For all that other men (and women) once reviled Aila as she walked by, Loki took some pleasure in the looks that were thrown her direction from every which way. Beautiful, unrecognizably proud, and with a prince of Asgard trailing after her. He was sure that everyone either must have wanted to know her, be her, or—by the looks on 'some' of their faces—be in bed with her.

He couldn't help but smile smugly, dropping his gaze up and down her form—lingering over her hips—as she strutted in front of him, dress billowing back, knowing that he'd tasted that damnably exquisite privilege just minutes ago.

Aila slowed when they approached the edge of the center plaza, where they'd left the royal company. She let him take her arm, indicating their togetherness, and Frigga arched a brow as she glanced at them over her shoulder—as though she somehow sensed their approach. The Allfather, meanwhile, was nowhere in sight.

"Well," she crooned, displaying an edge of distaste as she glanced at the highly inebriated King Veris, "at least the city's all in one piece."

A pang of animosity shot through Loki upon seeing the salacious look the king drew away from his mother, turning his attention to the pair of them. "All in one piece, daughter?"

Loki bit back a grimace, looking around the courtyard for wherever the Allfather had gone—and left his mother at the mercy of this dullard.

"Not in pieces yet," Aila responded coolly, as though she too noticed the queen's discomfort. "Where has the Allfather gone?"

"He's just gone to get a couple of—" Frigga began, but was interrupted by Odin's sudden reappearance. "Drinks." She smiled, taking a goblet from his hand.

A smidgen of relief loosening in Loki's stomach. Not that Frigga couldn't handle Veris—it was a question of whether the king could handle Loki at the level of rage that began to simmer in Odin's absence.

"You were gone far too long, darling," Frigga murmured with a hint of distaste, taking the drink from Odin.

"It was but a few minutes," he answered, his tone a bit more serious. "There were a few other matters to attend to, I shall fill you in when we are home."

Frigga's brow twinged in confusion, but she visibly let it go quite quickly—especially as another figure joined the company. Consul Ragar, advisor to King Veris, dressed as amicably and festively as everyone else at the event—which raged on around them to the fullest extent.

"I must say," the consul grinned, casting a glance around the festivities. "I'm almost offended to have never been invited to this event before, war or no war." Aila's arm tightened around Loki—she'd never met this man, before, and stiffened when he turned his attention to her. "It's reminiscent of the Irithin Festival back home, isn't it?"

Aila grinned—hiding her stiffness valiantly, "Ours is just a tiny bit better, wouldn't you agree?"

Ragar chortled with laughter. "Oh, I wouldn't quite say that"—he cast another glance around the space—"but it does come in rather close. Just look at this music! It's got hints of that one instrument—oh, what was it again? The one we heard when we traveled to Anaheim?"

"Speaking of music," Loki interjected, sensing the dangerous grounds that this conversation was beginning to tread. He turned to Aila and offered a hand. "I quite like this song—would you do me the honor?"

Relief and trepidation warred in her expression, but the relief won out anyway as she took his arm. As he led her away, Aila's voice fell to a hushed tone. "I don't know if that was the move to make back there," she said, commenting on the brisk, fast-paced beat of the tune. "I don't know this song."

Loki leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the memory of the first time he'd seen her dance—in the throne room, with her conjured phantom partner. "Fortunately, one of us is quite confident in your dancing capabilities."

She blinked up at him. "How can you be? You've never seen me dance."

Loki shrugged. "Haven't I?"

Aila narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Before he could respond, they'd already reached the center of the floor, and Loki snapped an arm around her waist, leaning closer to her than she might've approved of—though by the way her eyes widened and lips parted, she certainly didn't mind the proximity, on a personal level.

"Loki—" she muttered, looking to the left and to the right of them. "People are watching."

"Let them," he breathed against her lips, knowing full well the plethora of eyes that had landed on them. "Let them know you're mine."

Her breath hitched, and then he kissed her. Just for a moment, but enough to taste her soft lips before pulling away—and pulling her off into a whirling dance. She seemed a bit uncertain at first, their staring onlookers no doubt stunned by his own miraculous display of affection, but Aila slowly fell in tune with the beat.

Their hands never stopped touching from there, not a twinge of distrust as he spun her this way and that, and—that smile. He had never seen her smile quite like this. Gauging the next turn strategically, Loki tugged her toward him and slated his lips over hers again, quickly and briefly, before letting her go again.

Aila spun, and—stopped.

The entirety of her frame stiffened in seconds.

Before her stood Lilette—the real Lilette—eyes wide and disbelieving as she looked up and down the length of her slave-sister.

The moment I met her eyes, I realized what everyone had been talking about. Lilette looked so much like me—so much like the woman I'd seen in the mirror just hours ago. Her mouth fell open as we stared at one another, and the passing of time escaped me as the music eventually died down, the entirety of the plaza falling silent around us.

Thor stood just behind her.

"You…" Lilette breathed out, and—

And someone tugged me backward sharply. I fell beside Loki as he stepped up to me, brows quirked with wretched satisfaction. He canted his head and purred, "'Her' what?"

Lilette gaped—and then gaped some more.

"What. Is. This." A third, menacing voice stepped up behind us, sending a shiver down my spine.

Odin, Frigga, King Veris, and that other man stood in a line behind us. Frigga broke off from Odin calmly and strode in my direction, coyly situating herself between myself and the Allfather. "Notice something odd, dearest?" she crooned at him.

"What is this magic?" Veris slurred—just a bit—as he stepped forward, though he was clearly sober enough to understand what was happening.

Frigga cast him a cold glare. "There is no magic here. Tell me—what do you think is the meaning of this?"

I shrank as I realized the source of the particularly chilling sensation that ran down my spine—the Allfather, his decidedly calm eyes observing me closely.

"Odin," Veris growled, his head snapping in his direction. "Control your wife."

Odin's brow popped up above his good eye as he turned toward Veris. "I will pretend you did not say that," he muttered, turning to Frigga. "Please. Explain this."

"This is magic!" Veris yelped.

"I thought so, too."

Loki flinched as—of all people—I was the one to respond.

Turning toward me, he watched as I slowly removed the cardigan—per the plan—and left all my scars coming out on display, inspiring gasps from all over the audience. Slowly but surely, I pulled up the edges of one of the fabrics draping over me, high enough to carefully wipe away other signs of polishing.

"This is an insult worthy of blood," the king continued with his threats.

My eyes were closed as heard the words, still wiping away the makeup, and I hoped they couldn't see it as my hands trembled slightly. They popped open as I suddenly felt Loki's hand on my waist. Eyes fixed on Veris, he stepped close to me, sliding that same hand entirely around my back. Frigga inched closer to me as well—and behind me, heavy footsteps encroached on my backside.

"Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," Frigga said calmly, then turned before awaiting anyone's response.

Loki and Thor turned as well, and I took the hint in following suit, walking between them as the crowds made way for us to pass. Everything around me seemed to dull, and I barely remembered the trek back to the palace.

The next thing I knew, Odin was atop his throne, and the seven of us drew a curved line at the foot of the dais.

Standing on the other side, Lilette's eyes never left me as her father began, "This is a grave insult, Allfather. Surely, you will not let this pass."

Odin slid his gaze in my direction. "Step forward, girl."

Loki's hand, which had also never left my skin, nudged me forward. Looking at him over my shoulder, the starkest look of confidence glinted in his eyes.

I couldn't match it. Placing one step in front of the other, I strode in front of the Allfather's throne.

"What is your parentage?" Odin spoke evenly.

A pause of hesitation. "My mother was a slave," I finally began, ignoring the disgusted grunt behind me. "I never knew my father."

He arched a brow incredulously. "By the looks of it, you've grown curious."

"My mother taught me to use magic without ever telling me where she learned it from," I said. "When the Prince found out about it, he had me taken in under his employment. From there…"

"From there, I'm afraid we'll have to take responsibility," Frigga's voice appeared behind me as she strode forward a few steps. "We were the ones who suspected it." She looked between Loki and Thor. "And if Aila is, indeed, the daughter of a king—then she is a daughter of Yggdrasil, and cannot be proclaimed a slave in any of these nine realms."

"If that woman sets foot in Niflheim, I'll have her executed," King Veris's voice rumbled. "I have an heir. I need no other."

"Silence," Odin said, raising a hand in the air. The entire room seemed to tremble with his fury, his blue eyes turning in my direction slowly. "Now. Obviously, as king of the nine realms, I cannot allow this matter to proceed without investigation," he muttered the words, but his tone was dull and listless—like he was tired of hearing about this. "If you so dearly desire her status to be revoked, there must be evidence. You all very well could have been the ones to teach her magic."

Music box—

"My mother had a music box," I cut in. "It was magic. It was taken off her body the day she died, there are witnesses who can attest to that—and I can show you."

"There are records as well," Frigga said. "I accessed them myself."

Odin stared down at me for a moment. "So be it. Bring forth the music box."

Instead of fetching the music box myself, a guard was sent to bring it back from the catacombs, per my instructions on where to find it. Small and glittering, it sat in the palm of my hand for a moment—the audience behind me waiting for it to be opened.

Silence filled the air as I took a deep breath, staring down at the little golden instrument in my hand.

Seven notes.

One by one, I sang them, and the lid opened on its own—my mother's voice pouring out in the language I never understood.

Odin sat forward, expression growing blanker the longer he listened, the tune echoing throughout the vast hall. "That is—?"

"The language of Niflheim…" The man beside the king muttered, while the king himself turned pale as a sheet. I realized then that Lilette and I both looked so much like him, that without the threat of violence marring his face, we took after him heavily. "And—that voice…"

"Do you recognize it?" Odin asked.

The man glanced at King Veris, who suddenly turned and exited the room.

Followed by Lilette, who seemed startled out of a trance.

"Answer the question," Odin demanded."

"I haven't heard that voice…for decades…" The man seemed lost for words, then looked around us. "Please—e-excuse me."

I turned my attention back on Odin as he walked away, who stared at me with a bit more softness than he had before—more security in processing the information he'd just heard. "Have you anything else to present me, child?"

Something inside me relaxed at the hint of sentiment. I shook my head, letting the music box come to a close.

"You see all the evidence you need, Odin," Frigga said. "She cannot remain a slave."

"No, she cannot."

All the breath left my lungs at that moment, a smile touching my lips as the sound of sighs and a hearty chuckle broke out behind me.

"But that no precludes you from the luxuries of an Asgardian citizen," he added, and the celebratory notions doused.

"What?" Frigga stepped to my side. "What are you talking about?"

"King Veris can ban her from Niflheim, but should he choose to take her to instead, I will not have the authority to stop him—not without disgracing the fundamental contracts of the nine realms and Asgard," Odin said, rising from his seat. "I expect you weren't thinking you would hear that. Go, for now. And plan your next moves wisely—since you're so keen on meddling in affairs you hardly understand."

The Allfather's warning rang in my head, over and over, and part of me still couldn't quite believe that I was—free.

'A great victory,' Thor had called it when we all retired to Loki's chambers, sharing a bottle of fine wine between us—all of us ignoring the air of reluctance and trepidation that hung over our heads. The anxiety wriggled in through the joy and celebration I felt, strengthening even after they had gone.

"What's going to happen, now?" I asked Loki as I he pulled away from me atop the bed—my lips swollen from what felt like hours of his lips caressing mine, his tall frame against me, held close in an endless embrace. "Is this even a victory, if I'm to go from one imprisonment to another?"

"That won't happen," Loki murmured lowly.

The sullenness in his voice pierced my heart. After all he'd done, after everything we'd been through—he seemed to feel the looming threat as much as I did.

"Loki…" I whispered. "You changed my life."

The firelight cast shadows across his solemn features. "It means nothing if you can't live it the way you want to."

"Nothing?" I muttered. "You honestly believe that?"

"I don't know what to believe."

—and I didn't know what to say. Looking to the left and right, I plastered a tiny grin onto my lips. "Your room is a mess."

I saw the beginnings of a smile in his expression, a tiny bit of light in his eyes. "Good help is hard to find."

"You should let me clean it."

"No," he said firmly. "I've already hired another servant—a male," Loki added the second he saw my reaction starting.

I relaxed, giggling a bit at the idea of one of the servants taking that request—wondering whether they felt the same bone-chilling fear that I did. "Are you going to fall in love with him, too—?"

The smile left my lips the moment I realized what I said, but Loki's expression didn't change. "No," he muttered, hands drawing upwards to wrap around my waist. His breath fell on my lips as he leaned back in, his soft lips grazing mine once more. "I'm not."

I let him kiss me. And then, I let him draw me against him once again, embracing me—soft and caring, nothing like the one we'd shared at the festival. His weight held me down against the impossibly soft bed, arms encircling me in a passionate entanglement of limbs that lasted through the night.

I'm such a happy clam. I wrote this at the desk that finally came in (computer's coming tomorrow), and took breaks looking out at the trees outside my window. So awesome.

For anyone who missed it (because I edited it later into my AN), I posted a new story called "Tyrant." Loki's apocalypse, essentially, after he wins the war. If you give it a shot, I hope you like it!

Fair warning, I'm practicing writing villains, so it's a bit darker than any of the other versions of him I've written (staying true to his character, of course), because I can't imagine him actually being happy and balanced after getting what he wants. For that reason, it's going to be a bit of a slow-burn (like LYE), since there's going to be a lot of evil-ness to unpack and rearrange.

As always, thank you so much for reading. Yes, YOU, on the other side of this screen-I'm picturing you (vaguely lol) and giving you a big hug! Thank you so much. Stay healthy.