in silence.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Hello my beautiful darlings! I hope 2016 is treating you well!

I had every single intention of updating almost as often as I did in December, but then I took on a freelance job that will pay for a lot of my personal editing and marketing expenses for my books this year. So. Here's me writing 75K in a little under two months, plus working, plus dealing with my own shit… Unfortunately, fanfiction got pushed to the wayside again. BUT if I had had the time and wrist capacity, I would have worked on this. I'd wanted to get two chapters out this month at least, but here we are.

Hopefully this was satisfying. For me, it felt like I was writing old Max again, and it felt great. She's been in this weird, unsure of herself and her place funk for a while now, and it felt good to have her drop some f-bombs and just let it out—for a little while, anyway. Some of you have absolutely guessed where things are headed, but I won't give too much away. Lots to come in this story!

I actually had the two day debate planned as a chapter, then the coronation was a chapter. But this story has gone on for a long time. I mean, The Sky is Falling and Ghost Town were completed in a year each (give or take, I think), and I'm pushing into year two here with a number of chapters still ahead of me. So, for the sake of pacing, I've changed a few things up. If I can get back to a regular posting schedule (pray for me ffs), then hopefully I'll be starting the fourth and final story in Max and Loki's series this fall.

SEE YOU SOON, DARLINGS!