(SIGYN)

He was alive. Loki was alive. It wasn't a dream, or a wish, or a forgotten fantasy—the prince survived the battle on Svartalfheim and took over the throne.

Where was Odin? Where was Thor? A practical part of myself knew deep down that it wasn't right to keep his secret, but the fact he trusted me enough to spare my life gave me pause. Besides, who would I even tell? I'd be called mad for sure. Perhaps he knew that, despite everything that I knew.

I returned to my quarters and replayed the evening in my head, bouncing between fear and excitement. Sleep was impossible. Tiwaz didn't return from his overnight prowl, so I was alone with the whir in my brain until the sun came up. A few quick dozes had to satiate my need for rest through the next day.

Getting ready for work duties, my body buzzed with anticipation and more questions. The green skirt wasn't under my bed after all—why Loki had taken it, I had no idea, though he had to be responsible. I guessed it was because the color was so well associated with him that he didn't think it was worth the risk. I agreed. The shining robe for the king's service was warm enough on its own anyway.

The moment I left my room, I clenched my jaw and acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. After all, royal service was familiar to me, so the change in routine wasn't terribly foreign. False Odin's orders waited for me and I filled them, putting together a tray for his breakfast—I was sure to mind every detail as requested, not wanting to miss even an iota of his preferences. Regardless of the man behind the station, my responsibility was unchanged—royal attendants were held to a higher standard, and reporting to the king was an honor most could only dreamt of. Loki was royalty either way, so my work would be presented as such. My few friends in the servantry didn't ask about my new position, which surprised me somewhat as it differed from their usual gossip. It dawned on me that they assumed I'd earned such a station through unsavory means.

If only they'd known how, when faced with my body on a platter, the king refused. Maybe not enough of an act to call him charming, but certainly humane. Gracious, even.

I headed up to the judgment hall with a confident posture, ready to prove myself. Once I arrived, however, he didn't even give me a glance. His attention was focused on a gathering of Asgard's generals, who reported something that troubled them enough to speak in hushed tones. I purposely didn't eavesdrop and left the tray at his side without a word.

Frigga often engaged me in polite conversation and genuinely cared about my welfare, treating me like family because she'd known my mother and was aware of my orphaned status. This aloofness from False Odin was entirely different—was it because of the lie at play here, or was Frigga simply too kind to be stoic? The men of the court were fundamentally cold, and I wondered if my being a woman had something to do with it. None of the soldiers eyed me, which said they didn't find the king's conduct out of the ordinary.

Typical. They had no idea how their lives and worlds would crumble if the women who kept Asgard afloat stopped doing their duties. I had half a mind to tell Sif it was her job to stand up for all the women who weren't in her position, but I imagined she had enough to prove on her own without anyone else burdening her.

I assisted in the kitchens for a few hours and through the early afternoon until it was time to repeat the routine upstairs with another tray. To my chagrin, the one I left before remained untouched. Odin continued to engage with a shifting group of men before him, and I guessed he wouldn't miss one meal today, but at least two. My heart fell at the thought as I picked up the wasted breakfast and hoped I might be able to convince him to eat supper at least.

By sunset, I'd helped prepare several meals for other high court members and watched their attendants parade from the kitchens. With supper in hand, I made my way up the stairs and asked myself if it was better to have a higher station or no secrets—either one required a level of patience that would be difficult to maintain long-term. Still, it was better than boredom.

Where there was much conversation earlier in the judgment hall, now there was total silence. Not a single man or woman filled the space. The tray I brought this afternoon still sat on Odin's throne, also untouched, and I sighed.

I tapped on his chamber door with my foot to keep the meal in my hands steady. "Allfather?"

A few anxious minutes, and no answer came. Not this again. I kicked louder this time, and the door creaked open like it did the night before. I grumbled and stepped inside. "I'm here with your dinner. Hello?" The foyer was dreadfully dark yet again—so much so I worried I'd topple and make a huge mess. With small shuffles, I made my way to the back of the room, led by the golden light beneath his bedroom door. "Allfather?"

There was movement inside, but no direct answer.

"My Lord," I yelled, pounding on the inner door with my foot again. "Please retrieve your meal so I can complete other duties." Being stern with him was a risk at the best of times, but the lack of sleep finally caught up with me. My fuse was dangerously short.

He walked on the other side with heavy, thudding footsteps. False Odin opened the door and examined me in the low light, which again grew brighter with his presence.

I gulped at the sight of him—his skin drooped with a heavy bag under his good eye and a deep crease dug into his forehead from furrowing his brow all day. Why he didn't transform to his true self, I had no idea, though I imagined exhaustion had something to do with it.

"You may enter," he said after an uncomfortable minute, deciding it was better to cooperate with me than keep me at a distance.

I followed him into the bedroom and had to stifle a gasp. The source of great light inside was the golden Odinsleep chamber—used by the Allfather to gather his strength—and its true owner occupied it. He slumbered peacefully from what I could tell, though I worked not to stare.

Well, at least Loki didn't kill him.

I swallowed any and all opinions on the matter and didn't mention it at all. Instead, I focused on my menial tasks and put the tray on a small table by the door.

Not far from me, False Odin sat in a stiff chair that mimicked the shape of his throne. He propped himself up on one hand and leaned coolly to the left. Whatever was on his mind, it preoccupied him too much to have conversation.

"My Lord, would you like me to bring your supper directly?" I asked. "Perhaps I can prepare you tea or fetch an ale?"

He nodded, continuing to stare straight ahead.

Without further instructions, I poured him a cup of warm tea from my vessel and offered it with cautious hands. "Would you prefer if I added something to it? Honey or milk, perhaps? I'm prepared with both."

With a glance from his eye, he refused, taking it as-is. "Thank you, Sigyn."

The rest of the tray would've become cold without my care, so I put away everything not actively being used under the cloche. No need to be more wasteful than necessary.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him sip from the cup and put it down again, maintaining the crooked posture. It struck me as informal, arrogant, and...familiar. He sat in such a way earlier.

"You know, you're giving yourself away," I said, being too cheeky for my own good.

He snapped, "With what? You?"

"No," I said, tipping my head toward him in a reverent bow, then gestured over his body. "Your posture. You're leaning. The Allfather never does that."

False Odin glared, but the way he righted his spine said he saw truth in my words.

"And there may be something else...if you don't mind. Stand up, please." I took his teacup and stood back for him to step away from the chair. "Walk forward to me, Lord."

He rolled his eyes but did as I asked. With a lumber to his left side, he exaggerated the older man's shortcomings. Now that I knew who was under his skin, Loki's disdain for Odin shined through.

"You limp to the wrong side," I said, arching my brows in innocence. "See, an injury like the one he has would force you to the right, not the left."

False Odin paused, but chuckled after considering it for a moment. "Very astute, Sigyn. What else?"

"Well, those two things, really. Except—" I stopped, unsure if another criticism was wise.

He cocked a brow. "Except..."

I sighed. "Well, you might be careful how you speak. His language is...more lofty than yours or mine. He never paid much mind to me, but other servants have teased about it in the past."

"Noted." With a nod, he returned to his chair.

"I'm glad to be of service in that way, as others might've noticed." I put his teacup on the armrest and stood meekly before him again. "If it's not too much, might I ask that you keep the foyer lit more strongly? I'm afraid it will be easy to hurt myself otherwise."

A pause. No eye contact. "Very well. It will be lit."

"Thank you, My Lord. Do you require anything more of me this evening?"

"I do not." He waved to dismiss me without another word, and I left the dinner tray behind for him to peck at.

One day down. An eternity of secrets remaining.