Hello everyone! I wish you a happy new year and all the best for 2022.

As usual, I'll explain why my updates are coming so slow but this time, I'll refrain from any optimistic promises.
Since last summer, I am on an amazing new job that I love but that is also very time-consuming. I write whenever I can. I will definitely finish all my published stories but I do not work linearly and I write for whatever fandom inspires me atm. So my update schedule is really non-existant.

Apologies for that and enjoy reading! As always, please leave a review if you feel like it.

Chapter 6: Face the music

Loki

~o~

Loki bid his time after that. He would uphold the bargain, too sweet was the thought of his brother rejected and humiliated, but his conversation with Thor had reminded him that he was enjoying the game too much. Loki was not foolish enough to care for the woman, no, he was in no danger at all. Yet, Thor wasn't either. Loki was playing to win and it would take some nudging to make his brother give up his freedom – a most cherished good – and tie himself down. Loki was confident he'd succeed. Well, Freyja would remain the perfect bait, he didn't want to take all the glory for himself. She knew how to play him. After the hunt, she'd wasted no time. 'Your brother was too kind,' she'd told Thor, with a lingering look in his direction. 'He took such good care of me, I was never bored at all. I hope your day was as pleasant as mine.' It was painful to watch, like a bear stumbling into a trap blindly, never seeing the iron underneath the dry leaves.

Not iron, Loki thought. Too rigid, too simple. And not leaves, either. A serpent hiding in the flowers.

'I spent my day looking for you, Freyja,' his brother had said, wounded and angry but Loki noticed he was using her first name. 'And you tell me you never worried about me?'

She could have ruined it there and then. Thor was easily angered and prone to bearing grudges. But she didn't. 'Why would I worry? There's no beast in this woods that could harm you. If anything, I was worried for the tree lions and mountain cats, for the bears and the wolves.'

Her smile then could have well replaced the sun and Thor's anger had melted away in its glow. 'We will go hunting again, and soon,' he'd promised her but ever since, Freyja had found a number of activities to divert Thor from hunting. No doubt she feared mud would ruin her gown. It wasn't like Loki to feel admiration and certainly, Lady Freyja wasn't worthy of it, but he could admit freely that she played the game well. Thor was an easy target, of course, and she was rather too obvious but all in all, she was doing passably well.

Today, she had expressed her desire to feel the stiff breeze from the sea on her face and taste the salt on her lips. It hadn't taken much coaxing to make Thor suggest a boat trip and even less to make him promise to row her out onto the open sea in a dinghy. They'd be all alone there, for the first time since their dispassionate courtship had begun. 'Oh, what a brilliant idea!' she'd exclaimed, all laughs and smiles and accidental touches. It was a brilliant idea, perhaps. But not Thor's.

Loki considered, for a moment, to come along. He could row himself, or simply stay at the beach and drink with Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg and Sif. But sitting there, with Volstagg singing bawdy songs out of tune, staring at Freyja and Thor kissing out onto the open sea as the sun set behind them, bathing the world in their colours, red and gold, simply didn't sit right with Loki. If Freyja managed to win his brother's affections on her own, all the better. Loki certainly had better things to do than support Sigurd's ambitious daughter in her game for the crown.

But when the party had left (some other lords and ladies of the court had come along), Loki found the quiet great hall unnerving and left, his food untouched, for the library. Here, quiet was required, which made it peaceful instead of unsettling. And there were better companions here, too: books. There were few he hadn't read, though travellers and courtiers brought new volumes now and then. That would be what he'd do today. Read. One of the histories, maybe. Or one of the volumes describing the Nine Realms. Midgard or Jotunheim. Yes. Who needed mead and sand and salt when he could have the knowledge of the universe bound in linen and leather?

But even Jotunheim couldn't hold his attention tonight. Outside in the near darkness, he saw half a dozen small lights flickering on the sea. Boats with lanterns. Freyja would sit in one of them, facing Thor, their knees touching. Did she like it? Being rowed around like cargo? Certainly, her plan had involved more details of the unsavoury kind. In a small boat, far away from the others, with only a dim, golden lantern shining upon her pretty face, her well-cut red gown with the modest neckline that fooled many people but not Loki. Few men would fail to seize this opportunity but Thor was different. He liked the chase more than the deer. Certainly she knew. Every rabbit got tired of running, a doe or two would at times succeed to outrun their hunters. It was an art in itself to keep running, on and on, without doing either. Loki thought at times that Freyja did not want the crown. That she had only agreed to their bargain because she'd never considered marrying Thor in the first place. Then, he reconsidered and thought it likely she'd try to betray him. Or perchance Loki and Thor were a part of a greater game, one played by her father for their father's chair. It all seemed equally implausible, yet one of these theories had to be true, at least in parts.

It had grown dark in the library as he had pondered her schemes, too dark to read. He was wasting his time. If she didn't want the crown, what was it to him? If she was trying to betray him, he'd show her why they called him God of Mischief. And if her father had some sinister plan to take down their father, Loki would stop those, too. Or not, of course. As it suited him.

"You should conjure up a candle, Loki."

His mother had entered and with her the golden light of a dozen candles that shone in sconces in the hallway.

"I can think just as well in the dark, Mother."

Frigga made no reply. She stepped next to his desk, right in front of the ornate glass windows, some fifteen feet high, looking over the Asgardian sea.

The moon shone through the glass dome above them and its light gleamed on the ocean like liquid silver. Loki knew how it must look like to her: as if he was staring at his brother and his friends, having fun without him. But just as he opened his mouth to explain that it was not at all like that, that he stood here only for the moonlight, his mother started speaking:

"Your brother has taken a shine to Sigurd's daughter."

"Sif?" Loki asked. "I never noticed."

"Very droll." He heard his mother's smile. "I thought Freyja was more fitting for you. She is an intelligent woman. Quiet. Meticulous. And so thirsty for knowledge. She borrowed some dozen books from my private library, all of them on the Nine Realms. Most of them are back on the shelves already."

"Naturally," he said, with an ease he did not feel, "Some of them are complex and take some intense studying. She might be better off with a chivalric romance."

"You have quite the collection, don't you?"

Loki never blushed, but at times, he felt the heat of shame in his face nevertheless.

"From my boyhood, perhaps. Buried underneath wooden swords and woollen toys."

He was almost certain his mother was smiling now, that knowing smile he didn't like at all, but the candles were behind her so he was at least spared the sight.

"Be that as it may. It is your brother whom she charmed, not you. I was wrong."

"I am not charmed that easily. Compliments and soft touches and boat trips in the dark. Cheap tricks."

He never noticed what he gave away.

"Tricks?" His mother asked. "Why, I think Freyja is partial to Thor. And of course they say opposites attract. She's calm where your brother is loud, thoughtful where he is impulsive and studious where is adventurous. They compliment each other well, don't you think?"

"You make her sound like a mouse."

Loki saw out of the corner of his eye that she turned her face toward him but he didn't meet her eyes. His mother had a way of seeing things he'd rather keep hidden, especially things he himself barely understood.

"Do I? I never noticed." She turned back to the window again. "You disagree then?"

There was something in her voice, the hint of hidden amusement, that had him on guard within moments.

"I neither agree nor disagree. She is nothing to me, Mother."

"Perhaps she will be your queen one day. You should learn to care, don't you think?"

He bit his lip at that.

"And didn't you spend a morning with her in the woods? When Thor got...lost?"

Damn him for telling their mother.

"Not by choice, I assure you."

"Do you like her so little? When she might be your good sister in time?"

Loki gazed out at the boats. Only three remained, one of them a little apart. For a moment, he imagined it were Thor and Freyja in that boat, kissing in the moonlight. He felt nothing at all. Faint distaste, perhaps.

"I doubt she will be a good sister, mother, considering how she trifles with her own sister's feelings."

It seemed like a good way to end this bothersome conversation.

Frigga didn't speak at once but when she did, her voice was lower, slower. "I doubt she knows. Sif is all the family Freyja has. There is little love in them for their father, and who can fault them. Sigurd is not the most genial man."

"All the more reason not to hurt her sister."

"We should not talk of this. Sif wishes to keep her secret, no doubt, and we should do, too. It would ruin Thor and Freyja's courtship if she knew, I fear. It is still a fragile thing. Do you think your brother is certain?"

For a moment, an idea formed in his mind, a despicable, jealous thing. He brushed it away. Then held onto it and pushed it to the very back of his mind. Perhaps it would serve him one day. His mother waited for an answer, so Loki gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Thor doesn't like uncertainty, so he simply is. He knows a wedding will ensure his ascension to the throne, Frey – Lady Freyja comes to court, she is pleasant enough, and he seizes the opportunity. He cares more for his hammer than for her but he won't have to see her all that much when they're wed. It is convenient but that is all he can hope for. We all know love is a construct."

He felt his mother's hand upon his shoulder. "Be careful, son. One day, someone might believe the cruel things you say, much to your sorrow."

My sorrow? he meant to say, mockingly, but the words got stuck in his throat. He had always found it easier to lie to his father and brother. His mother knew him too well.

"The truth is a cruel thing," he said, after a moment.

"Some truths are. Some are not. And as of yet, we do not know what kind of truth Lady Freyja holds. I hope she makes your brother happy. I hope she makes your brother smile, I hope she makes him dream, I hope she makes him a better man. Love does that to people."

So far, Loki had seen no effect on Thor. It was not love that guided either of them, that much even his mother had to see.

"Love makes people pretend to be better, perhaps."

"As you are pretending now, to me? Love makes us strive to show the best of ourselves. To be the best version of ourselves."

"Well, Mother, should I ever love, I won't have to change at all."

She laughed at that. "I hope I will see the day, Loki, when you do."

She put a hand on his shoulder again, gently. "I'll leave you to your books. Will I see you tomorrow? You can break your fast with me. Or play the harp for my ladies. You haven't in such a long time."

"You have musicians enough, mother." He paused and looked out of the window again, his eyes found the bobbing light in the darkness. "I might come. Only to borrow a book, mind you."

His mother didn't say that he'd read them all already. "You are always welcome."

Loki was adamant not to visit his mother that morning. He had taken pains to avoid Thor and his friends when he broke his fast, so early that none of them was up. He did not want to see her, not after what he supposed had happened the night before. Yet, he found himself pacing his bedchamber, impatient, bored, and decided that, as he would have to see her that night anyway for their training, he could as well test the waters now.

She was playing the clavichord as he entered, her gaze focused solely on the keys.

"Loki!" Frigga did not rise as he entered but stuck her needle back in the embroidery cloth in her lap. "I had not expected you. Sit with me."

There was an empty chair beside the queen, though judging by an abandoned embroidery frame, it had been Freyja's before she'd sat down at the clavichord. The chair had since grown cold. Her embroidery work was finely made, precise and pristine, though the floral motif was so mundane and trivial, it seemed a waste of talent and time.

"Isn't Lady Freyja an excellent player?" Frigga smiled at her though her lady in waiting barely returned it, so focussed was she on her task.

"Indeed, excellent."

Loki caught a glance from Lady Helga (or was it Sigrun?) and the hint of a smile. His mother's ladies and their daughters were now adjusting themselves to the prospect of a married crown prince. With Thor evidently occupied by the finest among them, they seemed to finally consider him a viable option. He returned the smile.

"Lady Astrid, your stitches are as clear and pretty as ever," he said to another lady. She rewarded him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, my prince. Your lady mother has been the best teacher."

Frigga liked the quiet repetitiveness and attention to detail that embroidery required. His boyhood shirts had often borne her stitching.

"I agree, my lady," he said lamely.

He shouldn't have come. He did not belong here, among the ladies of the court. He had to train and fight with his brother. But he did not leave.

"Don't you want to join Lady Freyja, Loki? You play so well, too, and you know how much I like a duet."

The queen ignored the brief stumble in her play. She didn't want him to play at her side and he doubted they were carved out to play a duet. It required understanding and cooperation at the least and so far, he was glad to get a civil word out of her.

"I do not know any duets, I'm afraid. I do not mean to impose, so perhaps I should leave you now. You are well entertained already."

"You leave us so soon?" Lady Helga (Loki had decided the twin with the freckle on her chin would from now on be Helga) asked. Her lower lip trembled, her eyes were wide and bidding. She was a terrible actress but he enjoyed the show anyway.

"I will see you tonight, my lady."

"But didn't you want to borrow a book?" his mother asked, not raising her eyes off her embroidery for once. He remembered the excuse he'd given the night before.

The bookcases were by the window, behind the clavichord. Behind Freyja. Was his mother truly so convinced Thor'd marry her and make her Loki's good sister and queen? Why else would she bother to force him to talk to her?

"Yes. Of course. I almost forgot, thank you for reminding me."

He'd just quickly pick a volume on Asgardian history and then leave. A brief greeting and compliment for Freyja would suffice.

"A good morning to you, my lady."

She did not look at him. "And to you, my prince."

His fingers found the book, he pulled it out –

"Loki, could you turn the page for Lady Freyja?" His mother gave him a reassuring smile, then looked back down at her needlework. Loki knew very well where he'd gotten his taste for scheming.

Freyja pretended not to notice his presence. Her hair was pulled back and pinned in place under a silver veil, only one unruly curl had escaped and hung in her face. It seemed to annoy her endlessly, judging by the way she moved her head, though of course, she could not raise a hand to tuck it behind her ear. It was oddly pleasing to see her so helpless for once. All things considered, it seemed he could stomach half an hour in her presence.

"Do you need me to help you, Lady Freyja?" he asked, so softly that his mother wouldn't hear him.

She couldn't even take her eyes off the keys to give him a poisonous look. Loki decided he could show some benevolence and turn the pages for her.

"It would be appreciated, my prince."

"I think your prince is sleeping off the effects of too much mead," he replied as he turned the page. "You must have had an interesting night. Then, of course, nothing is quite as romantic as utilising the open ocean to separate your beloved from his ever present friends."

"I'm sorry you were not invited, Your Highness. Please, do not assume we forgot you. It just…slipped our minds for a moment. You wouldn't have enjoyed it very much, I think. It was just light-hearted fun."

It was as always remarkable how pleasant her voice sounded when she hurt him with her words. Loki smiled, although she couldn't see it.

"Oh, I can imagine," he said, mimicking her tone exactly, "Thor has never been especially responsive to cheap tricks and I imagine it takes more than the endless rumble of waves and half an hour in physical proximity to convince him to give up his cherished freedom for a wet kiss on a rocking boat."

She hit an off key. "Almost painful," he said, with a slight smile. "Apologies, I did not mean your mediocre play."

"I took no offence," she said, and her fingers flew over the keys yet again in perfect timing. "A wounded animal attacks. It is a baser instinct, of course, a tad bestial, but some people simply lack the refinement to overcome our more animalistic traits. Jealousy must be a terrible bane. I can hardly imagine."

"Jealousy? Lady Freyja, if I wished for a short-lived romantic adventure with an empty-headed, parroting blonde, believe me, I would have my pick."

This time, her gaze darted up to him, only for a second. She didn't seem wounded by his remark but there was little these grey blue eyes gave away.

When she replied, she had lowered her gaze again, and seemed concentrated on her play. "Is it an empty-headed, parroting ginger you have set your eyes on then? Or perhaps a sword-fighting brunette?"

When he made no reply, she smiled. "The page, Your Highness."

He flipped it. "I cannot fathom the arrogance of your convictions. You consider yourself such an excellent judge of character and truly think I bear your sister more than a modicum of respect?"

"Well, I take you for a man who wants what he cannot have. And Sif is, in my books, the woman least likely to develop an affection for you."

He bent down to her and smiled for his mother and her ladies as if he was complimenting her play. As he brought his face close to hers to whisper his final jibe, the wayward curl brushed against his cheek and sent a jolt through him. He stood straight at once, moved aside a step, then lowered his face to hers again, ever so slightly and whispered:

"Lady Freyja, if I were truly as simple as you describe me, wouldn't I fall in love with you?"

She missed a note, hastily added at the end of a dragged-on tact. He noticed with satisfaction that despite her pretentious manner, he had the power to put her off her stride.

"It is a notion so ridiculous that I would never even jest about it," she replied quickly, eyes on the keys.

He flipped to the final page. "I'm glad we agree on that much, at least."

Slowly, Loki bent down again, as if trying to decipher something on the page. "As for tonight…you certainly understand how busy I am with matters of state. I will come to see you in your chambers, yet, I cannot quite say when. I suggest you prepare yourself after dinner and wait for me. I'll do my best to be early."

She fell into a crescendo. "You want me to spend the entire night alone in my chambers waiting for you?"

"Cheer up, my lady. It is perfect training for life as a queen."

Loki left his mother's audience chamber on a high note. Nothing could temper his delight throughout the day. Even when he saw Thor and Freyja sitting side by side, the poisonous glance she threw him when she rose from the bench, feigning a headache, was sweet. He took his time, of course, and danced and drank, and every drop tasted sweeter knowing that she was waiting for him, that she had no chance but to do as he demanded.

~o~

Freyja

~o~

She sat at her desk, jaw-clenched, mulling over the events of the day with growing anger. Loki repaid her for excluding him by forcing her to seclude herself. At least, she had not had to lie: there was a constant, pulsing pain lodged in her temples. She needed a good night's rest and some relaxation but it didn't seem as if she would get either in the near future.

And her endeavours had not even been crowned by success. Yes, Thor had offered to row them out onto the sea. And yes, he had shown her more than casual interest. But nothing more than a lingering touch, nothing more than a brush against her hand, her cheek. It had been too tame, too chaste. Freyja knew full well she couldn't keep running from him at just the right pace. He would lose interest in the hunt. So she had wanted him to conquer her, only a little, give him one small victory, then snatch it away from him. But Thor had never claimed it. He had made no move to kiss her, not even embraced her. Freyja had been tasked to woo the one man in all of Asgard that could spend an entire night with her out on the open sea, alone and in the dark but for a flickering lantern, without feeling the urge to have her.

Well, one of two men. Had she rowed out with Loki, only one of them would have come back, and right now, considering the bubbling hot rage, her money was on her. Her furiously beating heart calmed down a little as she imagined pushing him into the sea.

What was wrong with the Asgardian princes? That Loki would only touch her to annoy her or tease her or perhaps kill her, she had known and anticipated. He was after all the mischievous prince and fulfilled his role with diligence. But Thor was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be gullible and easily charmed, he was supposed to be driven by his physical needs, he was supposed to be an easy target. Someone so short-fused and impulsive should not be able to withstand her, yet he had. It had been a frustrating night and she had once again wasted time she could have spent sleeping. The shadows under her eyes became difficult to cover. Which brought her back to her intense rage. Tonight, she could have finally gotten some rest but no, Loki had to play with her to soothe his hurt pride. She could hardly refuse, she needed his lessons direly, but this knowledge didn't stop her from seething with anger. She shouldn't have taunted him this morning but he was so complacent it had been too hard to resist. Freyja lost herself in angry thoughts concerning the second prince, never noticing how she slowly gave in to the bone-deep tiredness.

~o~

Loki

~o~

When at last, he took the secret passage to her chambers, he found her asleep at her desk, cheek resting on an open book, a quill in her hand. Ink was smeared over her fingers. Her sleeping face was softer, kinder than Loki had ever seen her awake.

Yet, he had to wake her up. It was strange to touch her deliberately. Apart from their dances, he couldn't remember ever having done so. Loki decided to brush against her shoulder, perhaps shake her a little, if needed. She struck him as a light sleeper anyway. Slowly, he reached out, fingers inches from her bare skin. He could feel the heat radiating from her. Then, his fingers made contact and she sat up straight with a jolt.

The book had left a red imprint on her cheek, her hair fell about her face in uneven ringlets and her bedrobe gaped open at the neck. When she saw where his gaze had dropped, she quickly adjusted it.

"Matters of state?" she asked.

"Diplomacy," he said, forcing himself not to grin.

"I'd sooner send a mountain lion on a diplomatic mission than you."

"Then it is perhaps better for Asgard that you will never be queen."

She didn't object. "What will you teach me now, then? Or I might reconsider the crown."

Slowly, deliberately, she rose from her chair, drawing herself up to her full height. Of course, she still had to look up to him but it was an improvement.

"Transformation. How to change your body. I will give you an example."

He transformed into Thor. It was easiest to slip into a skin you wanted, into a body you were envious of, he had found that out over the centuries.

She looked him up and down with a raised brow. "Very impressive," she said at last. "I can't find a flaw."

He hoped very much she was talking about his magic and not Thor's body.

It troubled him anyway, that she seemed to know him so well and he was weighing whether he was more flattered by her compliment or more concerned about their apparent closeness. He decided to be both, equally, because every broth needed its fly.

"It has to be an appearance you know well. It is an elaborate illusion with many parameters."

There was only one person Freyja knew well, it seemed, but transforming a shapely, soft-featured, golden-haired princess into a lean, brunette shieldmaiden proved too much of a challenge to her.

Her hair was darkened when the sky outside the windows lightened to a bright indigo with a rose gold fringe. Loki was altogether pleased, for he always liked to see her struggle. Things came too easy to her as it was.

She looked strange with her sister's brown hair and he resisted the temptation to reach out and put her back to normal. He didn't even like her showy golden curls. He didn't like the way they offset her pale skin, the way they brushed against her cheeks soft as feathers.

Was it the light or did she look positively grey with brown hair? Now that he gave her a closer look, he saw the dark circles under her eyes, the lack of colour in her cheeks and the tightness of her skin. She had not had a good night's rest in weeks. A strange soreness spread through his chest and Lokin noticed with dismay that it felt a little like shame – and a little like pity. He had kept her up tonight only to soothe his anger. And she had not complained once. With gritted teeth had she complied and done whatever he'd told her to do.

Slowly, Loki reached out and brushed against her hair. It was bright once again.

"Better," he said – and caught himself again. "You look like a statue once again."

She only rubbed her eyes and this time Loki suppressed the heat that rose inside him. He couldn't afford sympathy.

"We will try something else next time," he found himself saying and decided to give her a fortnight of rest before hounding her again, "You have been dismal at transformation but perhaps transmutation will suit you better."

She gave him a cocky smile. A flame of her usual wit flared up again. "I am certain it will. Why would I ever wish to transform this –" she gestured to her frame, "into something else?"

Loki kept his eyes on her face but he knew she wasn't wrong.

"Well," he said, raising his brow and honouring her with a smirk, "there certainly is no spell to transform that arrogance into modesty."

Her face came to life once again and it seemed as if the greyness drained out of her as she returned his mocking smile: "And I thought you'd never admit the limits of your capabilities."

Loki would grant her this one petty victory out of sheer benevolence and pity. "Sweet dreams, Lady Freyja."

The sun was already rising. Whatever she'd dream of, it would be short-lived.