(SIGYN)
The whole trip back to the kitchen, my feet and hands tingled. My cheeks hurt from smiling so widely, though I attempted to keep a straight face around others. Servants typically washed in a communal space, but as the King's attendant, I'd been honored with a private vessel by the wall. I took advantage and bathed quickly so as not to disrupt the day's normal schedule.
While my skin didn't show signs of what happened, every muscle in my body cried out in delightful soreness. I could only hope to recover enough to perform again sooner rather than later. Wanting to leave the best impression next time he touched me, I used my knife to carefully shave the small hairs from my legs until perfectly smooth. No soldier could compete with how intimately I knew my weapon. I used a musky cream gifted to me by one of the other servants some time ago and was glad not to have wasted it on a man less worthy than Loki. Surely he would appreciate the aroma when pecking at my thighs again.
I shuddered with a content sigh at the thought.
Is it me, or is the sun stagnant? Each time I glanced toward the sky to gauge the time, it seemed to be moving backward. Night couldn't come fast enough, and I doubted Loki and I would have any time to even speak privately until then—so all I could do was wait.
Servants flooded the kitchen to gather breakfast for their charges, and I was no exception. More than a few of them cocked a brow my way, too observant that my attitude was more restless than usual. My feet pushed me forward at an abnormally quick pace and I rolled my eyes in annoyance when people stopped or slowed before me. They only made time drag.
False Odin was already present in his throne when I crested the top of the noble floor to the judgment hall. His usual crowd of worried soldiers surrounded him. Their voices were more hushed than usual.
A private pair standing by the tray stand chattered away. "Another fleet? Is Heimdall sure?"
"Indeed. Might be here as soon as tomorrow." The man made eyes at his red-clad companion and pressed his lips in a line.
My heart jumped at the thought of more fighting. More carnage. War.
The troop shifted away from the throne and toward Odin's chambers, no doubt to meet more privately in his foyer. I stood with my hands behind my back and bowed my head until most of them passed, attempting to melt into the pillar I stood beside. Good servants didn't make themselves any more noticeable than furniture.
Still, I hoped to meet False Odin's eye before he left the hall. I wasn't so fortunate.
Midday came and went—per as usual, the breakfast tray remained untouched, and the second was likely to stay that way as well. After assisting with some duties downstairs, I found Peorth cutting bandages alone in a quiet room alone.
While I knew it was Peorth and not Loki in disguise, the sight of her still made me uneasy. I tapped on the doorway to get her attention. "Can you assist me with something?"
She came out of the trance of her work and smiled at me. "Of course, what do you need?"
I relaxed, wishing I could confide in someone about my stolen love affair, but clipped my tongue and kept my task at the forefront. "As a healer, I hope you'll know what I need by description alone. I seek a...a potion of sorts, though it isn't for ingesting. It feels somewhat oily and smells hot. Makes the nose run. It's a healing balm in liquid form."
Peorth blinked a few times and snickered. "You don't know its proper name?"
"No. Every time I've seen it, the concoction has no label. Allfather found some in Queen Frigga's chambers and used it to stay comfortable beyond his injury, but the bottle shattered last night and the rest was lost."
"It surprises me you aren't familiar—surely the Allfather is." She rose from the table and waved me to follow her out of the room. "Queen Frigga used to make it herself from old Vanaheim magic."
"Where are we going?"
"The high healers keep all the stores. The king will have enough to keep his whole body numb for years with what I'll give you." Peorth trotted as she went down the hall, ever excitable.
Not his whole body if I can help it. I matched her pace and couldn't help but feel like some of Loki's mischief rubbed off on me.
My knees bounced as I watched the sunset. Anxious energy came from all around since word spread from the soldiers that another invasion was imminent. Events across the city and in the palace were cancelled so families could prepare.
Yet my mind escaped the danger by being far away. I imagined rubbing Loki's shoulders and caressing his strong hands, forcing him to relax. While he took long, slow breaths, I would lift his spirits by waxing on about his skills. He'd mold to my every whim and ask me to speak his name, which I would do in ever growing volume until he silenced me to keep our secret.
Being with him was an act of defiance. The two of us versus everything else. The threat of being caught and punished only enhanced the thrill.
When the time came for me to bring supper upstairs, I prepared a small meal for myself under the cloche, expecting to eat with him. Surely he'd need a final balm of medicine for his shoulder before tomorrow, so I put the bottle Peorth gave me in my front pocket alongside a wide-toothed comb that I intended to use on Loki's hair, curious if I could tease out more curls and waves. The night ahead would be more than a repeat of the last—for all that I'd spent my life doubting my ability to give worthwhile romantic affection, I looked forward to proving myself wrong.
I knocked lightly on Odin's first chamber door, still cautious at the buzz that threatened to chase away intruders. It let me pass, but the foyer was dark. Too dark. Alarmingly dark.
Something wrong.
"Sire?" A large part of me wanted to call out his real name, but that would've been foolish, so I kept up the ruse. "Hello?"
Light from the Odinsleep on the other side of the inner door glared at me. All the snuffed candles on the walls left a smoky remnant behind that insulted my nostrils and made me want to sneeze. The oppressive silence made me too aware of my flipping stomach.
Where is he?
I kept the entrance open so I could see my way to the back table. "Allfather, are you here?"
A shadow appeared, cutting through the stream of golden light. "Be on your way," he said with Odin's voice.
"I...what?" I glared at the door as if he could see me.
"Leave the meal and go."
Trying to keep my wits about me, I told myself his gruffness was a symptom of his fear for what was to come and not purposely dismissive of me. "Alright. Before I do, though, I was able to find more tincture for your shoulder. If you'll allow me—"
"Put it with the rest." With that, he walked away, and his shadow's absence was chased with a distinct draft that washed over my legs below the skirts.
I shivered, but confusion kept me stationary. For a few quiet minutes, I did nothing but stare at the inner door, waiting for him to come back so we could look each other in the eye.
He didn't.
I timidly reached for the handle, half expecting it to shock me away. With my body pressed against the door, I whispered, "My Lord, let this serve as a...a formal invitation to see me, alright?" As I said the words, a black cloud of disappointment settled into my soul. His behavior made things obvious. Still, I clutched the last strands of hope in the air. "Tell Tiwaz to let you in. Goodnight." Leaving the small bottle and comb on the supper tray, I wanted him to understand how my intentions remained pure.
The chamber was darker when I left. It was filled with all the worry of tomorrow and the bitter remnants of this morning's sweetness,—only good for a flash, then overripe and rotten.
In my room, alone, I skipped my own supper and played with my hair, coiling and plaiting it in intricate designs to pass the time. Tiwaz sat at my side and didn't so much as flinch for the rest of the night.
When the palace went silent, I had no choice but to give up on the thought that he would make an appearance. I slipped on one of my black sleeping robes and crawled into bed beneath Loki's cape. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was worn out. Maybe he would wake me just to talk about the stars, like he'd promised in delirium last night.
Or maybe he understood what I knew all along. We were no match. My inner fire couldn't compete with his cold-to-colder attitude, no matter how much I prayed he had some hidden softness. After all I'd done, all I'd promised, I wasn't enough.
I allowed myself only a handful of tears. In the morning, he'd be Odin, and I would be no one again. As it should be.