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Chapter 2

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But what really held her gaze was his eyes. They seemed to hold her captive, unable to allow her to look away. As though delving into her very soul, as though knowing her intimately.

His lips lifted into a slow smile. His voice an almost gentle enticement as he whispered to her.

" Why, hello there."


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Loki's POV

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The darkness of the room embraced him, like a babe in the womb of its mother; it welcomed him. Only a small sliver of light came through the drapes, all but banishing away the bright world beyond. With one leg across the other, Loki engrossed himself in his books. It was his one moment of peace, his one true freedom from the tedious and often taxing creature that was his brother. Thor had come to him shortly after the sun had risen, bellowing enthusiastically about the day ahead and what it would bring. Loki had somehow allowed himself to be coerced into joining him and the warriors three in the courtyard for a light training session. Whilst the idea of a fight had excited his brother, Loki had merely sat to one side and observed. Often, Fandral would try to encourage him, try to vex him into raising his daggers against them, but it did not work. It never did.

Come brother, You are not afraid of losing are you?

Leave him be, it had been Volstagg who had joined in with the teasing, Only true warriors have honour and do battle... whilst others only have tricks to play.

It was at this point Loki had decided to slink away, unnoticed, back to his room to revel in his much needed solitude.

With a distinct wave of his hand, he allowed his magic to pour out; the emerald mist solidifying to conjure a goblet of wine betwixt his nimble fingers. The book in his other hand was a leather bound volume of various illusions and enchantments; none that he did not already know. It was simply a means of entertainment, a way of passing the time until he would undoubtedly be called upon, yet again, by his father. Odin.

With a slow blink of his lashes the parchment lifted on its own accord and turned onto the next page.

This is what he needed, what he desired above all else. Quiet. The silence. The emptiness that soothed his mind. Of the growing uncertainty and doubt about the upcoming ceremony that would undoubtedly lead to his failure, and the ascension of his brother to the throne.

Only one of you may ascend to the throne... but both of you were born to be kings.

With a snap Loki closed his book and placed it beside him on the table with a low sigh. His brows furrowed and his hand lifted to perch broodingly across his lips, his mind deep in thought.

The all-father had said such words once, when they had been but small boys. But now? Loki was not so sure. His brother was good at heart, but he was also arrogant, proud and reckless; such traits that are frowned upon for a potential King of Asgard to possess. However he, Loki, he had many qualities that would make him suitable for the throne. Qualities that the all-father refused to see.

He was running out of time. He could not simply stand by and watch all of his hard work and planning waste away into nothingness. He had to do somethi...

The sudden crash of the door flying opening brought him out of thoughts. His head lifted somewhat in surprise as his gaze took in the creature that had just disturbed his privacy.

A brow rose at the small figure that was standing inside of his chambers glancing around the area, as though seeking something.

He felt his jaw tightening at the young boy's audacity. Even as the intruders face swung briefly across his direction, not seeing him in the dim light, Loki felt the fire of his noble blood come to fore. The very idea that someone dare to enter his rooms without his permission or acknowledgement was an insult. The boy ought to be flogged for his impenitence.

Before Loki could express his displeasure, the small being dived suddenly out of sight by the window just as the door swung open once again to reveal three guards.

They stepped into his room, mumbling to one another as they began to search around for the being now huddled silently under his writing desk. One guard in particular moved steadily closer towards it...

"Is there a reason why you have come in here and interrupting me?" the words left his lips before he could stop them, and all eyes sprang to his form in the corner of the room.

" My prince," The taller of the guard stepped forward to address him, his voice stammering somewhat as though surprised to see him there, " Forgive us we did not mean to intrude, it is just that..."

"Yes?"

The guard appeared uncertain for a moment, his eyes skimming quickly around the dimmed room before landed back to him.

" It is just that there are intruders, here, in your fathers halls. We have reason to believe one of them is here, in this very room."

" Is that so?" Even though his eyes were delving into the male in front of him, he was acutely aware of the presence by the window.

"Yes." The guard sheathed his sword away and straightened, "A young woman is one among them, she arrived with..."

He lost track of what was being said at this point as one single thought flashed across his mind.

She?...A woman?

He pondered back to when the figure had first come into the dark room. Small. Thin in frame. With short, if hardly any hair. No luscious, silky long locks. No curvaceous form or ample bosom.

Could it have possibly been...? Surely not.

He was intrigued.

"...Somehow they have managed to enter into the palace without us knowing, without the great Heimdall seeing them. We believe they are spies, they claim they are from Nornheim, the dark realm of the..."

" Yes," He interrupted them, " I know where it is and what resides there."

"Please," The guard bowed, his tone beseeching, " Allow us permission to check the room, your highness. If she is hiding here we will find her. Your safety and protection if paramount."

Loki felt his lips sliding up into a smile. The very thought that this so called 'honoured protector of the all-father' considered a mere female a threat to him; The god of mischief, of all that was clever and cunning. It was almost laughable.

" And you believe she is here?" Loki queried with mock concern as he moved slowly towards the table, " In this very room?"

The guard, "Yes your highness"

The more Loki stared at the man in front of him the more he began realise something. He knew him; this guardian of the palace. He knew him very well, in fact. Ulrik, Son of Ensil. On more than one occasion Loki had overhead him speaking with his armed comrades about the royal family. Loki, himself, in particular. What was it he had referred him to as? Ah, yes...' a lying treacherous snake'.

There it was, that smile again. Cold and calculating. Loki felt it across his face at the pleasure he would take at putting the brute in his place.

" Tell me something, Ulrik..." Loki leant carefully against the tables edge and he swore he heard the smallest of scuffling sounds come from beneath its surface.

His voice was soft, but dripping with venom. He saw the armoured man stiffen at the address, " If you indeed believe that someone has slipped into these rooms, do you not think I would have noticed?"

"Well... I..." the guard stammered, unable to find the words.

Loki gave him no quarter, " Do you not think I would have seen her?"

" I was only consideri..."

Loki lifted a brow, daring him to continue. The young man's voice trailed off. Uncertain.

" Forgive me, your highness. We shall leave at once." There was soft tap as he lifted a hand to his chest in a respectful salute, "Our sincerest apologies."

In a whirl of fabric and a click of boots they were gone and out of the large arched door, shutting it with a click behind them.

With the chamber once again in silence, Loki turned to the table and slowly began to lower himself, lifting the covering as he went to gradually reveal the huddled figure underneath.

He felt his own eyes widen at the ones that were staring back at him from the shadows. Doe like eyes that were brown in colour; as deep and as rich as the darkest honey in Asgard. Large. Brilliant. Alluring... and frightened.

Loki manoeuvred back a little and took in the rest her.

Yes, she was most definitely a 'she'. Though curled up tightly against herself, he could see she was small in stature. She was a fully grown woman, but her sickly appearance made her look almost child-like. She was narrow, her body almost skeletal. He could see the angles of her face jutting out, casting shadows when there should be none for one so young. He could see the bones of her knuckles, her fingers so thin as they gripped what was left of a tattered gown to herself; he was afraid they would snap if she continued to hold herself so. She had short, if no hair; It looked as though whatever had been there, had been hacked off with a blade.

What really drew his attention however was the blood. It covered her. It was splattered on her clothing, on her face where her lip and brow was cut, on her bare feet, on her side and the legs that he could briefly see beneath her skirts. Whether it was fresh or dry, he could no tell. But it was clearly hers, and she was in dire need of a healer.

He met her eyes again and she shrunk back further into the shadows.

His brother and the others had always tried to invoke some kind of emotion from him; be it joy, indignation or anger. They had failed every time, of course, much to his delight. But here, in this very instant, looking in those large cinnamon orbs... he felt a twinge of something. A sharp stab, as what he saw in them reflected something deep inside of himself.

He smiled slowly at her. Trying to be kind and reassuring, but it felt foreign on his features.

" Well, hello there."

The shadow of her form moved, but there was no reply. Only silence.

"Are you the helpless little lamb they are searching for?" He spoke quietly to her, as though it was one of his beloved horses he was trying to coax.

Again, there was no response, but her eyes watched him. As though he were some wolf standing watch, waiting outside the rabbits hole, she stared wide eyed at him.

Carefully, so as not to take her by surprise, he uncurled his long fingers and lifted his hand, offering for her to take it.

Loki smiled again, one of his best charming grins that he saved for his mother and the odd pretty maiden he'd wish to take to his bed.

" Come," he purred to her, using the power of his voice to bring her to him, " No harm will come to you here. You have nothing to fear from me."

He paused, and then waited. And then waited some more.

When she did not take his offered hand still, his face fell slightly and his patience began to run thin. She was staring at his hand as though it were a snake about to strike out and drag her from her sanctuary. As tempting as the idea was, the last thing he wanted was a screaming and weeping woman on his hands.

Perplexed, he looked to her again unsure of what action to take. Their eyes met, frosted green against molten amber.

He opened his mouth, about to try a different tactic, a different route of approach, when all of sudden her gaze drifted past him to something over his shoulder. Or rather someone.

By the time he had chance to act, it was too late. A shadow in the peripheral of his vision moved beside him and he felt the sharp kiss of a blade being pressed against his throat.

"Step away."


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Bryn POV

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Bryn felt torn, unsure of what she should do; whether to stay under the table, run for the door or take the man's hand. He was just crouched there, his long almost gangly legs were bent at the knees, making him seem tall even from such a lowered position. She looked to the hand outstretched to her in a peace offering, and then to his pale smooth features and then back again. He was promising her safety and protection, but there something in the deep abyss of his eyes that stopped her from taking it.

Despite his handsome features and silky voice, something was warning her not to trust this man. Valnir had said that the King, Odin, was kind and that him and his people would help them. But instead, the guards had attacked them and called them spies, and had even tried to kill them. Why would this man, his son, be any different?

She half expected him to reach for her and drag her out, to demand what she was doing here and have her imprisoned for refusing his aid. He was after all... a prince?

He looked princely. His clothing was of the finest material, with intricate designs of gold that symbolised his place and stature in the royal family. His hand, upon closer inspection, was perfectly clean, with no roughness or blemishes anywhere on the smooth pale skin. A hand that had not known the difficulties of toil or hard labour.

A sharp stabbing pain in her side brought her back to reality, reminded her of the danger this single man posed for her. For her friends.

More white spots danced before her vision, the agony in her ribs was growing with each passing second. Ripping the very breath from her lungs. Making her feel on the brink of losing herself to the blackness that threatened to take her.

She peered up into the aristocratic face above hers and saw arrogance there, along with impatience and... was that, curiosity?

She did not have time to consider it, for the door slowly crept open and a shape started stalking it's way closer to stand right behind said Prince. She half wanted to somehow warn him of the danger, but then paused when she recognised the face belonging to the shadow.

It was Thren.

There was a clink of steel as something was drawn out of a sheath. A long blade of a sword was placed at the raven haired man's neck.

" Step away."

The prince froze, both physically and mentally it seemed. His eyes, once expressive and open was now shuttered and ice cold as they slithered to the side to look at his attacker.

His lifted his pale slender hands, a gesture of innocent surrender as he slowly stood and backed away from the table.

"Bryn," Thren's voice was raspy, heaving somewhat, " Come out, you are safe now."

Without pause, Bryn crawled her way out from under the table and slid herself behind Thren, so that he stood between her and the young prince, who was now looking at her with an intensity that was making her feel like a rare specimen being pinned helplessly on a display.

She met his bright emerald gaze by peering around Thren's broad shoulder and swallowed the dry lump that forming in her throat.

Those delving eyes ran across her, all the way from the tips of her short hair to the roughened blisters of her feet. She felt unworthy to stand in his immaculate presence.

He gave her mercy by looking away to her companion and the sword he wielded in his hands.

" You dare to threaten me?" their was no mistaking the darkness in his tone of voice, the silent promise of retaliation for doing such a thing. " Do you not know who I am?"

Regardless of the disadvantage he was in, the man took a step closer, his lips turning up slowly into a knowing almost dangerous smirk.

" You are making..." Another slow step, "... a very dire mistake."

Thren appeared uneasy, unsure of what to do, unsure of whether to attack or not.

Before he could make that decision, the echoing of heavy footsteps sounded from behind her and Bryn turned just in time to see a large group of guards come bursting in through the door.

Alarmed, she spun to grab hold of Thren, but was stunned into stillness when he was at the last moment pulled away from her. She saw it happen, but it was so quick she nearly missed it. The emerald eyed prince took Thren's moment of weakness and grabbed his arm, twisting it so that the blade in his hand dropped to the floor with a clang. There was a thrum of something, a wave of tangible energy as an illuminate glow surrounded his fingers. The eerie smoke took the form of a dagger and within seconds it was pressed against Thren's jugular.

He was helpless. The tables had turned.

With a silent cry she tried to spring forth to aid him but was stopped short when a thick arm shot out and pulled her around the waist to a broad armoured chest.

Frantically she struggled, trying to fight off the guard holding her. Fighting as though for her very life.

She heard a shout, someone called her name.

" No! Let her go!"

She hit and bit and scratched and in return the arms tightened around her, almost to the point of crushing her, squeezing her of breath.

The pain was phenomenal. The bones of her ribs rubbed together and the wounds at her side pulled taut and tore. She could feel the warm wetness seeping through her clothing. Her knees buckled. Tears rolled down her face.

Just as she managed to suck in one deep cleansing gulp of air, her legs crumbled away from under her and she started to fall.

As her head lolled back her eyes skimmed across the highly domed ceiling, to the golden covered walls, to the two tall familiar figures standing close, watching them.

A certain pair of darkened green eyes drew her hazy, unfocused attention. But not before the world around her whirled and sounds faded away, until all that remained... was an empty blackness.