Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or Thor

Authors Note: Hello everyone, Phantom Phoenix Queen here this time with chapter two :) I forgot to mention this in the previous chapter, but this story is AU. I'm sure that most of you have figured that out, but I'll say it just to clarify. Thank you all for the reviews, they fuel us and we love them! (And we are very happy to hear that you love the story!)

Loki's past is shrouded in darkness and betrayal, and he knows it. The crown prince of Lazeroth bares many names- Silvertongue, Skywalker, Shadowdancer- and among them is the worst of all: Stolen Son of Odin.

The kingdom of Orabella is grand and gold, and everything Lazeroth is not. The king, Odin Allfather, is strong and respectable where Lauefey is cunning and feared. And Odin's son, Prince Thor, is as much a respresentation of Orabella as Loki is of Lazeroth.

Prince Thor is golden haired; he is strong, and caring, albeit a little daft, but caring nonetheless. Prince Loki is dark; he holds himself with grace and poise; he is perfectly kept, his ebony hair is never out of place, and his touch with politics is unrivaled. He is much like Lazeroth in this way, as the kingdom is known for it's cunning tactics and snake-like ambassadors.

But for all the talk of a golden city with glorious people and god-like leaders, Orbella has not always been peaceful. Loki knows this better than anyone, as he is the living reason for the infamous War; the great battle between Lazeroth and Orabella for none other than Prince Loki himself.

He does not remember very well, as he should not, since he was so young and young children tend to not remember much. But his father is never hesitant to remind him how the war started, and so he can tell the tale as if it had happened yesterday.

Although he does not believe it, Loki is very sought after. He is the son of King Laufey, the heir to the throne of an extremely powerful country that few can rival. When he comes of age, or when Laufey is dead, he will wear the crown of a country that owns the world.

Many yearn to be royal, Loki knows; his regrettable story begins with one such man. The birth of Loki- the son of Laufey, who descended from the stars is what they say, for he has no mother that he is aware of- brought joy and fear equally. In Lazeroth, the people celebrated for a week, harolding in the new baby prince. In Orabella, those in power metaphorically paced back in force with nerves. And so brought on Malekith, a poor man searching in vain for Orabellan knighthood in exchange for capturing the shadow prince.

According to Laufey, Malekith was a magic wielder; he snuck in, cloaked in invisibility, and stole the young Loki away, putting an illusion in his place. The magic held for thirteen days, as compliant and believable as if the crown prince himself was actually there. In the mean time, Malekith had brought the prince to his king and queen, Odin and Frigga.

Odin's immediate reaction had been to kill the Lazerothian noble, but Queen Frigga, a kind and caring woman, had been appalled by this. She fought her husband there, in public, to save the baby; enemy or not, she said, he was a mere child and had done nothing wrong. He deserved to live. The underlying message was clear enough, however; to kill the Lazerothian crown prince was a death wish for Orabella.

So Malekith was put to death, more of for the sake of saving Orabella than for the deed he had done, and Prince Loki came to live with the royal family whilst King Laufey was notified. It was here that Loki met Prince Thor, the slightly older and slightly rougher son of Odin and Frigga. He was kind and caring, just like his mother, and he fought tooth and nail to keep Loki at his side

Loki stayed for all of three weeks with the Odin family. Although Laufey had been notified much sooner, he had not been in any hurry to collect his son. When Loki had cried at this fact, Thor had been there, hand outstretched and hugs at the ready. He had comforted Loki, and at end of the day, they sat before Frigga as if they were both her children while she told them tale after tale. The three-year-old Loki had never felt so loved as he did that day.

On the first day of the fourth week Laufey came, and with his army. He twisted words, his upmost talent, and proclaimed that the royal family of Orabella had stolen his son.

And thus began the War; a twenty day battle with blood shed unlike either country had seen before. The only conclusion was that Lazeroth and Orabella would never again be allies, and that Loki would never again feel as loved as he had in those short weeks. It was then that Loki was given that horrible nickname, along with his first slap.

The only sound in the grand hallway was that of breathing and shoes hitting the ground. The blonde guard, a man of seventeen that wished to one day be Captain of the Guard, looks expectantly towards the ebony haired prince. For the past five minutes, his green eyes have been glued forward in an obvious state controlled by inner thoughts. He smiles slightly, the boy looks nervous, and it has always been his talent to set nervous people a ease. He reaches a hand out slightly, a reflex in which he'll playfully slap the prince's back and set him at ease, before he remembers that this is royalty, and he very may well lose his head for touching the boy like that. A moment of debate ensues, in which his mind battles between comforting his walking companion or staying quiet. He let's risk win out over carefulness in the end.

"Do not look so nervous, Your Highness. His Majesty sounded pleased when he called for you, I highly doubt anything terrible will come from this meeting."

The guard puts his hand on Loki's shoulder in a caring gesture. It must work, because Loki can feel himself smiling back at the guard's sunny face and relaxing his shoulders from the tight, hunched position they are currently in to the rigid, haughty but confident setting his father requires.

He and his guard stop in front of the door as two sentries bow before hastily, but gracefully, opening the doors to King Laufey's throne room. Loki raises his chin, dons his look of calm indifference and squares his shoulders. He wishes the guard would stay with him, as a sort of moral support; but before he can say anything, the blonde is winking and stepping to the side and trumpets are blaring to signal the prince's entrance. And then it is only he and Laufey in the room.