Grumbling to herself about being forced into caring for the lady, Marit ambled to Loki's rooms in order to fetch Petra. She silently ticked off the things she needed to get done that afternoon. Find the elf, show her around the kitchens and castle, ensure she knew where to avoid villagers, etc. Marit was responsible for all of this while simultaneously watching over Loki and Jötunheim. If she didn't pity Petra, the girl would be a nuisance, but there was something pathetic about her that provoked a sense of protection in the giant, much to her dismay.
For formality's sake, she banged on the door to Loki's chambers. The steady drip of a stalactite echoed from above, but she was otherwise met with silence. Planting a hand on her hip, she pounded on the door once more.
"Lady? I'm coming in."
Without waiting for permission, she hastened inside, eyes flicking from the bed, to the hearth, to the dressing area. She frowned, turning in a circle and muttering under her breath. Marit abandoned finding Petra in Loki's rooms and started to stalk out the door when she heard a guttural choke. With the sigh of an overworked parent, Marit shuffled to the bathroom and crossed her arms at the scene before her.
Petra wretched into the toilet bowl, her face wan and shining with beads of sweat.
Without pretense, the advisor spoke. "Do you have the fever?"
The elf was too lethargic to startle. She managed to lift her dull eyes to Marit's face and shook her head, clapping her hand against her mouth as the motion triggered another wave of nausea. Forcing down the urge to be sick, she paused for a moment to ensure success, then spoke.
"I think I'm pregnant."
Marit's brows lifted in surprised hope, though she remained confused. "The majority of the Jötnar doubt the possibility of crossbreeding between you and the King. Why do you think you're pregnant?"
Irritated at their lack of faith, Petra placed a cool palm on her clammy forehead. "Morning sickness," she grunted.
Marit rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "It's not morning, it's afternoon. You have the fever and delirium has set in. This will not please Loki." Grumbling, she made to leave.
"Wait," Petra rasped.
"What? It will take me time to fetch a healer, what do you want?"
"Morning sickness doesn't always have to be in the morning."
Marit's blank stare heavily implied that Petra's explanation was lacking.
"When elves get pregnant, usually they get sick. It can happen in the morning, but at other times of the day too. It's just called morning sickness. This is supposed to happen."
The older woman squinted. "If—If—that's what this is, how is that standard for elven pregnancies? How has your species survived? You can barely fight, and your reproductive process is faulty. You are so feeble."
Petra responded by gagging and glaring simultaneously. Wiping her mouth, she rubbed her eyes. "It's mild, the sickness. At least it's supposed to be. I think this is mild?"
Sagging against the toilet, she released a shaky breath as her eyes closed. Her stomach rolled again and she wrapped her arm around her middle. Her delicate fingers rested limply against her side, causing Marit's eyes to widen.
The sound of rustling fabric prompted Petra to open her eyes and she yelled when she caught a glimpse of Marit exiting the room.
"Wait!"
Marit's boots thumped against the floor as she retraced her steps. "What?"
"Where are you going?"
"To tell him."
The idea had crossed Petra's mind, but lacked urgency. She'd been too busy trying not to pass out.
"What if I'm wrong?"
Eyes locked on Petra's hands, Marit shook her head.
"You're not."
Had she the mobility, Petra would've glanced up and squinted at Marit.
"Well, why do we have to tell him now? Can't I at least finish being sick?"
"Because if we don't, we'll both face his wrath."
Petra groaned and rubbed her eyes.
Marit was right. Besides, this was a good thing, assuming she was really pregnant. This was supposed to happen. Loki needed to know. If her body could carry his baby, her importance in his world solidified. Or at least the importance of her body.
Petra bowed her head, summoning the energy to stand. "Don't go without me."
Marit gave an exaggerated sigh and leaned against the doorframe.
Shakily rising, Petra grimaced at her own gray reflection in the mirror as she rinsed her mouth. Dabbing at her lips with a towel, she gingerly made her way to Marit's side.
"Where is he?"
The corner of Marit's mouth quirked. "The training grounds."
Bundled up to her nose, hands reduced to useless nubs swathed in rabbit-lined mittens, Petra, accompanied by Marit, tromped through the snowy atrium of the training grounds.
"He practices every day," the giant explained as they entered the space. "Axe, spear, sword, knife, he wields them all."
The women meandered up the stairs to a broad platform of ice. The perimeter of the circle was lined with enough practice spears and swords to outfit a small army. Inside the ring, the combatants lunged at one another, their stances strong due to the crampons fastened to the bottom of their boots.
Petra's brows rose as she spotted Loki. The king emitted vitality, and his grace and agility set him apart from the others. Though shorter and more slender than his opponents, he was infinitely faster. He stood in the center of the pit, surrounded by three other warriors. Their weapons were crude compared to the elegant rapiers of the Dökkálfar, but appeared just as effective.
Loki's thick, six-foot sword split the air as he brought it down on another Jötunn. She grunted and blocked him, but when he spun and advanced a second time he feigned left and swung right. When she went to parry, the arc of his blade stopped at her neck. Loki held it as she fumed silently, dropping her sword into the snow.
"Jeg gir," she scowled.
Teeming with power, a smirk tugged at Loki's lips as he turned towards the other two fighters.
With calm ease he pursued them. As they fought, there were several instances in which it looked as though he was about to be sliced through, but he consistently darted out of their reach. His expression of arrogant superiority remained as he dashed towards the larger of the two, twisting and lashing. Ducking beneath a brutal swing, Loki managed to maneuver his blade so it was level with one of the other giant's lower ribs. An axe landed blade-down in the snow as his adversary surrendered.
The last Jötunn took only a moment to best as Loki zipped behind him when the giant's sword careened through the air. The king's opponent was powerful, but slow. Loki's sword was a blur as he thrust it against his opponents side, stopping as it came in contact with his armor.
"Jeg gir," the other male grunted, holding up a hand.
Defeated, all three gathered their gear and gave their king a shallow bow. Practice was over.
Wiping his brow, Loki turned to the newly arrived women, waiting for either to speak. His pupils were dilated, chest still heaving from exertion. He looked like an animal fresh from the hunt.
When no one spoke, Marit glanced at Petra, giving her a gentle shove towards him.
"The lady has something to tell you."
Cheeks growing warm, the elf took another step forward. Her chest tightened as she tried to speak, which only worsened as Loki's eyes raked over her bundled body.
He cocked his head, eyes locked with Petra's. "Tell me later," he said, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a devilish smirk. "I want to play with her first."
Marit hesitated, eyes darting between the charged Jötunn and his elf, then nodded with a bow. Saying nothing, she abandoned a stunned Petra, leaving her alone. It was as if he hadn't reached the climax of his skirmish and had yet to crest.
"Do you know swords and knives, skapning?"
Shifting her weight uneasily, she shook her head. "When I was young we had lessons, but I hardly recall anything. It was ages ago and I've never had use for them."
"Let's see what you do remember, then."
She yelped when he lobbed a small dagger at her, barely managing to catch the handle without cutting herself.
Hands clasped behind his back and sword still tucked safely in its sheath, Loki nodded at her to move forward.
"Come at me. Attack."
Glancing down at the weapon, she idly kicked at a raised piece of the icy arena. "You know you'll beat me in seconds."
Expression hardening, he beckoned. "Advance."
He wasn't going to let it go. Petra unfastened her bulky cloak and dropped it to the ground.
Destined for humiliation, she squeezed the hilt of the knife and steeled herself. With a deep breath, she lunged, aiming at Loki's chest. He sidestepped her and she stumbled forward from the force of her attack. Managing to balance herself so she didn't keel over, she turned back towards Loki and crossed her arms to the best of her ability. The layers of clothing adorning her body were thick and made movement sloppy, which lessened the severity of her sulking stance. Though she expected him to poke fun at her flailing, Loki remained serious.
He started circling her. "Again."
Petra twirled as he stalked her, sighing in resignation as she obeyed and made to jab at his middle. Once more, he evaded her.
"Again."
With the same haughty smirk spread across his lips, Loki led Petra all around the arena. By the time he grew bored, she was panting and sweaty.
He waved her on.
"One last try, skapning."
Glaring, she lurched forward, eager to sink the tip of her dagger into his abdomen when he caught and spun her. He managed to not only pin her in place, but to take possession of her knife. The cold blade kissed the tender skin of her neck as he held her from behind.
"You'll need to improve to survive here."
Petra wheezed as irritated fear shivered up her spine.
Loki continued, his breath coming in humid puffs against the side of her face. "I could end your life right now."
Swallowing hard, Petra cleared her tight throat. "You wouldn't hurt me."
"Wouldn't I, now?"
Excited nervousness flapped in her belly once again. He very well could. He'd likely be efficient, too; a brutal slitting of the throat.
But he didn't know what she had inside her.
"You wouldn't." She stood tall, forcing her voice not to shake. "I-I'm pregnant. You wouldn't risk it."
He stiffened behind her, breath catching. His already firm muscles squeezed around her middle, making it that much harder to breathe. Loki's grip on the dagger tensed and she fought the urge to attempt escape. She hadn't survived on Svartalfheim for as long as she had by being passive, but she also knew when she was sorely outmatched.
The king held his breath. It was his turn to experience excitement, and for a moment, his eyes closed in gratitude. He was hesitant to believe the elf until she provided proof, but a rare gleam of hope bloomed in his chest. What if the Norns had truly given him an opportunity to save his people?
Petra shifted against him, breaking the spell. Frowning, he stoically pushed down the emotion. The giant made a show of disregarding her announcement.
"I wouldn't kill you, that's for certain."
Petra's face fell. Mild, bitter heartbreak squeezed the air from her lungs. She hadn't necessarily expected him to be elated, but some validation would've been nice. She'd done what he'd wanted. She'd earned the right to live with the Jötnar.
"There are, however, many things I could do without killing you," he continued.
His cold blade pressed firmly against her throat and her skin prickled in panic. Physical pain wasn't a new concept, but it also wasn't a threat she was expecting from him.
"Why?" she murmured.
He pressed his pelvis against her back, as he was tall enough that his hips sat higher than her rear. "Because I can. Because you're weak."
Loki flexed his wrist and the side of his blade nicked her skin. Her breath hitched as she held deathly still. Honestly, she wasn't sure what she had expected from him. He was too apathetic to celebrate their conception verbally, and he lacked the physical warmth to embrace her. She was foolish to hope for positive reinforcement.
Anger began to fester at his lack of response, but she was too distracted to address it. Despite the intermittent danger she was in, a warmth began to gather in her lower belly as he held her tight. There was something intoxicating about being at his mercy. However, she refused to reward his cruel affect by allowing him to arouse her. Ignoring the heat, she raised her chin, exposing her neck.
"Do it then. I've had worse."
His chest rumbled against her back as he chuckled.
"You may be weak, but you are brave." He lowered the knife. "Stupid, but brave."
Unsure whether to interpret the statement as a complement or a slight, Petra huffed. It wasn't often she rebelled; her position in life didn't call for or allow it. But with Loki, she was developing the need to challenge her situation and his treatment of her. Though he still held her close, she wiggled her arms free of his grasp and rebelliously settled her hands on the arm clamped around her middle.
She could hear him growl in her ear, and provoking the king no longer seemed as advantageous as it had. Nonetheless, she held her ground. Petra turned her face to the side so he could hear her properly.
"You've proved you can overpower me. We already knew that. This was a waste of time. Are you satisfied?"
Wind howled through the arena, causing small snow drifts to form.
"Satisfaction is not in my nature," he finally said, his words barely audible over the gusts.
Retracting his arm, Loki tossed the dagger to the ground. The weapon landed with the point buried in the ice.
Sighing, Petra plodded a few steps away from him for the sake of recuperating and removed a mitten to rub her eyes.
He snatched her hand from the air and used his grip on her wrist to spin her. She glared up at him.
Loki stared at her hand. The tips of her fingers looked as if she'd been picking berries. They'd gone from blue gray to a warmer violet. He stood frozen in place. "You're pregnant."
Petra's face flushed in anger. "Which I already told you. And you completely disregarded."
Loki studied her, his brows pinched. He hesitated before speaking. "I didn't believe it until now."
The elf wrenched her arm from his grasp and glanced down at her fingers. She flexed them experimentally as she tried to not forgive his reasoning. He should've trusted her. True, her being ill could've been a cruel coincidence, but she shared his bed. That had to count for something.
While she stewed, Loki bent to pick up her cloak. "You need to get out of the cold," he grunted, thrusting it at her.
"I'm fine. I'm warm enough."
His maroon eyes narrowed. "You don't know how fragile this child may be. Don't speak as if you know what's best for you. No one does. This baby is a hybrid. We'll take every precaution." As he grew cross, his words adopted the slightest hint of an accent.
Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, she sheepishly looked at her feet. "I didn't mean to be petulant, you just order me around frequently. It's taxing."
"Act with intelligence and you'll find I hover significantly less."
Blushing, she pursed her lips and started back into the castle.
That night, Loki had a dinner more formal than simply he and Petra eating in his rooms, which normally wouldn't have bothered her. She usually ended up tuning him out because he often spent the meal looking over documents or conducting impromptu meetings with Marit.
Tonight, she'd been left alone. She was an introvert by nature, but was quickly learning the value of companionship, even if said companion was distracted. The silence of isolation was growing maddening.
Loki had ordered her to stay in his rooms that night, and Petra had really, really tried. But, after scouring every inch of the dwelling, she still couldn't find the book on Valkyries she'd been reading that morning. It was one of the few books he had that wasn't in Jötunn and she was bored of trying and failing to knit.
Tiptoeing to the doors of the Great Hall, she peeked between them and spied Loki at a table of other giants. Determining his meeting casual enough to interrupt, she slipped through the entrance and ambled to the table. As drew closer, she realized Loki was deep in conversation with a stout, heavily armed man from Nidavellir. The Dwarf broke Loki's gaze and Petra stilled, her brows raised.
The Dwarf's eyes quickly wandered from her face to her chest, which was mostly contained by a simple charcoal gray dress.
Perplexed, he stopped in the middle of chewing, speaking with his mouth full, "What is a Dökkálfr doing in Jötunheim? She doesn't look like a diplomat," he accused, his gaze fixed on her cleavage. The chests of the athletic Jötnar were small and Petra's was blaringly different.
Her cheeks and the tips of her ears flamed. Dwarves weren't known for being rude, but this one must've been fathered by a Rock Troll. For a moment she stood frozen, looking to Loki in panic. It wouldn't do for word to spread of a Dark Elf residing with the Jötnar. Bounty hunters on Svartalfheim could come looking for a trophy.
Loki hesitated, tilting his head as he determined how to describe her position. The braver part of Petra beat him to it.
"Like you, I'm a guest," she blurted, standing straight. "I'm part of an envoy seeking to further the peace between Svartalfheim and Jötunheim." She wasn't wrong. A half Jötunn, half Dökkálfr child could encourage favorable relations between realms.
Narrowing her eyes, she gained confidence. "I expect you'll show me the same respect as any other dignitary in this room."
The man flushed and mumbled an apology before clearing his throat and making an effort to continue his conversation with Loki. The king ignored him, his gaze set on Petra.
"Did you need something, skapning? Was there a reason for the intrusion?"
The blush from the Dwarf's attention had just started fading when Loki coaxed her crimson glow to burn brighter. Though embarrassed at her initial reason for interrupting, Petra refused to look meek or unsure before the others. Raising her chin, she stalked forward to Loki's side. Bending over, she rested her hand on his shoulder as her lips brushed his ear. Everyone stared as she whispered to him. He looked at her pointedly, his expression cool. Loki spoke softly in return and she offered a sheepish smile.
While retracting her hand from his shoulder, she accidentally brushed one of his horns. Loki inhaled sharply through his nose, his lids fluttering closed for a moment. His eyes gleamed as he opened them. Petra stiffened as he growled something under his breath. Nodding emphatically, she gave a little bow to the rest of the dining party, including the Troll/Dwarf hybrid and turned on her heel.
A skeptical, accented voice called out, "Is the diplomat not staying?"
Petra stopped mid-step and whirled. An older Jötunn man had spoken out and Loki looked absolutely murderous. The smallest of the table's occupants frowned, and inhaled to speak, but was cut off by Loki.
"Petra has other matters to tend to. Don't interfere with matters you don't understand," he grunted.
The Jötunn that spoke made a monosyllabic noise in response and continued to glare at Petra, who hastened through the doors. The poor girl was trembling, and as she trekked back to Loki's rooms she realized she hadn't even been paying attention when he had told her where her book was. Back to her horrific attempts at knitting it was.
Yanking at a thick, stubborn knot in her yarn, Petra cursed as Loki entered his chambers. She watched him anxiously, following him with her gaze as he readied for bed. When she couldn't take the silence of his ignoring her, she spoke up.
"What happened to that man?"
Loki stopped halfway through unbuckling his belt and turned. His lips were drawn, brows pinched.
"Marit will take care of him."
Petra rubbed her face, "No, don't kill him, please. It's my fault for barging in."
"It was your fault. However, I misspoke. Marit has taken care of him. Word that you are here will not leave Jötunheim. The baby is safe."
She stared at him in surprise, a mild shiver quivering through her. He'd killed for her, for their child. To keep them safe. Though she felt guilty, she couldn't ignore the flame in her belly that flared in response to his killing in order to protect their young.
Shedding his tunic, Loki resumed undressing after taking a long drink of ale from a cup on the dining table. "The giant that spoke out against you has also been dealt with."
"You killed one of your own?"
"I said he's been dealt with, not killed."
Petra wasn't sure which was worse. "I see."
She waited a few more moments for him to speak, but when he neglected to look at her, she rose from her chair and padded in the direction of her room. Most nights Loki desired to breed, but with a pang of confused disappointment, she realized there was no point to having sex anymore. She was already with child.
Ignoring her dissatisfaction, she reasoned that she'd earned a break. With no technical right to her body, she finally had the power to deny him. He had such overpowering influence over her body when they were together, it was only fair that she regain sexual autonomy.
Yawning, she wrapped her fingers around the knob when a blue palm slammed the wooden door closed. She turned with a gasp, only to find the tip of her nose brushing Loki's chest.
"What are you doing?" he growled.
Her stomach fluttered as she planted a hand on his muscled abdomen and pushed. She could feel his arousal pressing against her upper belly.
"I'm going to bed. Let me in."
"What makes you think sex between us ceases once you're pregnant?"
Rolling her eyes to meet his, she reached behind her for the knob and tugged. "Are you joking?"
His face remained mildly disinterested as he held the door closed. "No."
"Sex no longer serves a purpose, you're not going to get me pregnant again for another nine months."
Offhandedly the fact that he'd likely breed her immediately after their first child hit her. She had a feeling it would be ages until he let her body rest.
"Sex is beneficial to your body while with child. We'll continue as we have."
Petra snorted. "That's not part of the agreement and you know it. I've earned a respite.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Oh, skapning." The intensity of his gaze was unsettling. Unable to maintain his gaze, her eyes flicked from his to his chest. He leaned forward until his lips were level with her ear. "That greedy little cunt of yours cannot survive on orgasms by your hand alone. Not after what I've done with it. To it."
Her breath hitched and her lashes fluttered closed. The urge to give in was strong, but she forced it down. She'd be fine without him. She would. Need only came to her occasionally and surely she could take care of it herself. She'd survived without his touch long before meeting him and she'd survive now.
"Goodnight, Loki."
She spun in his arms, uncertain if elbowing him was intentional or not. Again, she tugged at the doorknob.
"Let me in," she snapped over her shoulder.
He pushed off the doorframe, arms crossing. "You are to enter my bed now or you'll sleep with the servants. You're either useful or you're not, and if you are negligent this agreement is void. Sex will fortify your immune system. You're vulnerable to Jötunn diseases."
Leaning against her door, he nodded to his bed.
He was lying. He just wanted to continue driving her mad with his body. He got off on it. Incredulous, she stared at him, her jaw working to form a scathing retort. He cut her off before she had a chance.
"Have you birthed a Jötunn child? Are you a parent?"
Lips pursing, she shook her head.
"Then don't assume you know more on the subject than I do. Get in my bed."
Eyes narrowed, she racked her brain for a way to prove him wrong. All she could conclude was that he had every advantage. He knew more about this than she did, and whether telling her the truth or not, she was obligated by their agreement to ensure the pregnancy was successful.
"Fine," she hissed.
Making a show of stomping to his bed, she pulled her dress over her head and hurled it into the corner of the room, followed by her underclothes. Despite the fire in his rooms, goosebumps prickled on her skin and she wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to pout, but her expression faltered as he stalked to her. Evading him the only way she knew how, she put distance between their faces as she crawled on all fours onto the bed.
She shrieked as a chilly hand caught her ankle and flipped her over onto her back. Now his face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheeks.
"I've been hard since you touched my horn at dinner. Do you know how difficult it is to stay civil with a man that dared to look at you while aroused?" he seethed. "I wanted to shred the skin from his body. Diplomacy isn't something that comes natural to the Jötnar. It's gruelingly learned. To maintain that while trying not to rip his throat out for staring at the woman carrying my child…"
Petra's heart squeezed in her chest. Unnoticed, Loki barreled forward.
"You have no idea the hardship you put me through," he hissed as he crawled on top of her.
Petra's eyes were wide as he snarled. "I'm sorry?"
"You're not. Not as you should be."
He glared down at her. She had no right to look frightened. This trouble was of her making. He'd never felt the need to punish sexually. Never did he struggle to determine consequences; he was rather ingenious when it came to them. Removing a finger, seizing food stores, or sentencing someone to death just wouldn't do in this situation. With her, the only satisfaction he got was punishing carnally.
She'd never seen him so incensed. Irked and perturbed, yes. She'd only kind of meant to touch his horn. Looking back, doing so in a public setting may not have been the best place to experiment, but the opportunity presented itself and she took it. When she had grabbed it in the middle of sex, she was in his lap and didn't get to see his face. Seeing it up close was almost worth it.
Loki's hand fumbled between them, cupping her slit before dragging his finger between her lips. For as gruff and brutal a man as he was, he never took her until she was ready.
Petra's eyes closed as his finger trailed through the mess of wetness between her legs. It really wasn't her fault. She blamed baser instinct for finding a rampaging, possessive male attractive. It had to have something to do with the pregnancy. Surely there was an excuse for her visceral reaction to his anger.
He growled low in his throat at what he discovered her soaked folds and without hesitation took his cock in his hand and impaled her.
Petra cried out, his girth painful. Normally he eased into her, but tonight he lacked the patience. He began rocking his hips and soon the sting was overwhelmed with pleasure that made her eyes roll back. Each thrust of his length dragged the ridges of his markings against her inner walls, stroking places she hadn't known existed. It didn't take long for her to reach the end of what her tolerance.
Unconsciously her legs wrapped around his middle, heels digging into his arse as she tried to fuck him back. He was always so physically in charge during their couplings, she felt like she at least had a chance at a glimpse of something remotely dominant when he was on top, versus behind her. Even if all that consisted of was ramming her hips back against his.
Their gasping and panting filled the room as his hips rolled over hers, rocking the bed so hard the frame knocked against the wall. On a whim, Loki pushed up, propping himself up on an arm. He studied her face, exquisite under the torture of pleasure. Her brow was crinkled, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on to reality.
"Look at me," he rumbled.
Petra's eyes fluttered open, the pressure in her belly only building when she found him staring down at her. Fright still reflected in her eyes, but it was vastly outnumbered by lust. When he bottomed out, she screeched, ignoring the pain and accepting only the sheer satisfaction of having him inside her.
Before he could stop it, words tumbled from his mouth, "Come, my little elven whore."
Despite his weight, her back arched and her lips parted in a silent scream. Her legs squeezed around him, ankles hooking as she chased every throb of pleasure. Hands wrapped around her shoulders, she instinctually made a grab for one of his horns.
"Faen!" he grunted, shooting ropes of come into her pulsing cunt.
She didn't realize he was crushing her until she started going dizzy from lack of air.
"Move," she grumbled, shoving at his shoulders.
With a groan, Loki rolled off her. He wiped at his face, still trying to catch his breath. Eyes fluttering shut, he waved a hand dismissively. "You may return to your room now."