Cheers to Gatsby for inspiring this chapter's vision before the rest of the plot was even born. Writing it has given me enough serotonin to make it through 2020.

Was there a punishment for questioning the sanity of Asgardian royals? Or for admonishing their lack of foresight on all the ways their current stratagem—involving me—could go awry?

Loki, Frigga, and Thor—these three would singlehandedly be the end of me. Their schemes alone would be responsible for my untimely demise.

"I think this is brilliant," Thor said. Donning a smile, he glanced between his mother and brother across the room, perching himself beside the unlit fireplace.

Dinner lay unfinished on the table nearby, wine left mostly un-drunk. I could still smell the freshly baked tarts as I fought to keep my pulse steady, partly wondering why these three couldn't see how frivolously they were playing with my life. Honestly—I'd had one night with Prince Loki. One. Was this some convoluted plan to finish me off and move on to the next woman?

None of them seemed to notice the way I stared down at the dress laying on the edge of his bed. The ambient light of dusk pooled through the window towering over the Prince's large desk, though the dress itself was too matte to reflect off any shimmers—hardly a comment on the material, which was obviously finer than any I'd ever touched in my impoverished life.

"Agreed." Loki leaned against the neighboring bed post, arms crossed, and cast a satisfied glance down at the dress. "Mother, you've certainly outdone yourself with this one. They'll never know the difference."

Outdoing herself? I damn near gaped at him. Is that he calls this?

Frigga seemed to sense my reluctance, keeping a steady eye on me from where she sat on the couch. "Aila, dear," she said, turning their attention toward me as well. "What do you think?"

Silence settled in the air as I stared down at the gown. My pointed glance was finally noticed as I looked down at the rags I wore—finery as far as slave standards went, but still pitifully downtrodden.

A tangible shift moved through the room when they realized I hadn't agreed with resounding enthusiasm. "She doesn't like it," Thor muttered as he stared, and I wasn't sure whether the underlying tone was that of disappointment or alternating strategy.

I let out a breath, scanning the fine silks and fabrics that draped over the edge of the bed. "It's not that I don't like it…"

Again the room went silent, and the queen leaned forward, brow set with concern. "What's bothering you? Speak freely, Aila. Your opinion on this matters."

I looked at her, pausing for a moment. "I could never pass as Princess Lilette—not even at Solstice Festival."

I'd only ever seen the Solstice Festival from a distance in the past, standing atop the windy balconies of the castle towers. All the palace emptied every year for the occasion, swarms of people crowding the streets, banners and extravagant entertainment brightening the night, firelights exploding among the stars.

And, of course, there was the smell of alcohol that carried with the wind.

"You don't think you can do it?" Thor asked.

"How can I?" I looked at him. "Even if this is the exact dress she ordered for the occasion, Lilette and I still look nothing alike."

A loud, derisive snort came from Loki's side of the room. "Nothing alike?" Loki peered at me, eyes alight with amusement. "Well, you really don't know your own face, do you?"

I shot him a hard glare, sensing that—to one extent or the other—this whole thing bore the thrill of a game to him. A trick. He was enjoying the uncertainty that had been driving me mad.

Especially after the ordeal I'd had in the catacombs with Davos—and the later admonishment from Dina and her husband—I was at the end of my rope with all the uncertainty, the endless conversations and impossible expectations. Everyone around me seemed to have forgotten who—what—I was.

"Until proven otherwise, I am still a slave," I said. "One that the Allfather himself has an apparent disliking for. You think he won't see right through my terror, no matter how well we disguise everything around it?" A pause. "You'll forgive me if this plan has me tearing for the nearest balcony, to put myself out of my misery before Odin gets his hands on the last thread of sanity I've got left."

The room went silent. My hands shook as frustration and exhaustion tore through me. Even I was surprised at my own outburst…

As though he sensed my thoughts, Loki's grin faltered, and he opened his mouth to speak—

"Hush," the queen demanded of him. Eyes flickering in her direction, Loki's jaw worked as he plastered his lips shut at the command.

Frigga paused a moment, giving thought to her next words, and then rose from the couch. Anxiety clenched my stomach as I watched the Allmother stride near me with a steady gaze—the woman was will and determination incarnate. No wonder she was married to the Allfather.

She nodded. "You're right, Aila. And being right in that respect, there is only one aspect of this that I can assure you of, speaking as a mother"—she reached out and took a strand of hair in her hand—"You claim to have been born in Asgard, or so you were told, but I could swear that the two of you were twins in the womb. There are, perhaps, only slight differences between the two of you, due to the wears of time and lifestyle," she said, looking around my face, "but they're nothing that a little touching up won't remedy."

"But…those differences, however slight you say they are, are precisely why I'm worried," I said. "I sincerely doubt that King Veris won't recognize his own daughter. And in any case, didn't Odin forbid you all from speaking to him and his subjects?"

"Oh, of course," Frigga's eyes gleamed as she mused sarcastically. "But my dear sons are now deeply concerned with the fragility they've instilled in our relations with Niflheim. I'm sure they would happily set aside differences to seek an alliance, given the chance from the Allfather—wouldn't you, dears?"

Loki crinkled his nose. "For the good of the kingdom."

"We're fully committed to the wellbeing of Asgard like no other," Thor added a bit more playfully.

"And with you and Lilette both on the board, there'll be plenty of Niflheim royalty for us to entertain," Loki joked, though the earlier amusement had gone from his voice.

"Thor will manage to keep the real Lilette occupied as long as we need him to," Frigga said with the utmost confidence. "Just enough for King Veris to consistently mistake you for his daughter for a time. And when the moment is right, we will coalesce at the head of the festival—you will stand beside one another, pressed and polished to perfection, and the many witnesses in attendance will realize your blood ties. There will be no denying it."

I grimaced a bit. This still seemed like an abhorrently shaky plan. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will," Thor said. "And once you are recognized as a member of a royal bloodline of Yggdrasil, you will be freed of your status as a slave."

"And then what?" I said. "Surely you don't think they'll actually recognize me as a monarch. What happens after that?" I gestured to them. "And what about all of you? What will the Allfather do to you when he realizes what you've done?"

"Don't worry about us." Thor shrugged. "As for you—you can do whatever you want, Aila. You can leave Asgard, if you wish."

I looked at Loki, and his expression was unreadable when he met my eyes. None of this sat right with me. We'd planned to free all the slaves in Asgard—coming down from that, how could I leave all those people? My friends?

"You're right about one thing, though," Thor added, turning to address his mother. "Aila and Lilette have nothing in common in character. That'll be a dead giveaway to the courtiers, and we need to entertain the king long enough for him to truly believe that she's his daughter—there's not much time to teach that."

"I don't need teaching." I threw him a discontented glance. "I can be mean."

Blue eyes flitted back to me, and the Prince smiled amusedly. "Dear, even when you're mad, you're still about the sweetest person to ever set foot in Asgard."

I blinked in surprise.

Across the room, Loki's expression made way for one of bland distaste, his brow arching the slightest bit. Slowly turning his head, he leveled a stare at his brother—noticed a moment later as Thor shifted against the fireplace, clearing his throat.

"And, uh, as Loki said"—he nodded toward him—"there's plenty of you to go around."

The air sizzled where Loki's eyes cut through it. "Is that what I said?"

"Aila." Frigga reached out and took my hand, dispelling my attention from—whatever was going on a few feet away. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. We have plenty of time until the festival."

"It's in three days," I said softly. "What could we accomplish in that time?"

"Enough, if we start tomorrow." Frigga smiled devilishly—the expression strikingly familiar. "Trust us, Aila. We know what we're doing." She glanced between her sons. "This is just another day in court."

I thought back to those words for the remainder of the night, staying in Loki's chamber a bit too long after Frigga and Thor had left. The fire was now lit, and I sat nearby it on the couch, rubbing my brow as Loki went about his nightly routine. Lost in thought, I'd almost forgotten it was probably time for me to leave, until he sauntered out of the bathroom in his robe, hair wet and clinging to his neck.

Meanwhile, all the frustration in the world wrapped around my shoulders like a physical weight, dread impending in every step to be taken back down to the catacombs. It was the surest reminder of my status—and once there, I'd have to face Davos and the others. Again.

It was a nightly horror to be subjected to their disdain—not that I could blame them for it.

Loki's footsteps were silent as he walked across the room, his robe sliding against the floor. In such a thin layer of clothing, his imposing frame was easy to perceive. The wide, toned planes of his chest and shoulders…

He didn't look at me, and I wasn't sure whether it was intentional. "I suppose I should go," I said, standing from the couch.

"What's going on with you?" Loki said—the words sounded more like a statement than a question.

I paused, watching as he finally turned to face me, arms crossed over his bare chest. "What?"

Loki stared flatly, then made a show of seeming confused. "We're making progress in establishing your identity, and we have a viable plan for doing it. You have three court-versed monarchs protecting and guiding you, aiding you in every step of the way—forgive me, but I'm not seeing the reason for your coarse treatment of us."

Coarse? Is that how I was being with them?

"I…" I looked away, then cradled my face in my own hands a moment. Spearing my fingers through my hair, I let loose a heavy sigh and let it go—wishing, for a moment, that I could confide in him about my emotional excursions in the catacombs. "I'm not trying to be difficult. I have a lot on my mind, but it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"I'll decide that for myself once you tell me what's going on."

"Believe me, you don't want to know."

That was the wrong thing to say—I knew it the moment the words left my mouth. Loki's eyes lit up in manner I hadn't seen from him in quite some time. "Well, since you put it that way," he mused, striding toward me. "I'm even more sure, now, that I'll be glad to hear the truth."

"No, you won't."

His brows quirked up. "Getting brave, are we?"

My mouth opened and closed again, the implication churning my stomach.

My eyes fell instinctively to the floor as I gathered my composure. "Believe me," I said a bit more softly. "You don't want to know what's on my mind."

"Believe me when I tell you that this curiosity will kill me sooner than your King-father."

"This isn't a joke to me," I murmured. "This is serious."

His eyes hardened. "All the more, then. Out with it."

"I can't."

"Aila—" He stepped toward me.

"I can't tell you, Loki." I advanced back from him. "Do you want me to give you reason never to want to speak to me again? Because that's what will happen if I do"—if I told him that I'd almost left him—"I'm dealing with it myself. This is one thing you cannot help me with, so don't push me."

Loki pressed his lips together, green eyes wide and staring at me. There was a pause of silence as all his thoughts clamped down behind a wall, and then he answered, "You looked well enough like her just now."

I furrowed a brow. "Like who?"

"Lilette," he said—this time, he was the bitter one. "You'll be just fine at the Solstice Festival. Lower that rage to a simmer around the courtiers, and all will go according to plan."

"Great." I made for the door.

"Unfortunately," Loki began again, stopping me in my tracks. "You've entitled me to an answer before you go."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "An answer to what?"

"A variation of the initial question. What is it that you've done, that I would never speak to you again?" The slightest cant of his head. "You haven't come to me once since—that night. I'm starting to wonder if you regret what took place between us."

Sadness pinched my chest at the sentiment, despite the lack of emotion in his voice. "No. I don't regret being intimate with you," I said, turning toward him. His green eyes flitted listlessly in my direction "But I do regret the things that happened as a result of it."

"Such as?"

Oh, my aching head…

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

I sighed, opening and closing my mouth again. In the silence that settled throughout the room, I could heart the crackling of the fire, the sound falling in time with the dancing shadows that each flame cast throughout the room.

"I was…supposed to help some of my friends escape Asgard, the morning after we—" my voice tapered off. "You know. One of them was my closest friend since childhood, and I let him down."

Loki seemed decidedly nonplussed at this newfound information. "Of all the things you have to be concerned about right now, this is what troubles you? And even more, you think this is enough to make me never speak to you again?"

"I was going to go with them," I said, my shoulders dropping. "I was going to leave Asgard. That was integral to our plan."

More silence. And considering what I'd just told him, Loki continued to seem a bit—unsurprised. I furrowed a brow at the reaction. "What are you thinking?"

"That you must think me a fool, to say that I'd be angry with you for this," he said, sauntering toward the dining table, where two glasses and a single bottle of half-drunk wine remained.

My eyes widened, incredulity twisting in my gut. If I didn't know any better, I'd have sworn that he'd had time to arrive at that reaction. There's no way this would have been his initial one.

"Well, now they're all angry with me because I didn't follow through. And I have to face them every night, try to make amends, reassure them that I'll come up with another plan…"

"Plans change," Loki said, taking a sip of the wine. "And you have bigger problems now."

The festival—

"I'm not ready to face a problem like this, Loki," I said. "I can't do it. I don't want to know what would happen if I tried."

"Aila," he murmured, turning toward me. A perfectly serious look was fixed upon his face. "I hear you. But you're wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Wrong in thinking you can still walk away," he said. "You've already joined the oldest game in the book. Kingdoms rising and falling with their monarchs, realms quarreling amongst themselves—and King Veris, whether he likes it or not, will never your forget your existence now. You are a small fixture on a very large board, and you can't step off of it anymore. You can only be swept away by larger forces—if you do not keep your footing and make yourself a bigger player."

A pause.

"And the consequences of avoidance," Loki went on, "are not something you can be protected from. In that, even my influence is limited—especially if you're far away from Asgard."

"But, if—"

"But if that doesn't frighten you," Loki interjected, a sharpness in his eye. "Then you need to make a decision. Regardless of what this is between us, a half-hearted choice will leave you dead on either route. If you're going to run, then run fast and hard. But if you stay, then gather your resolve and play the game to its fullest—that is the way to win."

I blinked, surprised by his sudden insistence. I wasn't sure what to say to that, so for a moment, I simply stood there and said nothing.

"Go," Loki murmured, setting the glass down. "You say you need to face your friends, reassure them that you still take responsibility for them—do it. Sleep on things. My mother will be waiting for you in the morning, perhaps she can help you decide where to go from here."

"Loki…" I stepped toward him. "You make it sound like everything I've said is to spite you. You realize I'm not still considering leaving Asgard, right?"

"Whether you are or aren't, I'm not relevant to your decision making. That much is clear."

"No, that's not—"

"And I'm also very uninterested in continuing this conversation," he said drily. "Not in the slightest. Go and do what you must."

I remained rooted in place, anger bubbling in my chest. "Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Send me away when you get upset," I said. "Every time something happens that frustrates or intimidates you, you order me to leave. Have you ever thought about what would happen if you sent me away, and I went further than you intended?"

He gave me a final, chilling stare. "I'm not 'sending' you anywhere," Loki said. "And you're free to go wherever you please."

Gods, there was no talking to him. "I'm going to go home, then," I said. "Take some time to think about what I just said."

He didn't answer as I strode to the door, letting it slam shut behind me on the way out.

I always thought of myself as a patient woman, but that well seemed to have run dry.

Following the night of our meeting, I spent the next two days with Frigga, being pressed and lessoned as she initially promised. I had neither seen nor spoken to Loki following our encounter, and I couldn't decide whether I missed him or not—the pang of emotion seemed particularly indiscernible each time I thought of his face.

On the morning of the third day, I reached a new level of incredulity at my circumstances. Sitting before Frigga's vanity, the ornate design of gold and gems lined the frame and desk before me. Her Lady's handmaidens busied themselves with my hair as Frigga paced back and forth behind me, occasionally looking at our progress.

The more I stared at my reflection, the less I recognized myself. When I parted my lips, which now had color on them, the woman in the glass mirrored the movement. With all the serums and oils that had been placed into her freshly trimmed hair, the tresses that the handmaidens braided, clipped and combed were softer than I'd ever seen them.

And once the handmaidens were finished and sent away, it was time to try on that gown.

"My son's been walking around in some kind of a mood these past few days," Frigga said as I tried to clip the back buttons clumsily behind the folded screen. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I rolled my eyes as I thought back to him. "Which one?" I said, feigning obliviousness.

A light chuckle from behind the screen. "I see. I won't pry—whatever you said, I'm sure Loki must have deserved it."

I strained—my arms were not meant to bend this way.

"Are you having trouble back there?" Frigga asked.

"Just a little, but—" Click. "I got it."

"Come on out, then."

I'd never worn such fabrics before, my lower legs and chest exposed as I strode out from behind the screen. This dress was made to dance in.

Frigga, who had traded places with me at her vanity, widened her eyes as she turned and looked at me.

"How is it?" I mumbled nervously.

"Exquisite," she said, her smile faltering as I turned in place. "But you know there's one last thing we have to do."

I blinked at first, then remembered what she was referring to.

My scars.

"Oh…" I muttered, then walked over to the mirror. For a brief moment, I didn't quite recognize myself—all the womanly parts of my frame on full display. Grabbing the thin cardigan that was to cover my back and shoulders, I wrapped it around me, hiding them from sight.

Frigga didn't seem pleased. "I'm sorry, dear," she muttered. "They should never have been there in the first place."

"It's nothing we can change now," I said, grinning softly. "Only the future."

The queen slowly drew a smile, standing from her chair and approaching me across the room. "If not for our plan today, I would encourage you not to hide any part of yourself," she said. "Scars are a mark of everything you have endured. Some people experience them emotionally, others bear them physically. But no one in the world goes through this life unmarred. Be proud of everything that you've survived."

It was a kind sentiment, and the meaning behind me kept me steady as we made to leave for the festival. I wasn't sure how all the other logistics had been planned out, what with coordinating our arrival at the festival with Loki, but I was already nervous by the time we reached the streets.

The sun had already begun to set, and the sound of loud music and boisterous laughter rang between the buildings. The festival itself had been situated in the central part of the city, not far from the palace, where paths led through sparse bits of garden and the city's life was at its brightest.

Fountains, balloons, and dancing entertainment littered the streets, the smell of sweets and alcohol wafting through the air. Lights flashed in the distance, crowds forming and parting everywhere we went. I was damn near blinded by the cornucopia of glinting attire and jewelry. All my senses were engaged, sometimes at once.

And the eyes—so many eyes landed on us as we arrived late with the queen's escort.

Sensing my reluctance, Frigga's gentle hand reached down and took my wrist, wrapping my arm underneath hers. "Don't worry, dear," she said. "Trust us. We know what we're doing."

"I don't know if I can do this," I mumbled quietly, feeling my hands begin to shake.

Frigga nodded ahead. "There they are. Just Remember what I told you."

Near the largest fountain in the city, at the heart of the festival, stood our company—part of it, at least. There was Odin and King Veris, but the princes were nowhere in sight. A decorative dome had been situated straight overhead, glimmering decorations streaming down from it—more sparkling streamers and vibrating music thrumming through the air. A group of musicians was playing off to the side, dancing with the crowd, and the Allfather's entourage was alone in its comparable stillness.

I looked at Frigga, and she met my gaze with a steadying look. "Shoulders back," she muttered, and I straightened them. "Chest forward, chin up."

I swallowed thickly, the ball in my throat likely visible. I let out a steady breath.

"Remember everything we've talked about, Aila," Frigga began as we drew near. I stared ahead, collecting her words as she muttered them to me, the music barely drowning out her voice, "There are no falsehoods here. You are a daughter of Yggdrasil—you are what you are pretending to be tonight."

I stared ahead, unblinking, but my steps grew lighter as we finally encroached upon them, Odin giving Frigga something of a reluctant smile. "My queen," he extended a hand to her, pulling her to his side. "You're late."

"Queens are never late," she muttered coyly, throwing me a glance. "Besides, I had no trouble finding good company."

The Allfather turned his gaze to me and smiled, then passed over me to the king. I wept internally at the small victory, keeping a steady composure as I looked between them. Meanwhile, King Veris, ever the belligerent brute, was already clearly on the verge of inebriation as he looked at me. "Where did you lose the elder princeling, darling?"

An inner checkmark. Thor was with the real Lilette. I arched my brows at him, hoping my anxiety showed less than I felt it. What would Lilette say? To start, this was her father—she wouldn't have been afraid of him.

"I lost him somewhere further from the alcohol tables than you've been, father," I said in my best expression of good humor.

Veris widened his eyes at first, and for a brief moment—a sliver of a second—panic jolted through me.

And then he laughed.

"He's with his companions, no doubt," Odin cut in, grinning at Frigga. "The Warriors Three—all their disappearances usually happen at once."

"Where is Loki, then, my love?" Frigga squeezed the Allfather's arm, casting me a secret glance.

"Somewhere around here, I saw him moments ago. You know how Loki is," Odin said. "Wouldn't surprise me to find him dropping a snake into the fountain."

A server walked by, elegantly dressed and with a tray of drinks. I reached out and took one immediately, downing the entirety of the golden liquid and setting the glass back down on the tray. When I turned back, Frigga and Odin were watching me dubiously.

I shrugged. "Any man that marries me will marry my liver, as well."

"Ah! My daughter is made of steel," Veris said approvingly.

Feigning amusement, the conversation went on between them as I stood back—hoping I'd done enough to convince them of my identity. Neither Veris nor Odin seemed to suspect a thing. Though as I stood there, basking in the glittering ambiance of the festival and listening keenly to their discussions, part of me couldn't believe that this had actually worked.

Was Loki's presence even necessary at this point—?

Just as I'd begun to question, my eyes fell on a familiar head of black, wavy hair tumbling onto his shoulders. Surrounded by a caravan of noblewomen, Loki strode down from one of the pathways into the festival, a hand behind his back and the other holding a glass of champagne. His chest was partly visible with the party attire he'd selected, his signature green replaced by deep blue fabrics, and—gods, he was handsome.

My brows rose slowly, widening my eyes along the way. Was the rest of this entrance—a fucking joke?

My blood suddenly began to boil, my taut expression noticed only by Frigga. She looked over her shoulder and stiffened, an expression of frustration visibly hardening in her features as she turned back. "By the gods…" she muttered under her breath.

Stepping away from the group of women, I only saw him hold up a hand—stopping them from following him—as Loki turned and sauntered toward our group, handing his glass off to a server. His eyes flitted up and down my length, revealing nothing of the thoughts behind them, and he smiled charmingly as he joined us.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from scowling at his beautiful face, regal features on display for the world to admire. "I see we've all gathered again—mother, you're late as always," Loki said jokingly, clicking his tongue. "When will you learn?"

Frigga arched a brow, smiling between Loki and Odin. "Such a foolish notion. Whomever did you learn it from?"

Loki turned and stared at the side of my head. "Lilette," he purred. I nearly startled as I felt him take my hand. At the feel of his lips on my knuckles, I glanced at him. "You're looking beautiful as ever."

I offered a wry smile and canted my head. "I know."

Loki's brows popped up as he swept his emerald gaze up from my hand, his lips curling back into a humorous smile. "I see I've been missing some lively company tonight. Please forgive my absence."

"You seemed thoroughly entertained," I quipped, boldness spurred on by the approving smirk on Veris's face.

"Forgive me, my lady, if I've offended your delicate sensitives," Loki said, eyes gleaming—it took physical effort to refrain from smacking him—when suddenly, he angled his head in question. "Has anyone shown you around the festival, yet?"

"No—and my sensitives are perfectly intact."

Loki raised an arm. "Allow me, then?"

I looked down at his arm, then up at him.

This…wasn't part of the plan.

By the shadow of reluctance in Frigga's expression, she must not have known what he was planning, either. But—Lilette would have accepted, and something was obviously wrong. So I plastered on a smile and took his arm. "Of course."

Loki grinned, leading me away from the group.

"She'll be losing your younger one, next," I heard the king mutter as we walked away.

Eyes fell on us as we traversed the sparkling pathways, slowing once as a group of musicians cut across the path on their way to another part of town. He was so damnably tall beside me, walking in a confident stride at my side.

As soon as we were far enough not to be noticed, I pulled my arm from Loki's grip and stormed away, unsurprised when his footsteps went after me. "And where are we going, all on our lonesome?"

I beelined straight for the nearest server and took another glass of champagne off the tray, pivoting to shove it into Loki's hand. "Pour this over your face for me."

A look of ill-amusement crossed his features. "Why ever would I do that?"

"Because if I do it for you, I might insult your delicate sensitivities," I said, then stormed off again—not particularly knowing where I was going. I only knew that Loki was following me, stalking like an imposing shadow. It'd even earned us a few glances out of the corner of my eye.

I turned the corner down a relatively quiet alley—as quiet as it could possibly get—and continued until I was sure that both of us were out of sight. Loki's shadow was indeed quite large compared to mine, and none of our strife was visible in the relaxed way he sauntered toward me. Almost like a chaperone, his footfalls were heavy yet silenced over the grass that managed to grow back here.

If I hadn't reached out and thrust a finger into his shoulder, I wasn't so sure that he would've stopped. "What is the matter with you?" I hissed.

Utterly expressionless, Loki pulled his lips back into a humorless smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Oh, for the love of—

"You don't talk to me for days—days!—don't seek me out or make any attempt to send word at all," I hissed, letting all my fury seep to the surface. "And for no real reason that I can put together, save for doing exactly what I predicted when I told you what was on my mind. Then you show up here and—"

"Don't presume to know what's on my mind, Aila," he said. "Not once have you had the smallest inkling. Not once in days."

"Well you had better clue me in, because I'm just about ready to tear your head off." I glared at him, bowing falsely. "My Prince. Consider that a royal request. Or you can turn right back to your courtesans and finish what you started—for once—and leave me alone!"

A moment passed when neither of us moved.

Finally, Loki's dour expression made way for a steady chuckle, a beautiful smile slicing across his features. "Oh, I really tap danced on your final nerve, didn't I?" A pang of confusion as he reached out and tucked away a loose strand of hair. "I can see you're upset. But look what we have to show for it! Look how well you've performed—just as we predicted."

I blinked several times, processing his words. "Wait, what?"

That smile of his seemed a little less sarcastic, broadening as he stared down at me in the shadows of the alleyway.

"I said, just look at you…" He leaned into me slowly, eyes darting around my face. "You radiant creature."

Against the cold night air, I felt his breath fall heavily on my mouth, and then my neck as he brushed by me. My lips opened and closed, my heart jumpstarting the instant I felt his lips on my neck, his hands wrapping around my waist.

And then the wall was at my back.

"L-Loki?" My face flushed red as he kissed the length of my neck, confusion wrenching my thoughts. "What—is happening?"

He pulled back, his features only moderately more serious. Even in this lighting, I could see the heaviness in his emerald eyes. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you needed the push," he murmured, voice coarse and heavy. "And just look what you've accomplished—the plan's gone splendidly. Exactly as we anticipated."

Beneath the exterior, I could swear that he felt—happy. Joyous.

Relieved, even.

"Now," he breathed out, eyelids lowering again. "If you don't mind—"

His lips returned to where they were. Only this time, they didn't linger. The sounds they made as they trailed my neck with passionate kisses had arousal rolling through me hotly—battling the confusion that lingered, though lust was well on its way to winning.

"W-Wait—" My lashes fluttered as I rewinded through the past three days. "S-So you were pretending? Our fight—all of it was for show?"

His lips never left me. "Anger is a powerful—intoxicating emotion," he murmured between kisses, switching sides. "Not as intoxicating as others—but—it'll enrage the calm—embolden the timid—and in you?" His lips covered mine, his tongue invading my mouth for several moments. "Such fire."

"Y—" My questions were muffled, all rational thinking sinking to the back of my mind as my eyes closed slowly. "You—"

"I want you," he interjected, "now—"

A sharp inhale, and my mind went blank.

Sinking my fingers into his hair, my only response was a resounding kiss, met with hunger and ferocity I wasn't expecting. Loki's hands sunk to the skirt of my dress. Tearing his lips away from mine, I felt the wall at my back, his strong arms hauling me effortlessly against it.

The pieces of fabric draped over my legs as they clamped around his waist, a flicker of rationality returning to my thoughts as I rolled my head to the side, looking down the alley. "W—what if—"

'What if' nothing.

Loki entered me abruptly, a cry wrenching from my throat as pleasure and pain shot out from where we were joined. I turned back to him, gasping, digging my nails into Loki's back with newfound need—unlike any I'd ever felt before in my life.

Eyes lidded and heavy, he moaned into my mouth as he moved faster, deeper, until a sheen of sweat covered both our faces—but I didn't care. I wanted none of the gentility and all of the unbridled passion between us, our parted lips always touching as his hips thrust against mine ferociously.

My insides clenched, pleasure wrench through me as I clung to him for dear life, gasping for air as it built up inside of me. Finally I tore my lips from his as ecstasy rolled through me in waves, my fingers clawing at his neck. Loki opened his eyes and held my stare as I fell limp, though none of the tension had eased from his shoulders. He held me like I was weightless.

And with each ensuing thrust, I saw his control slip in those emerald depths—slipping and slipping until he finally cried out, shuddering against me with one final push against the wall.

For several minutes, there was nothing to do or say but stare at one another, both of us gasping from the exertion.

"Can—" I began in between breaths. "Can we—"

"Can we what?"

"—do that again, tonight?"

Loki blinked slowly, his tongue touching the edge of his canine as he looked me up and down, nodding slowly. "Later…" he muttered, then began fixing my hair. I took the liberty of doing the same with his. "When we're finished here."

I had to call this chapter at 6.3k words, and didn't even get to the part that I REALLY wanted to write!

Quick note-solved my updating problem! I used to sit for 11 hours easy with proper ergonomics, I finally got sick of this work inconsistency and invested in a desk and proper computer.

The computer is arriving in two weeks, and (EDIT) I posted a new Loki story! It'd mean the world if you guys checked it out. It's called "Tyrant," and it's about the world that Loki would have created if he actually succeeded and won the war!

If you've left me a review here, I love you and have probably read it at least three times. Thank you. :)