As soon as Thor was banished, Sigyn began making arrangements. Things were changing, and quickly, and while Loki assured her that he had it all in hand, she could not risk her sons' safety.
By the time the Odinsleep was announced, Nori and Varli were at her elder sister's estate, far in the mountains. An imperfect solution, but the best she could do. She spent her time in the empty villa, trying to focus on her work and ignore the gossip coming from the palace. But she did not have to wait long before she was sent for.
It was difficult to choose something to wear. She eventually decided on a gown she had very little use for under normal circumstances, with a bodice and underskirt that was more revealing than what she usually wore, and flowing sheer overskirts.
Not quite fit for a queen, but enough to suggest the idea.
She wore a cloak and hood, in an attempt to protect herself from prying eyes as she made her way to the antechamber where Loki was expecting her. The attention was unnerving. She was used to being overlooked in a crowd. It occurred to her that the cloak was a mistake, the added air of mystery only made her presence more interesting. She walked as quickly as she could, flanked by his guards, and fought the urge to hunch her shoulders at the weight of all the eyes.
It was with no small measure of relief that she stepped into his private chambers, and her relief grew even greater when he gestured to the guards, sending them away. She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her when she pulled off her cloak and met his eyes, bright with mirth.
"Thank you for inviting me, your highness," she curtsied deeply.
He stepped forward and slid the cloak from her shoulders, looking over her with obvious appreciation. "I only regret that I could not send for you sooner." He met her eye, his lips curving in a smile. "Your highness."
Smiling, she glanced down. "Please, do not place titles on me prematurely."
He laughed and caught her hand in his and slipped his other arm around her waist. "Is it a coronation you want?" He grinned and began to dance with her, moving them in time to a music only he could hear. "Perhaps we shall have a royal wedding as well? All the pomp and circumstance you can stand."
She could not help but laugh. "That would be very little, my lord husband. Besides, we're already married."
He pressed icy cold lips to her fingertips, one by one, his eyes locked on hers as his lips gradually warmed against her skin. He knees went weak, though she tried not to melt against him. "I wish to do it again," he said, his voice velvet soft.
Giggling as he spun them, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Truly? I can not say I cared for your attire the last time we wed."
"Neither did I," he did not bother to hide his disgust. "I promise to dress more appropriately this time." He turned, dipping her deeply. She relaxed into his hold, feeling weightless, effortless.
He lowered himself over her until his lips brushed her throat. "I just cannot decide whether we should wed before or after my father wakes."
She stiffened slightly as he raised her back to standing. "So soon?" She asked, her tone light, her feet feeling very heavy as she walked across the room to pour herself a glass of wine.
He stayed where he was, watching her with cautious eyes. "Perhaps. I thought it might do him good to see us when he wakes. To know that his kingdom was secure in his absence, and…" he smiled that hopeless smile he had, the one that always broke her heart. "And that I married the most beautiful woman in Asgard and she bore me two fine sons."
She drank deeply before smiling back at him. "Why do we even have to? I hate being the center of attention."
"Because it would be good for Asgard, love." He approached her, his hands spread in an imploring gesture.
"Yes, but what is good for us?" She looked up at him, knowing her arguments were weak and scrambling for better ones.
He trailed his fingers over the edges of her neckline, lightly tracing her skin with rapidly-cooling fingertips. "I do not see the separation."
"Everybody will think our sons are bastards." She slid her hands around his waist, curling her fingers in his doublet. Please, please stop. Do not make me say it.
He was quiet for a long moment, his fingertips coming to rest between her breasts. His skin went ice cold, reaching into her heart. His jaw tightened and she could see his eyes shining with tears. "Are they?" He asked softly.
She stepped back, stunned, as if he had just slapped her. "Loki. Of course they are not. We married."
"Yes," he said, stepping toward her, his temper rising. "We did. But if they are not mine then they are Theoric's bastards."
She set her wine glass down with nerveless fingers, struck dumb. "Loki…" She shook her head, trying to shake his words from her ears. "How could you think such a thing?"
His jaw worked, his eyes blazing with fury as he stepped away from her, throwing his arms wide. "There is a simple way to know for sure, of course." He laughed, his lips curling cruelly. "Tell me, love. You think me so handsome?"
She shrunk away, suddenly wishing the guards had not left. "I do," she said quietly, afraid to look away from him. "You know that."
His eyes burned into hers, green melting into red as his skin began to change. "Look on my real face, love." And his skin deepened into blue as his eyes blazed bright red, his skin roughening with frost. His true Jotun face. The one he had always hidden from her.
She dashed tears from her eyes and straightened, slowly closing the distance between them. "I know, Loki," she whispered, reaching to touch his cheek. His skin was so cold it burned, and she bit her lip to keep from flinching from the pain.
His brow furrowed, but she could not hope to read his expression. She tiptoed and brushed her lips against his, her breath steaming against the chill. The blue melted away, leaving his more familiar form behind as he wrapped her tightly in his arms and crushed his lips to hers.
He broke the kiss, gasping. "How?"
"The twins. They were blue." She tangled her fingers in his hair. "I researched the date of your birth and saw it was when the Allfather returned from Jotunheim."
He laughed helplessly, bordering on hysteria, tightening his hands in her skirts. "You never said a word."
She brushed her fingertips over his cheekbones, knowing it was a lie, an illusion. His true face so cold she could not bear to touch him for long, no matter how much she might want to. "I thought if you wanted to explain, you would have told me."
His smile turned into a grimace of anger. "I did not explain because I did not know," he snarled, shoving her away from him and beginning to pace. "But you did. You just… put it together." His voice raised.
"I do not know what to say," she raised her hands, palms up. "It never occurred to me that it was something unknown to you." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to feel relief that they had moved on from her real reason for resisting the wedding.
And then he paused, and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her with deep suspicion. Her stomach dropped through the floor. "Then why are you so reluctant."
"I told you," she said, her voice so tentative she knew he would never believe her. "I do not like being the center of attention like that."
He crossed the distance between them in two steps. "Tell. Me. Why." He clenched his fists at his sides.
Trembling, she tried to focus on the thought of their sons. He should know this, too. "Before you returned from Nornheim, when they were babes. Your mother came to me."
"No," he turned his back on her, stalking away.
"She warned me, Loki." She raised her voice, her anger at his unwavering devotion to the Allfather boiling over.
"No, she did not, she never does," he whirled on her, his earlier fury redoubled. "You lie."
"I speak the truth, Loki," she stood straight, the fire of her own anger burning away her fear. "Your father would hurt our children."
"No," he paced faster, shaking his head. "He would not. Not now. Things have changed."
"I will not. As long as he lives, I will not. I hate him!" She shouted.
"You will," he advanced on her. "And you will see the truth. He will welcome my family. He will love them."
She drew herself up to her full height. Which was ridiculous, he still towered over her. He always would. But she drew every scrap of resolve she had and did not shrink back. "I refuse."
He stared at her, shock and pain in his eyes. She longed to touch him, to soothe him, but what he wanted she could not give.
"I could order you," he said, his voice low as if speaking softly would lessen the threat behind it.
The room went so deadly cold her fingers numbed. "You could," she said, just as soft, lifting her chin. "You are king. You can order my body to do anything."
The silence stretched between them, a wall of ice.
"Come home with me," she whispered. Her voice too soft to be heard on the other side of the ice.
"Get out," he snarled, turning his back on her and stalking from the room.