Loki's mood warms, yet the snow outside carries on for days on end. The fluffy heaps gray and turn to slush underfoot, before freezing over again in pools of black ice. While students slip and crash into each other, the temperature plummets.
Inside the suite, the Pensieve bubbles and fizzes. Every few minutes, one of the three roommates walks by to check if—
"Yes!" Loki exclaims. "It just turned milky-white, it's finished now!"
Draco scurries right over, and Ciel follows after grabbing the memory. He unscrews the jar and tips it into the Pensieve. They bend forwards and tumble right into another room.
It's a grand banquet hall, by the looks of it, though only three men sit around the table. Ciel surveys it quickly. "The insignia is that of the Crane family—"
"Ah!"
They turn around at the shriek and find a young woman stopped in her tracks, holding a tray of food.
"I see!" she sings in a warbly soprano.
"What is it?" One of the men— the youngest of the three, slender with light-colored hair— shoots to his feet. "What do you see, Daphne?"
"In this coming winter," she declares, eyes wide and misty, voice ringing with the weight of destiny, "an upstart tyrant shall seek to order this world, remaking it by his own philosophy."
"Mikos Cassadine," Ciel mutters under his breath. "Though I suppose he's not the only Lawful Evil nut running around . . ."
She continues, "He shall form new magic to blanket our world in crippling snows, strangling all until they bow down. But! But there is a flaw in his magic, a key to unlock it and bring it all crashing down."
"Tell us, Daphne," the youngest man says, breathless.
"A certain student of Weston College can come forward and banish his meddling by a soulmates' kiss, a princess of ice-"
Three jaws drop.
"— with a cool mask and stormy temper, with a subtle touch, with respect for laws and more for lawbreaking, blessed with magical brilliance and a loyal familiar."
She abruptly starts and then looks at the three men strangely. "Why are you all looking at me funny?"
The Pensieve then hurls them out again. As they stagger backwards, Ciel exclaims, "So the Jack Frost case wasn't frivolous nonsense after all! They must have realized Elsa is the princess in the prophecy and admitted Jack as her soulmate, and then kept the whole thing under wraps so no supporter of tyranny would try and do them in!"
"Only one problem," Draco says.
"What?"
Draco and Loki simultaneously gesture at the window, where a storm rages outside, and Ciel's face falls. "How- how come it's still snowing? Surely they've already kissed."
"No doubt," Draco says. "But that looked like a legitimate prophecy to me, so I don't know why the kiss hasn't worked. Perhaps they aren't actually Soulmates?"
"Or perhaps the prophecy's been misinterpreted," Ciel says. "Perhaps they've gotten the wrong princess of ice entirely."
"From a linguistic perspective, the term 'princess' has unexpected ambiguities in the prophetic context," Loki muses. "It can refer either to women, or to people who are neither strictly men or women."
"Dammit—" Ciel suddenly stamps his foot on the ground— "I wish I had socialized properly! I know almost nobody at this school."
"Same here," Draco grimaces.
"Who else could possibly fit the prophecy?" Loki says to himself.
At that moment, a chilled magpie alights on the windowsill, tapping anxiously on the glass and shivering. Loki rushes to let him into the warm suite, while the other two stare at him and his loyal familiar.
They storm down the hallways, past Jack and Elsa, tucked into an alcove and making out like lives depend on it, and towards the headmaster's office. They are confronted by a large gargoyle that glares down at them and asks for a password.
"We're trying to save the world," Draco snaps, "how's that for a password?"
"Liquorice allsorts," Ciel spits, talking over him. "Milky babies. Murray mints. Fruit bonbons—"
"Chocolate rabbits," says Professor Dumbledore, appearing behind the gargoyle, which dutifully steps aside to let the three roommates pass.
As they head into his office, Ciel raises his eyebrows. "You've had Phantomhive candy, Professor?"
"Once I got over the bitter taste of the dark chocolate, I felt they were superior to the chocolate frogs so commonly sold around here—"
"Ahem," Draco nudges Ciel and clears his throat. "Remember we have to save the world?"
"I'm getting there, but as head of the family business I'd like to gather feedback from customers—"
"Professor Dumbledore," Loki cuts in, "we are aware of the Level 6 prophecy indicating that a princess of ice must kiss their soulmate to save the world from tyranny. We believe you have interpreted the prophecy as referring to Princess Elsa of Arendelle. We also believe you're dead wrong, and the true referent is I, Prince Loki of Jotunheim."
Professor Dumbledore peers over the rims of his glasses. "A fascinating theory, to be certain. Have you a known soulmate?"
The three roommates look at each other.
"About that."
Within an hour announcements go out through the entire school about a mandatory speed-dating event.
"I've given you the best sorting criteria I have at the moment," Loki tells Ciel. "Put the male students at the front, rank them by grades, where there's a close call prioritize the most pretentious majors. I'll figure out what to do with everyone else if this doesn't work— with any luck we won't have to look off-campus."
"Should I include non-humans?" Ciel asks.
Loki deliberates for a moment. "Put the non-human male students after the humans, sorted by the same criteria. It's not that I'm not attracted to Nick Wilde, it's just that . . . I'm not attracted to Nick Wilde. I think."
For some reason, Ciel brightens upon hearing this. "All right, then. I'll send in the first candidate momentarily."
Loki smooths down his hair, pops a mint in his mouth, and paces around a small room, equipped only with two chairs and a window. After a few minutes of staring at the storm outside, he hears a knock on the door.
"Come in."
In walks a young man with brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a white shirt with a brown tie and brown pants. He couldn't be blander if he tried, Loki thinks.
"I'm Light Yagami," the man says.
"'Light'?" Loki raises an eyebrow. "Your parents like heavy-handed symbolism, then?"
The man just looks back at him, impassive.
"I suppose it'd be amusing if it turned ironic," Loki adds, trying to fill the silence. "If you became a force of darkness, a— I don't know— a serial killer."
The man's eyes narrow, and suddenly Loki feels a blast of cold through the air and wonders whether Light's not the prince of ice, after all.
"I apologize," he says, "that's not the best pick-up line. But as Ciel informed you, I am on a quest for a soulmate. A kiss should confirm it, and with your consent I'd like to—"
"I understand," he says.
"Right." Loki steps towards him and leans in for a kiss. It's a perfectly unremarkable kiss, neither short nor long, and then Light pulls back.
"Well, it was nice to meet you," he says.
"Likewise."
And Light turns to the door and steps back out of his life.
The next man sweeps in without knocking, and Loki is stunned for a moment— this new candidate's all sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones and soft, ink-black curls. He's wearing a strikingly long coat and a perfectly tailored trousers and a shirt that's just tight enough to hint at chiseled muscles below. As soon as he presses the door closed, he whirls around and announces, "Sherlock Holmes. You I assume are—"
"Loki," they say simultaneously.
"Prince of Asgard on paper," Sherlock continues smoothly, "though by blood you're a child of Jotunheim, and that's really what we care about today, isn't it?"
Loki's eyes widen. "How can you know that?"
"Same way I know you drink green tea regularly though you're starting to dally with Darjeeling, and that you tried on an auburn wig this morning, and that you're concerned about your kanji final but only mildly, and that you think kissing me might turn off that raging blizzard outside. I see things others don't notice. And, no—" he raises a hand— "I'm not a world-class diviner. Don't feel too bad, it's a common misconception."
Loki can't stop gazing at him, drinking in his deductions, reveling in his mysterious smirk. "Well, then. Let's see whether this kiss works."
It will work. He is sure of it. And indeed the kiss is pure magic, shooting heat through every part of him, as he presses forth with his lips and then his tongue—
Sherlock withdraws abruptly. "No, no, the magical signature's all wrong. Good luck with your future kissing attempts. And do let me if you get hopelessly stuck on this whole Cassadine mess, I should be able to solve it in under two days. It's not really interesting in the slightest, but I can make an exception to save the world."
He sweeps back out the door, leaving Loki blinking with shock.
Loki pulls his features back into some semblance of composure, in order to immediately lose it when the door opens again.
"What do you want?" he snaps.
"What do you mean?" Draco replies. "Ciel sent me in just now."
"How is that possible?" Loki says. "I had him order people by grades-"
"And I scored perfectly on all my midterms," he finishes. Then his eyes narrow. "What, don't you think I'm intelligent enough?"
"I knew you were sentient, that doesn't explain this."
"I'm sorry," he spits, "did you miss the first moment we met, when I told you I'm a master alchemist?"
"I didn't miss it, thank you, but I'll remind you that I duplicated your painting effect in, oh, one-hundredth of the time."
"Oh—" Draco throws up his hands— "let's just get this ridiculous kiss over with, shall we?"
Loki rolls his eyes. "Let's."
Draco pecks Loki on the mouth and spins around to leave, but then trumpets play, and the storm clouds part, letting a heart-shaped beam of light spill through the window and pool around them.
They glare at each other briefly, then groan in unison.