Chapter Five – Go Time
I'm a flame
You're a fire
I'm the dark in need of light.
When we touch, you inspire
Feel the change in me tonight.
So take me up, take me higher
There's a world not far from here
We can dance in desire,
Or we can burn in love tonight.
Kygo ft. Conrad Sewell – "Firestone"
Darcy thought her handmaidens were the ones with ridiculous ideas. But this request from the Queen … she couldn't wrap her head around it. It made zero sense.
If Frigga didn't want Thor to be King, then she had to be mental to think Loki would be a suitable replacement.
There was an off chance she didn't hear the Queen correctly. Maybe she was still having a lingering auditory hallucination and somehow it distorted Frigga's words.
Darcy cleared her throat—and mind—and asked, "Your majesty, what exactly are you asking me to do?"
Frigga turned back to the large, golden gates. A gentle breeze unraveled one of her tightly wound curls. The Queen wrapped her fingers around the stray lock. "Too much it would seem."
Darcy didn't know what to make of that response. What did she mean by 'too much?' That it would be too much to convince all of Asgard that Loki would be an amazing leader? Yeah, that was definitely too much for anyone to accomplish. It was also impossible. There was not a single person, God or otherwise, that would trust Loki on the throne.
And at this point, wouldn't it be easier to convince Thor to rule Asgard? Gods were allowed to have mistresses, right? Maybe Darcy could persuade Jane that this was the best—albeit archaic—route. And bastard children had to be okay; the Queen did say kids were her domain. Frigga wouldn't let anything happen to Jane's little whoopsie. Plus, being Auntie Darcy to the badass, demi-god spawn of Thor would be pretty friggin' awesome.
"Something more attainable would be best," Frigga tapped the gates with her bejeweled rings. "Perhaps we can start with a smaller venture?"
If getting Asgard to accept Loki as their King was a great task, what would constitute a smaller one? Where was the Queen going with this?
Darcy pressed her palms together. "Sure, I guess so. Breaking a big thing into smaller parts would make it more manageable."
"And so it shall be," The Queen turned to her, away from the fields of golden apples, and beamed. "So let us start with companionship."
"Yeah, okay! We can do that." Darcy gave a mental sigh of relief. "Oh, wait. Nobody back home would ever believe we were buds though. Photographic evidence is necessary. Selfies are a good start. And some pics of that boar with hashtag Asgardian-cusine-ftw. Oh, but SHIELD probably would censor the crap out of it—"
"My dear," Frigga stared at Darcy. "I mean companionship with the Prince."
Darcy cringed. She wanted to crawl under a proverbial rock and die. Or get KO'd by Myuh-Myuh, right here on the grass, so she didn't have to deal with her own stupidity anymore.
But what did being friends with Thor have to do with anything?
"We're all good in that department, your Majesty. Thor and I have the companion thing covered."
"Lady Darcy, you keep forgetting the other Prince of Asgard."
She hadn't forgotten about him—rather it was the opposite. Darcy was looking for any excuse not to think about him. To not think about the sly curves of his mouth. To not want to cover his neck with hungry, open-mouthed kisses. To stop day-dreaming about the feel of his slick dark hair running between her fingertips. And waiting, impatiently, for his tongue between her spread legs …
"Lady Darcy," The Queen touched her shoulder. "Your face is flushed. Do you still feel ill?"
Yes, Darcy was sick alright—sick to be fantasizing about fucking that sick fuck.
"I'm fine, thank you. And to answer your previous request, I think I can do it. I'll try to be um, companions, with the Prince."
"I am pleased to hear you consider it," The Queen smiled. "There is only so much closeness a mother can give. Perhaps a new fondness would be best."
A new fondness? Closeness? What exactly was she getting at? The Queen spoke with such reverence and idealization, it made Darcy feel guilty. She didn't want to be the cause of any more disappointment. Darcy didn't know if she was capable of having fondness for Loki—or what Frigga's definition of fondness encompassed—but for Frigga's sake the least she could do was try.
Darcy twirled the broken and bent bracelets around her wrists. Loki had come close to ripping them off. They would have been nothing more than mangled metal on the soil.
And if he succeeded, the jagged pieces would have torn across her wrist and broke her flesh. And if she bled, what would he have done? Would he apologize then?
Darcy doubted it. Loki wouldn't bother saying sorry over broken jewelry or some scratches. And it didn't seem like he would admit to being wrong either. He was a manipulator. He could convince you that his mistakes were somehow your fault. And that was precisely what he did during their first real interaction.
It was beyond Darcy how Loki saved her from Valhalla and Hel. For one thing, she didn't know what he was jabbering on about. Valhalla and Hel? What the fuck did that even mean? Were those places or people? And furthermore, Loki didn't really help her that much. He was a defenseless little fur-bag. All he did was bitch, meow, and scratch her bare legs. He was useless.
The only person that did something was that winged Goddess Freyja. Darcy thought it more probable that Freyja saved her. But Darcy didn't understand her comment about Loki's heart. Being gentle and Loki didn't belong in the same sentence. Nor did Darcy understand why Freyja handed over a piece of her necklace.
Darcy traced the lines of her right palm. Where did that ruby go? Earlier while Lofn bathed her, Darcy searched for it in the linens. She skimmed the smooth sheets at least a dozen times, but came up empty and frustrated.
Did it dissolve into her body? Or was the gemstone, much like everything associated with it, nothing more than a part of her fever dream?
But now was not the time for introspection or distraction. Lofn was being true to her word. Darcy had to focus and listen. It was finally happening. She was going to be alone with Loki.
"You need to stand out from the rest," Lofn scanned Darcy. "He has to pick you. And only you."
Darcy scrunched her nose. "What do you mean the 'the rest'?" And only me?
Lofn's eyes narrowed into tiny, hard slits. "Must I repeat myself, Lady Darcy?"
Oh, fantastic. Off to a great start, as usual. So much for paying attention space-cadet, Darcy scolded herself.
"A refresher would be nice and appreciated," Darcy bowed her head. She peered at the handmaiden between strands of her hair. Darcy hoped Lofn had some patience left for her gnat-like attention span.
"Like I said, moments before," Lofn circled around Darcy. "There will be several choices presented to his majesty this evening."
There would be several? Well, shit. There went her one chance. Darcy saw what the other Asgaridan women looked like—they were gorgeous, perfect, and practically illuminated immortality from their milky tits. Darcy and her pendulous, approaching stretchmark breasts were doomed.
"The prince may select one, two, or all of you depending on his needs."
"Lofn," Darcy raised her finger. "I like my fair share of kink, but I'm a one-on-one kind of girl. And the competition doesn't seem to be in my favor, if you know what I mean."
"Enough," Lofn barked. "You will speak no longer of inadequacies. It will do you no good in the presence of Prince Loki. Is this understood?"
"Totally," Darcy stiffened. Lofn definitely wasn't warm and fuzzy like Sjöfn—this dark-haired handmaiden was all business compared to her red-headed counterpart.
"Confidence, Lady Darcy," Lofn tilted Darcy's chin up. "Have confidence in me and yourself."
Darcy was cold. It was erroneous to think the long, green velvet cloak would keep her naked body warm. She briskly walked the corridors, hoping the movement would heat her bones. But her feet padded along the cool marble and prickled her flesh. The lining of the cloak was no better. It caressed her bare body like a lover. Every minute motion teased her incessantly.
She was freezing, yet aflame. And it was maddening. She had to concentrate.
Darcy lowered her head as instructed. Only a few strands of her dark curly hair and sharp nose were visible from under the cloak. Lofn said these little snippets were the only parts of her body, apart from her hands and feet, that were permitted to be exposed.
"Another?" A gruff, brassy voice questioned.
Darcy skid to a halt. Her heart fluttered. Who is that? From the edge of her hood Darcy could make out the shimmer of golden plate armor. Was he a guard?
"Yes, another volunteer for his majesty," Lofn's voice did not falter. "Permit us entrance, please."
"Mind your words, woman," The man must have shifted position, for the rattling of metal followed. "This is undue loyalty for a traitor. It is most troublesome."
"Is it so troublesome that you would tell the Alfather of this treachery, Halvor?"
Lofn latched onto Darcy. The handmaiden's fingernails burrowed and pinched the delicate flesh under Darcy's wrist. Darcy bit back a whimper. She was supposed to remain silent. Lofn said under no circumstances were she to speak, unless the Prince asked her to do so. It was bizarre, but Darcy assumed it was just another weird Asgardian sex custom.
Lofn's tone and vice grip alerted Darcy to stick with the plan. This Halvor dude knew something was fishy. He might expose them. She swallowed, pushing down the rising fear in her throat. All she had to do was be still and silent.
Don't move. Don't speak. Don't breathe. Don't think.
Darcy prayed and begged. They had gotten this far. Loki could not be far from here. And yes, maybe this plan was bound to fail from the start. But Lofn had asked for confidence and trust; And Darcy would honor that.
"No," Halvor exhaled. "I am not a man of that kind."
Don't move.
"I know," Lofn did not relax her grip. "Now, permit us passage."
Don't speak.
"Of course," Halvor stepped out of Darcy's line of sight, but she could hear the jangle of keys. A loud click, followed by mechanical whirring and a long, drawn out whine signaled the opening of doors.
Don't breathe.
Lofn's grasp slackened. Her fingers loosely hung around Darcy's wrist. "Many thanks, Halvor. Now come along, girl."
Don't think.
Just go.
Darcy trod wordlessly behind Lofn. Flames from torches licked the staircase, casting alternating areas of light and dark on the steps. Darcy hoisted her cloak with one hand and ran her fingertips over the grooved stone wall. She descended, using the jutting stones as a makeshift bannister. She had no intention of falling down and breaking her neck now.
"Girl," Halvor's voice jarred her thoughts. "Do you know the dangers of this union?"
Dammit, Darcy bit her bottom lip to keep from speaking. She stopped, turned, and nodded. Hopefully, that would be enough of an answer for him.
"She is well aware of the consequences, Halvor," Lofn bristled and reached for Darcy again. "She does not require your protection. We must hasten. Come along."
That was the last Darcy heard from Halvor. Darcy tried not to let his question flood her thoughts; but it was hopeless. This definitely gave off a leading-lambs-to-slaughter vibe.
But if Loki wanted her dead, he would have done it already. He wouldn't waste such pageantry on a mortal. And his Mom thought it was safe enough for them to be companions … so that had to count for something.
Darcy hoped she would remember Lofn's lecture. There was a good possibility it would go right out the window the moment Darcy heard Loki. She thought of his thick, honeyed voice and clenched her thighs together. Darcy balled her hands into fists.
She would fight this urge to rip her cloak off and jump on him. She had to keep it together. She had to keep this charade going. She was just another Asgardian girl, doing her duty for the Prince.
Darcy proceeded slowly, carefully, making certain the cloak did not catch on any cracks. She focused and soon, her toes transitioned to flat marble again. Darcy breathed out, clutching her chest, very much relieved that the potential for fractures and a full-body cast was over.
Lofn grasped her again, dragging her body forward. Spasms of pain erupted from her wrist and pounded in her head. Darcy wanted to yelp out, or yank Lofn around like a toddler's toy, but remained quiet.
She was ushered behind another green cloak. Darcy's eyes darted to assess her surroundings. A faint golden light filled her vision, but she didn't have time to investigate further.
Heavy circular cuffs clicked around her wrists. Darcy's hands faltered and drooped. She could not possibly lift her hands now. She didn't even bother trying. The golden cuffs were probably impermeable anyway.
She leaned forward, sighing when pressure released from her lower back. But Darcy's relief was momentary. Weighted cuffs clasped around her ankles, bringing a new resounding pain. It made her bones scream for mercy.
Lofn breathed into her ear. "Farewell. You have one hour. Remember my words."
The cuffs vibrated and jangled. The green cloak in front took a step forward and Darcy nearly tumbled into her back. It dawned on Darcy that she was shackled to this woman, Asgardian, or otherwise. Darcy watched those feet in front of her, trying hard to be unfazed by the fact that they were blue, and noiselessly followed.
The floor transitioned again to a stark white marble. The golden lights were brighter here, dancing and making intertwining shapes on the floor. Darcy squinted from the harshness. She knew it must have taken only a few minutes to get here, but her body was protesting. She was slick with sweat. She was unable to identify her skin from the cloak. It was stuck to her. Darcy shuffled along, until a familiar voice rang out.
"Stop."
Darcy's heart pounded in her ears. She was here. She was with Loki. But she had to play along to keep her spot. She remained motionless as he instructed.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Shoes echoed in the room. They became louder, closer, and then ceased. The sound of his approach was replaced with a whimper.
Was that me? Darcy tightly pressed her lips together. She shut her eyes, concentrating on controlling her breathing, but the whimpering grew louder. And then came the wracking sobs. And the pleading.
It wasn't her. It was someone else farther down.
"Please, please," The young voice begged between gasps. "Please, don't hurt me."
Darcy's spine straightened. The fine hairs on her neck rose to attention. You were not allowed to speak unless addressed. That was a cardinal rule.
"Do you not wish to be here?" Loki spoke with an even, unfaltering tone.
"No, please, no," The woman cried. "Please, have mercy."
"This was your choice."
"It was not," She blubbered. "Our family suffers. I was promised stipends were I to do this, but I cannot. Please, let me go. Please."
Darcy's stomach twisted into a hard knot. This woman was trying to save her family by giving herself to the Prince. She didn't actually want to be here.
"Is there not one among you that would willingly lay with me?" His voice cracked. "Must you all be coerced with sums or promises of redemption?"
Darcy's heart sunk. She recalled when Lofn said Loki had countless lovers. She wondered how many of them were like this Asgardian woman—only wanting money or martyrdom.
"Go," His voice wavered. "My patience wears thin."
The shackles simultaneously unlocked. Darcy fell to the floor, overcome with relief. She massaged her wrists and ankles, inspecting them for demarcation. Darcy sighed, grateful to be only mildly sore. She hoped bruises wouldn't follow tomorrow.
The scurrying and commotion of at least a dozen women assaulted her ears. Words of hate and contempt sprouted from their lips. Banging on glass came next, followed by alarmed shouts and desperate cries for release. One by one, the din quieted and the room stilled.
Was she the only one left?
Darcy lifted the cloak with her thumb and pointer finger, scanning with only her eyes. There were a few simple pieces of furniture. A table, a ceramic bowl and pitcher, two chairs. A bed with plain white sheets. And a fairly large bookcase. She was surprised to find Shakespeare amongst the leather bound titles.
And there he was, standing with his back to Darcy. But he wasn't alone. There was a blue bare-assed woman wrapping herself around his lean arms. Black and red tribal markings ran the length of her body. Some bulged against her skin, looking more like veins than tattoos. She brushed back his dark locks and pressed her lips to his ear.
You Avatar-knock-off, Darcy's thoughts dripped with venom. Get your fucking hands off him!
Darcy shook her head. Her blood had reached boiling point so quickly and intensely. It wasn't like her to think that viciously about someone she didn't even know. It was terrifying, but to see this woman with Loki made her feel predatory.
"Angrboda," Loki looked the blue woman over once. "I know not how you came here undetected, but I suggest you leave."
Angrboda dragged her nails down his spine. "You have never refused me before, my love."
What's your problem, whore? Can't take a hint? No means no, hussy! Darcy ground her teeth and burned holes through this pompous, conceited woman. She wanted to tear her apart, but she kept her fisted hands on the marble floor.
"No, I have not," Loki spoke between clenched teeth. "But I grow weary of your refusal of Hel, Fenrir, and Jormungand."
Angrboda rolled her head back and laughed. Her red eyes twinkled. "You ask me to call those—monsters—my own?"
"Woman," Loki rasped and crashed his hands around her throat. "You forget I am the monster."
Angrboda sputtered wildly, her black hair whipping around from the struggle. Darcy watched, mesmerized, as Loki pushed on her throat. His fingers and hands turned a vibrant blue. His face contorted and erupted with markings similar to those spackled on his victim. And his eyes, once so green and mysterious, were now crimson.
In one fluid motion, Angrboda's foot came crashing down. The crunch of breaking bones and his primal howl was enough. Darcy leapt from the ground. She didn't wait for a spark, for she was already burning and running.
It took only moments for her hood to fly back, for her hair to spray around her like Medusa, and for tears to stream from her open eyes. Darcy blinked once and was there.
There was between Loki and Angrboda. Darcy felt his hands still hovering; still expecting to be laced around Angrboda's throat. She shoved the tall blue woman against the shimmering glass.
Darcy snapped her teeth and growled, "Leave. Now."
"Oh, and what be this?" Angrboda tilted her head and cackled. "What shall I call it?"
"Darcy Lewis," Darcy snarled. "Don't forget it, bitch."
The fire, which was once satisfied licking her insides, had now engulfed her very being. Darcy pulled her arm back, cracked her knuckles, and shot her fist forward. She had expected impact. To see Angrboda's face squish and nose twist. To hear the grinding of bones and cartilage would have been deliriously heady.
Instead Darcy got screams. And fire.
Red and orange flames were scorching Angrboda's face. They were burning and tearing her flesh away in little flakes. She screeched and stumbled around the cell, furiously patting her face, before finding the pitcher. She dumped its contents over her face and hair. The water hissed on contact with her skin, causing tiny grey smoke to escape from her flesh.
The subsequent hisses came from Angrboda's angry, distorted mouth, "Oh, I will not forget you Darcy Lewis. Nor will my kin. Mark this as your one and only victory over Ironwood."
Angrboda gathered her cloak, wrapping it around her naked form, and pressed her hand over the glass pane. Angrboda slipped through the rippling glass, as if she was passing under a waterfall, and then she was gone. She dissipated into nothing, leaving Darcy to wonder if she even existed at all.
Tender, thin fingers combed through Darcy's hair. The sensation prickled through her body. Loki was touching her. She could feel it. This was real. He was real.
Darcy nuzzled against his fingers. She was going to repress everything that just happened with Angrboda and the fire. She was going to pay up the ass for therapy, but there was no way Darcy was screwing up this moment.
"It would seem we are even," Loki's fingers trailed to the ties of her cloak. "I saved you. And you saved me."
"I think that deserves a celebration," Darcy knew he was near, so she purposely pressed her back against him. She wanted to feel his excitement.
"Indeed," Loki inhaled sharply. "But answer something for me first."
"Okay. What?" Darcy waited this long. She could answer one question.
His caresses were gone, replaced with crushing arms around her chest. Darcy struggled against him, but his grip only strengthened. She was a mouse, moments before the snake squeezed her to death. She had to do something. She had to say something.
But he beat her to it.
His reflection in the glass was sinister. His lips pulled back over his teeth. "What are you?"