One day, when Loki was as old and gray as Odin himself, he would look back on his life and pinpoint the handful of moments that most influenced the paths that he took. Life, whether long and Aesir or short and mortal, all inevitably came down to just a small amount of moments that were the most influential, the most irrevocably powerful ones that either set the course for success or derailed one's existence into chaos. Hundreds, even thousands of years could be undone in matter of seconds, with a handful of words, and make the next thousand years entirely different from what they would have been just a moment before.

This, Loki knew, was one of those moments.

He stood next to Thor in their father's throne room. Odin sat on the throne, Frigga standing to his right, as the All-Father spoke a simple sentence that changed everything.

"... and at season's end, you shall be proclaimed King."

Once it was said, once the moment had happened and could not be undone, Loki felt a shift take place inside of him. He'd known this day would come in time, had known it for nearly a year now - but he never would have dreamed that it would happen so soon.

On the outside, he was calm. He even turned to Thor and gave him a grand smile that told his older brother that he was truly, sincerely happy for him. And maybe on some level, he was. This was all Thor had ever wanted, all he had ever worked and fought for in his many centuries of life, and now it was in his grasp. It was hard to not be happy for a brother that you loved, fiercely, when they were so full of happiness themselves.

But, on the inside, Loki was panicking.

Thor was not ready. Thor was nowhere near ready. And the All-Father was surely losing his wits to think any differently.

Loki caught Frigga's softly concerned look after he turned from the smile that he and Thor had shared. Loki gave her the smallest, most subtle of nods, assuring her that he was not about to have an envy-fueled breakdown over the throne that had just been figuratively handed to his brother. What he had always told her was true - he did not want the throne, truly. He only ever wanted the courtesy of being equally considered for it. Which had not happened.

And the only reason that Thor was being given the throne well before he was fit to take it, Loki immediately suspected, was because of Loki himself. As Frigga had told him only weeks ago, he would be at Thor's right hand as King, his strength where he was weak, the other half of a team that would take the Nine Realms into another age of peace and triumph.

In other words, when Thor acted brashly, Loki would rein him in. When Thor wanted to split other worlds apart with his hammer for the smallest slight, Loki would urge him to think twice. When Thor would nearly bring about the end of Yggdrasil itself with war wrought by his arrogance and anger, Loki would stop him.

And he would never receive a single ounce of credit for any of it, though that was a concept he was rather used to.

But Loki knew better. Thor rarely listened to his words of reason. Thor did what he wanted. Thor answered to Thor. The center of Thor's existence was Thor.

Under his rule, Asgard would burn. And Loki would not be able to stop it.

The panic felt white-hot and sickening as it coursed through his veins, but he was not called the god of lies for nothing. Not only did he appear to be wholly ecstatic for Thor, he even gave an impromptu speech before they were dismissed that was not only unwaveringly supportive, but positively dripping in saccharine sweetness. It felt bitter on his tongue but sounded like honey to the ears of his family. Frigga became teary-eyed, Odin looked pleased, but Thor, while he smiled back and thanked Loki for the kind words and was always happy to have praise heaped upon him, looked almost... irritated.

A short while later, Loki walked alongside Thor as they left the throne room. The announcement would be made at noon, and then all of Asgard would know that the Crown Prince of Asgard would be their King in only three months' time.

Thor had never looked so obnoxiously ecstatic in his life.

"Three months," Loki mused as they rounded a corridor. "Are you certain that you're ready, brother?"

"Ha!" Thor scoffed. "Do I appear unready?"

"Certainly not," Loki answered with a grin. "But, as closest advisor to the future King, I must be sure, mustn't I?"

"Who said you get the title of closest advisor?" Thor teased, mock confusion on his face. "Perhaps I was considering Volstagg for the job."

"Ah, yes, he would be quite indispensable if you were seeking counsel regarding choosing either the beef or the pheasant at your coronation banquet."

Thor laughed. "Be nice."

"Am I ever anything but?"

At this, Thor stopped walking, and they stood facing one another in front of a pair of large stone columns. The hallway was empty, even of servants, so Thor did not bother to lower his voice as he spoke to his brother. "Now, brother, I do not wish for you to take this the wrong way, but -"

Loki gave a false gasp and wrinkled his nose. "Oh dear - are you going to ask me to be your date to the coronation?"

Thor cracked a smile and lifted a finger to his brother. "Stop that. I am in a rather serious mood."

Loki raised his hands in mock surrender. "Noted. Go on."

"I appreciate your speech a moment ago," Thor said. "Your support means much to me. But know that this is to be my time of triumph. I don't want you making your usual plays for attention."

The grin slipped from Loki's face as he narrowed his eyes. "Are you implying that I said what I said to gain attention?"

"I do not wish to argue with you, brother."

"Is that truly why you think I said I what I did?"

Thor paused and glanced away for a moment before replying, "You have always found a way to make yourself the center of attention even on the days that were meant only for me, Loki, and you know it."

Loki laughed. He couldn't help it. "Me? The center of attention, next to you, the Mighty Thor? What could I possibly do to take attention from you as the entire kingdom fawns over you, their future King?"

"I don't know, trickster - you tell me," Thor retorted, though there was no malice in his tone. Just arrogance.

"If anything has been confirmed today, brother, it's that you never have to worry about your trickster little brother stealing attention from you ever again," Loki pointed out.

"Is that a hint of bitterness I hear?"

"Not at all."

They stood and stared at each other for a moment. Thor eventually broke the silence. "You claim to have never wanted the throne but sometimes I suspect differently."

"Your suspicion is false, but it clearly matters not, either way."

"See? When you say things such as that -"

"I do not want the throne," Loki said, suddenly through gritted teeth. "All I ever wanted was -"

"Equal consideration, I know."

Loki had lost track of where this argument was going. "I am second in line to the throne. I am every bit as qualified to rule as you are. It wouldn't kill you to acknowledge that from time to time."

"Every bit as..." Thor trailed off, laughing. Loki narrowed his eyes as Thor widened his slightly and smiled. "Shall we end this argument, once and for all, before it can come between us?"

"How do you propose that we do that?"

"Fight me. We will put to rest any doubts that the right brother was chosen to ascend the throne."

Now it was Loki's turn to laugh. "Brother, there is more to being King than mere physical strength."

"The words of a man who knows that he will lose," Thor grinned. "You've made my point for me quite well."

Thor then turned and began walking away, still chuckling under his breath, and Loki gritted his teeth. He was so immensely and immeasurably tired of this.

A lifetime's worth of jests and ridicule rose up to fester in Loki's mind. All the times he'd heard someone mock his skill in magic - a woman's art, they'd say. Or when they'd question his gender under their breaths - those cheekbones, that strange hair, that slight frame; perhaps he is actually the daughter Odin never wanted!

It was all preposterous, of course. But centuries and centuries of listening to it tended to have a draining effect. Especially when the ridicule came from the mouth of his own brother.

"Brother."

Thor turned, still grinning. "Yes?"

"One week from today. Noon. In the main arena."

Thor's grin widened. "I'll be there."

Loki pushed away the instant gut feeling that he'd just done something incredibly stupid and stomped away.

The shift he'd felt earlier within him was growing. The panic was staying strong. Anger was slowly rising to join it.

Aemilia awoke later in the day than she normally would, for several reasons. The first was that she had no obligations to tend to today, so she had the luxury of sleeping in if she wanted to, and the second was due to the odd night she'd had last night.

She had been back from her trip for a few weeks now, but Loki didn't seem to have felt that he'd made up for their lost time yet. The night prior, after sending her home to promptly pass out from exhaustion, she had awoken maybe two hours later to kisses on her neck and a hand sliding down her stomach. Half asleep as she was, she didn't push him away or question him, but let him have his way. She wouldn't have begrudged him just taking his pleasure and leaving, since she had been eager to get back to sleep at first, but he stubbornly made sure that she came with him in the end. Then, when it was over, he hovered over her, smiled and chuckled before kissing her goodbye and vanishing.

With that kind of behavior, she wondered how long it would be until he started insisting she stay overnight with him. She certainly wouldn't have objected to such an idea.

But, as it was, their relationship seemed stuck at the current point of progress, and she didn't expect that to change. She hurt when she was with him and she hurt when she was without him; he was the embodiment of pain, and of all of the things that made pain worth withstanding.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, and sometimes she almost did, but logic would always stop her in the end. No good could come from such a confession.

And so, she went about her days, caught somewhere between the wide perimeters of apathy and hysteria, waiting for the end to come and seal her fate that had little choice but to accept. Today was the same, and she went robotically - and sorely - about her morning routine before dressing and venturing downstairs.

She did not expect to find her mother sitting quietly, and alone, at their vast dining room table, clutching a small bit of paper in a clenched fist and crying with her head bowed.

Ayre crying was a rare sight, indeed, being a woman of strength and confidence, but crying of this nature - shoulder-trembling, quiet but deep sobs that wracked her chest - was simply unprecedented. Aemilia lingered in the doorway of the dining room, watching in confusion and concern, until she could remain quiet no more.

"Mother?"

Ayre snapped her head up then, quickly wiping at her face and clearing her throat. "Oh, Aemilia. You're finally awake."

"What happened? Is it Father?"

"No, no," Ayre shook her head, taking the paper in her hand and shoving it into a pocket in the skirt of her dress. "He's perfectly fine. Already left for the day."

Aemilia stepped forward, concern still etched on her face as she pressed, "I've not seen you cry like this since... possibly never. What's happened?"

"Just..." Ayre sighed and stood up from the table, swiping under her eyes again, "It's nothing to worry yourself with, Aemilia. An old friend of mine died a few days ago, and I just received word of it. Nobody you ever had the chance to meet."

Aemilia watched as another wave of tears glazed over her mother's eyes, as if triggered by her last sentence, but she held it back with a slight choking sound. "Mother..."

Quickly, Ayre grasped her daughter's hands and forced a smile. "I am fine, darling. Truly."

Aemilia paused skeptically before eventually nodding. She wanted to get her hands on that letter and see what really had her mother so torn apart.

"While you were sleeping, news swept through the land. Prince Thor is to become King in three months' time."

Aemilia blinked a few times. "Oh... really?"

"Yes," Ayre nodded. "I suspect the celebrations are what you're preparing to sing at. It's a great honor. I'm proud of you, darling."

Ayre then hugged her, tighter than she had in a very long time, and Aemilia's confusion deepened. She also wondered how Loki was taking the news. He'd never said or done anything in her presence to indicate he'd be upset by his brother taking the throne, but they'd also never discussed anything regarding such a matter either. The thought made her frown - she'd spent so much time with the Prince and yet discussed with him so little, and somehow she'd still managed to fall in love with him.

Ayre drew away and patted Aemilia's cheek before taking a breath and plastering a smile on her face. "Dagr is coming for dinner tonight. Come, help me prepare the house."

Stifling a groan, Aemilia grabbed a piece of fruit from the table and then moved to follow her mother. Today was going to be a strange day.

Loki grinned and ducked down as Lady Sif swiped through the air with her double-edged spear, sending a low kick towards her ankle just before she danced away just in time to avoid it. He advanced on her and swung his dagger towards her chest and she bent backwards, the blade missing her by an inch, and she retaliated by springing back up and striking back, this time with a fist to his face.

The punch connected, and Loki smiled after his head jerked with the impact. "I almost forgot how hard you hit, my lady. I like it."

"And I like it when you keep your mouth shut," she retorted, aiming another swipe of her spear his way but he twisted out of its path, then landed a kick to her shin. She grunted and lunged for him again, and a dizzying blur of blades and limbs was all anyone could see for a few long moments.

Watching nearby, Thor crossed his arms and remarked, "Sif will triumph, I am sure of it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Fandral said, leaning casually on the handle of his sword. "Loki has her on the defensive. That in itself is no small feat."

"He moves with more grace than she, I daresay," Volstagg chimed in. "I keep losing track of who is the lady and who is the prince!"

Thor laughed, and Fandral said, "Oh, well, that's easy. They both may be frighteningly graceful with glorious manes of raven-colored hair that frame equally delicate faces, but only one of them bears the curves and shape befitting a goddess of war."

Thor gave Fandral a sidelong look and said, "Delicate faces? You find my brother to be graceful and in possession of a delicate face?"

Fandral shrugged. "It still pains me to no end that one of the most beautiful maidens I've ever laid eyes on in all the Nine Realms was actually Loki in female form."

Thor laughed heartily. "Now that was one of my brother's better pranks. The look on your face when the woman in your lap transformed back into Loki!"

"I nearly kissed her - him!" Fandral spat. "I will live with the memory of that horrific moment until my dying day!"

"Look!" Volstagg suddenly said, and the three men turned their attention back to the scuffle in front of them,

Loki had disarmed Sif of her spear and she had kicked his dagger from his hand, so they were now locked in fully hand-to-hand combat. It appeared for a moment that Sif had gained the upper hand, knocking Loki down to his knees with a kick to his gut, but he stayed down only long enough to grab a blade that he knew she kept hidden in her boot. He then sprang back to his feet and grabbed her wrist when she struck at him, then twisted her arm behind her back and slammed her back against his chest with her own knife pressed to her throat.

"Losing your touch, my lady?"

Sif rolled her eyes and Loki released her, holding her knife out for her to take back as she glared at him. He merely smirked and jerked his head back slightly to flip a few wayward strands of hair out of his eyes.

"You got lucky," she said, snatching the knife back and turning to walk away.

He picked his dagger off the ground and sheathed it, glancing up towards his brother and the Warriors Three before the sight of Odin watching over from a terrace above caught his attention. He caught the All-Father's gaze and decided to go and have a word with him, even if it would ruin the slightly good mood that besting Sif had put him in.

He and Thor shared a friendly but competitive grin as he walked by, and Loki tried not to be annoyed by how much Thor was looking forward to giving his little brother a public beating. Not that he wouldn't thoroughly enjoy it if the fight went the other way, but that was entirely different. And unlikely.

A few moments later, he joined his father on the terrace, glancing out over the arena as Thor began sparring with Hogun and Fandral. Odin was the first to speak.

"Your skills have improved. I'm glad to see it."

Loki's eyes widened slightly, unprepared for a compliment. "Yes, well... I find that I learn better on my own, without taking Mjolnir to the face at every turn."

"This fight that you and your brother have planned," Odin said, Gungnir clasped firmly in his hand as he spoke. "I do not approve. The family needs to present an image of unity in this time of change. This fight, while frivolous, does not aid that image."

"I can speak to Thor, perhaps he will cancel -"

"No," Odin interrupted, still not sparing his son a glance as he watched the arena. "The interest in the fight is high; it will proceed as planned." It was during this brief pause that Odin finally turned his eye to Loki. "Thor cannot appear weak in any sense, Loki. Not now. Not when he is to take the throne in mere months."

Odin did not need to elaborate for Loki to understand the implication. He wanted to laugh, to shake his head and let his tongue loose, fully express his incredulity at being told to effectively throw the fight just so the future King would not appear so weak as to be bested by his trickster brother.

But, perhaps he should take it as a sign of respect. That Odin felt the need to tell him such a thing suggested that he thought Loki defeating Thor was a possibility. Could it be?

"Are we clear?"

Loki didn't falter. "Perfectly clear, Father."

"Good."

Odin then turned his attention back to the arena, and Loki turned to walk away, a light smirk on his lips as he did.

He was going to fight Thor twice as hard now.

After a day spent observing her mother's continued odd behavior, Aemilia retreated to her room to change before dinner and prepare herself for an evening spent with her intended. She hadn't seen much of him in the last week - it had been nice.

She used the time alone to practice magic, which was how she spent every moment alone; instead of grabbing a dress from her wardrobe, she levitated it and let it float behind her as she sauntered to the large stand mirror in her room. Simple things like that, she was becoming more and more comfortable with, barely having to think about it to do it. Other things, like vanishing items and having them reappear elsewhere, was more tricky, and she was still working on the mechanics of it.

The dress that she chose was a deep burgundy and had a high neck, which was extremely necessary today. After she peeled off the dress she was currently wearing, she eyed the marks that littered both sides of her neck with a resigned distaste. Regardless of how many times she admonished him to stop leaving her like this, he would not stop, and she would be in no state to stop him when he was making the marks. But it was getting ridiculous - they were taking longer to fade these days, for some reason, and she only had so many dresses with high necks.

In any case, she pulled the new dress on and then threw her hair up in a twist on the back of her head before waving her hand over it and smoothing down any stray hairs with magic. That, she learned from Loki, not his book.

When she ran out of reasons to piddle about, she sighed and left her room, descending the stairs and hoping the evening would pass by quickly. But her thoughts were interrupted when she realized that the house had gone deadly silent while she'd been in her room - and apparently also vacant.

"Mother?" she called, stepping through the dining room and then the sitting room, finding nobody and nothing, not even a servant present.

She gave the house another walk-through to be safe, then ventured towards the back, where her mother's gardens lay. She was starting to become truly concerned just as she set down the stone path that weaved through the gardens, but then the sight that she happened upon stopped her dead in her tracks.

Her mother, father, all of their servants, Dagr in his full guardsman garb, even his own mother and father, all there in the middle of the garden, all waiting for her, all wearing expectant and excited expressions.

Her heart sank. She knew full well what this was.

She watched it unfold as if she were outside of her body, floating above the scene and observing, not actually participating herself. She watched as Dagr smiled nervously at her and quickly approached her, then dropped to one knee to begin the proposal that was entirely symbolic and not at all a true question that she could answer yes or no to.

"My lady," he said, taking both of her hands in his as she stared down at his blankly. "My beautiful lady. Will you give me the privilege this day of promising to be my wife?"

She'd never hated Dagr until that moment. Until then he'd always been a mere nuisance, something that she knew she wouldn't escape but could distract herself from until they were truly betrothed. Now that it was happening, she suddenly resented the very air he breathed, and she wanted nothing more than to snatch her hands away and leave him there, kneeling and looking a fool.

Her eyes flickered up to her mother for a split second. Ayre looked so happy that it made Aemilia's stomach turn. She looked back down, back at Dagr, and for a moment, she thought she would say no.

Refusing would mean disobeying the law. Other maidens who had dared to do what she considered had all been banished, disowned, stripped of their titles, sometimes all three. She'd heard of some forced to live the life of a servant just to feed themselves. Others sold their bodies for currency.

Would Ayre force her daughter into such an existence, simply for refusing to marry this man? Aemilia didn't know. She expected banishment, perhaps not disownment, but she could be wrong - she would be bringing shame and dishonor on the family with her disobedience, and Ayre's value on society and how it perceived her could not be underestimated.

Then a pang struck her heart. From this moment on, if she did not refuse, she could not have Loki without committing adultery. That in itself was also a crime, but beyond that, it wasn't something that she desired any part of. But what would be worse, a life without Loki or a life spent unable to look at herself in the mirror without cringing?

But, as always, before she could say no, the decision was made for her. Dagr slid a ring on her left hand - gold band, large, square ruby in the middle - and her eyes widened as she looked down at the thing as it sat on her finger.

It was so wrong. All of it was completely and utterly wrong.

"I promise you, Aemilia," Dagr whispered, rising to his feet and taking her face in his hands, "I will make you happy."

Panic rose in the split second it took him to kiss her. It was a close-mouthed kiss, one-sided as she just stood there as still as a statue, feeling herself begin to split apart inside.

The kiss felt like a betrayal, both to herself and the only other man who'd ever had her lips. It also felt like a promise, one of a lifetime of more just like it - empty, obligatory, and devoid of anything but resentment and apathy.

He drew away and she made no effort to smile or show a single sign of emotion, negative or positive. Both sets of parents began cheering and Aemilia tried not to cringe at the sound, nor the way she got swept up in a multitude of hugs a moment later.

The same surreal, out of body feeling lingered throughout the night, through the celebration that went on all around her and yet barely involved her. The sadness that had been in Ayre's eyes all day was mostly replaced by joy that Aemilia almost envied - she wished she could be happy for herself, but all she felt was misery and a growing sense of self-loathing that kept reminding her that this was all her fault.

If she hadn't gone and been rebellious, tasted something that wasn't hers and would never be hers, she wouldn't be feeling like this. Would she be as desperately happy as Ayre was over the proposal, had she never had Loki? No, but she suspected that she would have simply resolved to make the most of it and been happy that she'd been paired with a rare man who would not dictate her personal choices. She would certainly not be sitting there, next to Dagr at her parents' table, drinking down a glass of wine like it was water, feeling her stomach twist into a sickening knot at the thought of how she was going to tell Loki tonight that their affair was over.

She was tempted to drink an entire bottle of wine, but she needed to keep her wits about her for that upcoming conversation. Refusing him was going to be damn near impossible enough - she didn't need to be anymore vulnerable than she already was.

She listened to the chatter as it flowed up and down the table without her participation, and while the two mothers present spoke of nothing but wedding plans that made her skin crawl, Dagr and her father spoke of state business, palace affairs, and the upcoming public sparring match between the two Princes in one week's time. It was the only thing she heard the entire night that interested her.

Loki would be coming to her tonight, after his brother's coronation being announced and after it was announced that he would soon publicly battle his hammer-wielding, rather larger brother. And this was the night that she would be telling him that she would no longer be his lover.

She drank a second glass of wine in one long gulp. What an utterly abysmal day.

It was late when the celebration finally ended. Aemilia dragged herself up to her room, feeling a bit warm from her moderate drink consumption but still able to think perfectly clearly. It wasn't doing a lot for her courage, however, as she walked through her bedroom doors and closed them behind her.

She stood near the foot of her bed, not moving, and waited, thinking. A cold chill behind her was the only warning she had before she felt a single finger pull down the high neck of her dress to make room for lips to brush against her skin.

She closed her eyes, already fighting tears. How was she ever going to live without this?

He placed a kiss on her jaw before reaching for her left hand to grasp it as he vanished them to his rooms. Just before they disappeared, she felt his thumb brush over her ring. When they reappeared in his the middle of his bedroom, he was holding her hand up to examine it, and at first she couldn't bear to look behind her to see how he was looking at the offensive item.

But finally, she did turn her head and glance furtively to him. His face was unreadable, eyes betraying nothing as he released her hand and turned her around to face him. "You will take that off before I come for you from now on."

She didn't know why she was so surprised by his nonchalant attitude. She shouldn't have expected anything else.

He leaned forward, his intent clear, and she took a step back. His eyes snapped up to hers, looking confused for a moment before his blank look settled back over his features. He tried again, this time shooting his hand into her hair and trying to pull her to him that way, but she resisted and turned her head when he tried to kiss her.

Tears were stinging her eyes but she kept them at bay, staring at his bookshelves to keep from looking at him. His hand stayed in her hair and she could feel his gaze upon her hardening.

"Is this supposed to be some sort of jest?" he asked, voice low, a slight bit of danger coloring his tone. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Look at me."

She obeyed, eyes shining as she did. "I can't do this anymore. I won't. I won't, Loki."

His carefully maintained mask slipped at those words, and she saw panic flit across his face. Anger she would have expected, or even mocking derision, but she wouldn't have anticipated panic.

But, as soon as it had appeared, it was replaced by anger. "Is that so."

She tried to pull away, but his grip on her hair tightened and she stopped struggling to avoid causing herself pain.

"Do you think it is truly that easy to walk away from me when I'm not finished with you yet?"

She frowned and met his glare head-on. "I refuse to lose what morality I have left. I cannot - will not - give myself to you when I am promised to another."

His stare became angrier, harder, and a slight thrill of fear passed through her as she suddenly realized that she had no idea what kind of reactions he was capable of. When he released his grip on her hair and looked away from her, a wholly unhumorous smile on his face as he laughed and strode past her, the knot in her stomach tightened.

"What an interesting time to suddenly develop a moral code," Loki mused, sliding a hand along the surface of his desk as he slowly walked past it.

"It is not sudden," she said, eyes on his back. "It has never been my intention to... carry on once I was betrothed."

He didn't turn, so she couldn't see his face as her words wafted through his ears. He was silent for a long time, not moving but for the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed.

Finally, he spoke, still not turning, one hand resting on the desk. "Come here."

The words made her heart lurch. She wanted to obey so badly, but she refused to. She could not lose more of herself to him than she already had.

She merely shook her head, knowing he couldn't see the gesture, but unable to say the words.

"I said come here!" he suddenly screamed, his green-glowing fist striking the center of his desk and sending it splintering and shattering to the floor in pieces. She jumped and let out a little yelp of surprise when it happened, then covered her mouth with her hands and felt herself begin to tremble when he turned around.

There was a darkness in his eyes, something that she'd seen only tiny glimpses of before but was on full, terrible display now. It was desperation and fear and anger. It was the rage of a man who refused to give up what he believed to be rightfully his, despite his lack of a true claim on it.

She steeled herself, dropping her hands from her mouth and holding herself up as straight as she could as she finally replied, "No."

She expected him to scream again, but instead his voice dropped to an intimidating calm as he came strolling slowly towards her. "You would let your tongue tell me no, while the rest of you is screaming yes?"

"I already gave you my reasoning for this, Loki," she said, taking a step back as he came closer.

"And it is a poor reason," he replied.

Grasping at any and everything that popped into her head, Aemilia continued to step backwards as he continued to advance. "I will not be untouched anymore - why would you still even want me?"

"He hasn't touched you yet," Loki pointed out as she ran out of room to retreat to. Her back hit the front of a bookshelf, and he placed a hand on the shelving next to her head, leaving precious little space between them. Something flashed in her eyes then, something that looked a lot like guilt, and Loki's eyes widened fractionally as he hissed, "Has he?"

"He... when he proposed, he kissed me, but -"

She heard more splintering and breaking of wood, this time behind her head as she squeezed her eyes closed and automatically shrunk away from the sound. One shelf dislodged at one of its ends and crashed down on top of the next, spilling books to the floor near their feet. The hand that wasn't trying to break his bookcase grabbed her chin and forced her to look back at him, and he seethed, "You should have lied to me."

Tears had escaped her eyes, she suddenly realized, and she decided that she did not like the way that she was handling this at all. Yes, she was frightened, and yes, Loki was undoubtedly dangerous like this, but she did not believe that he would hurt her on purpose. She knew she could be wrong about that, but either way, she now needed to let out a wave of frustration on her own.

"And you should have stopped this from happening!" she snapped, raising her voice and looking fearlessly into his eyes while smacking his hand away from her chin. "If you wanted me half as badly as you claim, all you had to do was court me - publicly - and my parents would have happily allowed it. But you didn't. Not once have you expressed the slightest interest in keeping me from marrying him, not once."

"Not once have you expressed a desire for me to!" he retorted.

She looked up at him, incredulously, before uttering in a much smaller voice, "Do you not know? Am I not pathetically obvious enough in my emotions for you to grasp what you've become to me?"

He looked at her in what appeared to be genuine surprise before his eyes fell back into being unreadable.

"I despise him for taking me from you," she admitted. "And I despise myself for wanting so badly to cast my conscience aside and let you do with me as you please, but I will not give in to that desire. I will not. You had so much time to truly make me yours and you did not."

The next words out of his mouth made her anxiety spike. "If this is truly how you feel, my lady, and you will not waver in your decision, then you leave me with very few options."

"Options for what?" she asked warily. There was a cool calculation to his eyes and voice now, and somehow it was more terrifying than his rage.

"Perhaps I will arrange for your betrothed to meet an untimely demise." He grinned as her eyes widened. "It would solve both of our problems, would it not?"

"How can you speak of such a thing so... casually? With a smile on your face?" she asked, something akin to disgust on her face.

He shrugged, then added, "Then perhaps you ought to rethink your refusal to have me while he lives. You wouldn't want to have his blood on those pretty little hands of yours."

His words sunk in and left her speechless for one long moment while she stared at him in disbelief. Finally she shoved at him and he allowed it. She slipped out from between him and the bookcase and gritted her teeth as she said, "You are a manipulative snake!"

His chuckle from behind her made her blood boil. "You are hardly the first to say so."

She then turned, now a safer distance away from him, and spat, "I will not succumb to your threats. And if you cause the slightest bit of harm to befall him, I will hate you for the rest of my days. I promise it."

He shrugged, maddeningly. "Perhaps. But would you resist me as you are now?"

She just stared at him, unable to figure out how to handle these words and how he was acting. "I do not understand why you are acting and speaking like this."

He laughed again, and she decided that she never wanted to hear this particular laugh of his ever again. "Oh, come now, Aemilia. Let's not pretend that your interest in me was sparked because I am good and kind and gentle. No, what was it you said, that first night? You said that I was 'dark and fascinating'. Darkness is more than just a mere shade."

"No, but this is different," she said, glancing at his desk that he'd shattered as if it had been made of glass. "Is... is this all because of your brother taking the throne?"

It was the worst thing she could have possibly said. She barely had time to register the terrifyingly blank look on his face before she suddenly found herself pinned to the wall, pressed there by a hand to her throat. There was no pain from his hold, only the crystal clear message of dominance that he was so desperately trying to cling to.

"Do not speak of what you do not know, girl," he growled, so close his lips nearly brushed hers as he spoke.

She refused to be intimidated any longer and looked to him defiantly. "If it is your plan to force my submission to you then get on with it."

He chuckled through his nose and cupped her cheek with his free hand. "I do not force. I persuade."

"And this is how you would persuade me?" she asked with slightly wide eyes. "And what if you did? You would toy with me and torment me and use me until there was nothing left of me, until I hated you as much as I hated myself. If you care for me, if any part of you at all cares for me, you will let me go."

"I am selfish, my lady - my very nature is one of selfishness and greed. Do not underestimate it."

She opened her mouth to answer him but then the hand at her throat tore through the neck of her dress and yanked it down, and then his lips were there, urgent and familiar as they tasted her marked skin, and she closed her eyes tightly and put a hand in his hair.

She gripped a handful of the soft locks and tugged at him as she softly pleaded, "Stop."

He didn't stop. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, ignoring the shivers running down her spine as he sucked her sensitive skin, finding and using every bit of willpower that she had within her to pull harder on his hair and successfully yank him away.

"I said stop," she said firmly, looking him dead in the eye. When he did nothing but stare back, eyes betraying another flicker of panic throughout his being, she added quietly, "I'm sorry."

The way that he looked at her, his sudden dejection and realization that he couldn't persuade her, was almost enough to break her resolve. If he had waited a few moments, perhaps pleaded with her one last time, it might have been enough to break her resolve, if only for a moment or two.

But, he didn't. The sadness in his eyes passed and faded to anger again, and he set his jaw as he stepped back and pulled her with him by her arm. Then he let go and grasped the hair at the back of her head, and she felt the familiar pull of being sent back to her room.

This time, he didn't go with her. Instead, he let go of her with a shove halfway there and she fell to her bedroom floor with a thud. She looked around, catching her breath, and once she realized that she was alone, the tears that she'd been fighting so hard came flooding through her eyes. There was no point in fighting anymore, no reason to appear strong in solitude, so she scooted back until her back hit the side of her bed and drew up her knees to her chest as she gave in.

In that moment, for the first time since the affair had begun, she regretted ever sparing the Prince a second glance.

He stood in his room, alone, silent, unblinking, staring at the slight destruction that had befallen the chamber.

It wasn't enough.

A chair and another pair of shelves met an early end at his hand, and Loki was not entirely unaware that he was throwing a tantrum like a child. He simply did not care. It felt good to expel his anger like this, so he continued until it no longer served to take the edge off of his rage.

Everywhere he looked in the room, he saw a memory. At his door, he saw Aemilia pressed to it with her arm bound by magicked silk, from their first night together. At the walls between his bookshelves, tantalizing memories of her demanding that he take her against them, rough and hard. At his couch, a memory of her sweet eyes looking up at him as her mouth sinfully wrought one of the most memorably exquisite releases of his life. At his bed, countless memories that were too numerous to count (though he could, if he set his mind to the task), but the one that floated to the surface first was of him lying in her arms, eyes closed as she sang a child's song to him. His insides wrenched at the recollection.

It was revolting to him, feeling as he did, allowing these memories to assault his mind as they were. This was not how he operated. This did not make sense. He did not need her.

But, as he stared at the dust swirling through the air before his eyes as a result of the piles of fractured wood, his own lies rang painfully hollow in his mind. Unwelcome truth taunted him as an enemy.

He did need her. He was far, far from ready to part with her. He could not lose her, not now. Especially not now.

And yet, he had.

If it is your plan to force my submission to you then get on with it.

He winced at the memory of those words, sinking down to the edge of his bed to sit as he stared in thought. When she'd spoken those words, a horribly vivid image had sprang forth in his mind. He was not proud of how he had almost considered it for a moment, picturing pinning her on her hands and knees on his floor, making her give in despite her own sudden morality, unable to resist her own response to something as base as what that would have been. They would have both walked away hating themselves, and perhaps that was why he'd let the idea go as soon as it had came.

But it would have been easy. She would have said no, pleaded for him to stop, begged for him to let her go. She would have cried in dismay before her tears and pleas began to fade under an onslaught of forced pleasure. He would not have let her go until she screamed his name in ecstasy, loud enough to wake all of sleeping Asgard to hear. She would have hated him for it, but he would have proven his dominion over her. He would have proven that she could only say no for so long before she would always give in to him.

But it wouldn't have been enough, and in the end, it would have only proven her hold over him, showing in frightening detail just how far he had fallen.

It wasn't the first time that his own knee-jerk, poorly conceived reactions -whether acted upon or not - had left him feeling disgusted with himself, and he knew it wouldn't be last. But his own now-glaringly obvious attachment to the girl disturbed him even more.

The idea that it was his fault, in the end, was unbearable. That he'd let her slip through his fingers before he had the chance to realize how he would feel once she was lost to him was unthinkable.

Yes, he'd known that she cared for him, had affection for him. He also knew that, somewhere along the way, he'd begun to care for her as well, far more than he should. But he'd still expected to grow tired of her far in advance of her engagement. He'd expected her to tire of him and his suffocating presence as well.

But neither expectation had come to pass. And now, he was alone in a bedroom that he'd all but laid waste too, staring at the void left by his now ex-lover, feeling her absence deeply down in his being, in a place no woman had ever reached before.

The necessary course of action was clear. Forget her. Expel her from memory, from thought, from his very soul. She was poison - sweet, beautiful, decadent poison - and he was better off without her.

He didn't sleep that night. He wondered when he'd ever be able to sleep again.

A/N: heh... angst. *ducks and hides* Not really a lot to say here today besides my usual thanks to all you guys, and to midnightwings96. Yeah, I'm weirdly not as rambly as I usually am, so I think I'll just leave this here and... slowly walk away... whistling. :) Hope you guys enjoyed this slice of dat angst. :D