A/N: I love browsing the Loki tag on tumblr; some of the fanart there is beautiful...

Anywho. Back to this story. So, so, so glad that people are liking it! :D

Time to resume the shenanigans, methinks. Yes? Yes.

Eva awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows, and she stretched her legs, nestling into the softness of the mattress, the pillow cushioning her head perfectly. It was by far the best bed she had ever slept in, and she was in no mind to leave it. She lazily rolled on to her back, and glanced up at the ceiling, stone roses adorning it, vines twisting and tangling around the edges –

Her eyes narrowed.

That isn't my bedchamber ceiling.

She sat up, her heart thundering with alarm. Where the hell was she? She swung her legs out of bed, and stood. Her nightgown – soft cream, with lace edging – fell to her thighs, and she glanced around her. She was in a high-ceilinged, soft-yellow-painted, stone room, with French doors and what seemed like antique furniture. Her gaze fell upon a pale gold satin robe at the end of the bed, and she slipped it on, tying it loosely around her waist. She walked to the open French doors, the curtains billowing, and she looked out.

Her gaze was one of astonishment.

"Paris," she whispered. "But… why? How?"

There was a knock, and her head whipped around as one of the doors opened. A tall, dark-haired woman walked in, along with another carrying a tray laden with food and drink. She nodded towards Eva.

"Good morning, mademoiselle. Seigneur Loki asks that you refresh and replenish your strength. You are free to walk about the city if you wish, only that you return before evening to dine with him." Her soft French accent added a pleasant lilt to the woman's voice, and Eva inclined her head.

"As he wishes. But could you tell me something…?"

"Jeanne. And of course, mademoiselle."

"How… how did I get here?"

Jeanne's eyes were unreadable. "You were brought here last night, mademoiselle. Seigneur Loki had business to attend to here, and said that you were to remain near him."

Now, this was interesting. To remain near him? As if he required her? Was she Loki's fix?

The thought made her feel ill. She swallowed and returned her focus to Jeanne. The woman was watching her, her brow creased in concern.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" Jeanne asked softly. Eva nodded, attempting a small smile.

"I am. Thank you."

"There is breakfast, if you would like it. There are clothes for you in the wardrobe and dressing room, and of course all the necessities are in the bathroom. Is there anything else you require, mademoiselle?"

"The city is thriving under his rule," Eva murmured in disbelief. "How? Why? You should be fighting back!"

Jeanne did not immediately answer, but when she did, it was not to Eva's question.

"Do not forget. Before evening."

The woman turned on her heel and left, and Eva pressed her fingers to her temple, circling the skin, fighting to urge to shout in annoyance. She didn't want to be here. She couldn't even remember how she arrived. All she could recall was falling asleep in the bed in her suite, after Stuttgart, and suddenly she had woken up in a different room entirely.

She glanced at the clock by the bed. Ten in the morning. She guessed it had been late at night when she had been taken to Germany. And then back to America. Now France. It almost made her head spin; three different countries in the space of a few hours was a feat she was sure few mortals had ever accomplished.

She walked warily over to the breakfast tray on the table, and her mouth watered at the smell of fresh coffee and warm pastries. She sat and drank a little of the brew, savouring its rich taste, before sampling the various tartlets and cakes there, her tongue feeling as though it were in seventh heaven. For a while she simply sat, taking pleasure in the stillness, the peace. Even the noise of traffic and fluent French soothed her. It was normal. Safe. Loki was in the city, no doubt, but he would not be in her presence for a few hours yet. She had time.

She noticed the small envelope resting against the jug of cream, and she picked it up, opening it and sliding the note from its paper prison.

I do hope the suite is to your taste. Should you wish to wander about the city, do so. If you should require money for whatever purpose, it will not matter. No-one will ask for it. You are mine, and they will recognise that, on a subconscious level. Enjoy Paris, lítteinn. I will see you come the evening.

She let the letter drop to the floor, disgusted. She hated how he believed he owned her, how she was his plaything for his own twisted amusement. But it kept her family safe. Kept her alive – yet if she had to die to ensure her family's survival, then so be it.

Although if that happened, she was certain they would meet their maker whatever he promised.

Eva sighed, and got to her feet, pulling her robe around her.

Quickly, she showered and dressed, keeping her clothes stylish: a simple black shift dress, dark red court shoes. She was in Paris, after all. Not that the wardrobe contained anything but fashionable garments. She supposed Loki wanted 'his mortal' to appear of the utmost elegance. And she did love tasteful clothing, even if it was provided for by a megalomaniacal alien.

She left the suite and walked along the lobby, taking the lift down to the ground floor. She stepped out of the hotel, and glanced down the streets before making her way to a taxi. The footman opened the door for her, and she thanked him softly, smiling.

"La Louvre, s'il vous plaît," she said to the driver, who immediately drove off down the infamously busy roads. She sat back against the seat, gazing out at the buildings and the people as she passed them. It was a peaceful kind of chaos, the bustling streets and the angry drivers. Simple, easy. As it should be.

But it never was.

Half an hour later, she was wandering about the Louvre, letting the atmosphere calm her. She had always loved art galleries, and the Louvre was one of her favourites, though she visited rarely.

She found herself meandering towards the Monet paintings, and the familiar sight of water lilies instantly soothed her troubled soul. She stood there, a faint smile on her lips. The colours blended perfectly, and every intricate detail seemed to draw her in.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

Eva half-turned to see an elderly Frenchman standing beside her with the same awed smile upon his face. She nodded, her eyes alight with happiness.

"Oui, they are magnificent," she replied sincerely. "He is one of my favourite artists. Unparalleled."

"Look how the light is caught on the water," the gentleman continued in French, a ray of enthusiasm showing through his veneer of calm. "That is a rare skill indeed."

Their conversation ran on for what seemed like an age, and she relished it. It was the first time she had truly spoken to another besides Loki since she had gone to New York, and it both challenged and stimulated her mind. She was a naturally sociable person, and she loved debating opinions and beliefs; she thrived on intellectual discussion.

Eva moved with the gentleman throughout various exhibits, learning more about him as they went. She was charmed by his easy manners and friendly disposition, and the chatter was free and open. She did not realise it was almost four o' clock before the gentleman glanced at his watch, and announced somewhat regretfully that he had to depart. And so he did, with kisses to her cheeks and a warm smile.

But then a wave of both apprehension and anticipation hit her. She would have to return back to the suite within the next two hours, else Loki would begin to…

She didn't even want to contemplate it. Grimacing, she took a last longing look at the Vermeer collection on the walls, and turned to leave.

She did not notice the mortal woman watching her go.

"I understand that you travelled by a taxicab." His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the edge of disgust to his tone. Eva leant back in her seat, raising an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem? It is how I would usually travel here, since I have no understanding of most of their public transport methods, and I do not have my car."

He took a sip from his wineglass, his gaze never leaving her face.

"Wherever I take you, there will be a private car at your disposal," he said quietly. "I will not have my mortal sullying herself in those hideous vehicles."

"That will not be necessary," she replied steadily. "The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself and be known to the public as 'your mortal'."

He laughed softly. "That will happen, soon enough. You cannot hide forever. Besides, I must have some form of amusement whilst resolving disputes and conflicts."

"Ah, so I am your fix. Hm." Her eyes glittered. "Intriguing."

His smile was dry. "You are not an addiction, Eva, do not flatter yourself. Who knows, I may tire of you soon. And then it will be over for you. I may regret it. I most likely will not."

"You won't tire of me," she replied levelly, in the tongue she spoke only privately with him. "Where would you find another speaker of this language? Oh, universities of course, museums, Scandinavia. But I doubt they'd refuse to kneel as I have. It'd be too easy a victory for you. Not even a decent challenge. And that's what drives you, isn't it? You need to be stimulated intellectually, else you will go mad with boredom. Drinking and feasting with bawdy wenches is not your idea of entertainment; only a conversation or a book will thrill you."

It was evening now in Paris; the two of them were sat at a table on the balcony, glasses of wine on the table, the jewels at her throat glinting. Loki's face was illuminated by the candles on the table; his eyes danced in the incandescence, the pale expanse of his chiselled jaw and neck highlighted and hollowed in turn by light and shadow.

"You profess to know me," came his amused tones.

"Only what I can discern. You hide a great deal, Loki – any fool could see that. Of your outward nature, your façades? I know much. But of the man behind the mask?" Eva allowed herself a cynical smile. "I know little. What Thor has told me aids my study somewhat, but your identity as a jötunn and the son of both Laufey and Odin gives me scarcely enough to go on. Except, of course, as to why you are so bitter and twisted."

He had gone very still. His eyes barely flickered, but they pierced with an intensity anyone would find chilling. He leant forwards, and she forced herself to stay where she was, to not recoil.

"Do not talk of things you cannot hope to comprehend." It was low, dark, and would have made her shiver had she not fought to control the instinct. Instead she drained her the last of the wine in her glass and rose to her feet.

"You forget I have an adopted brother. I comprehend it well. And you should know that your attempts to make Thor hate you will never work. He is your brother; he will never hate you, just as I will never hate Aidan. So I suggest you stop trying. Because he will always love you, no matter what you do."

With that, she left the table, stepping back into the hotel room.

She did not hear him come up behind her, but she knew he was there. She rarely jumped at his presence; she was not a person with a nervous disposition. Which, quite frankly, is a miracle – anyone normal would be shaking like mad around him.

"We will return to New York in the morning."

"As you wish. Now leave so I can get undressed."

"Do not order your King about."

"I'll do as I want, Loki."

His hand closed on her hip, and she inwardly swore as she realised he'd felt the slim blade concealed under the dress. His fingers paused, and then she inhaled as he took hold of the fabric and tore, lengthening the considerable side-slit even more, exposing her thigh completely. He slipped the knife from its holster, tutting.

"Now, where did you get this, lítteinn?"

It was a thin thing, but able to do damage. She flinched as she heard the snap of the blade breaking in two and the sound of the pieces hitting the floor.

"I am afraid you will have to try a lot harder to even attempt to harm me, my dear. I am not easily taken by surprise – I'm sure you've heard of Clint Barton's attempt to shoot me with an arrow. He failed, naturally."

"Believe me, someone will succeed," she hissed. He chuckled in her ear, and his lips barely brushed her shoulder.

"Oh, I rather doubt that," he murmured, skimming across her exposed thigh with his fingertips. "There is no-one to challenge me."

"There will be," she replied harshly, and she slammed her elbow into his stomach. But she met solid muscle, and her heart froze as he grasped her arm and spun her around, almost dislocating it in the process. She bit her lip to keep from crying out at the flare of pain, choosing to stare up at him defiantly.

"What was it I said to you about words rather than physicality?" he said dryly. "You will never manage to even mildly hurt me, Eva. In comparison to you weak mortals, I am indestructible. I would cease your useless attempts at injury, if I were you. They will yield you no fruit, lítteinn."

"Let go of me."

He chuckled, smooth as chocolate but sinful as spilled blood, and he tilted her head to the side, pressing his mouth to her throat and feeling her pulse under his lips.

"Stop," she whispered. His hand slid to the top of her thigh.

"Never," he breathed, and his teeth grazed the sensitive spot on her neck. He relished the gasp his action elicited from her, and his fingertips circled the exposed skin of her leg. "I will never stop, not until I have you on your knees. Willingly. And it will happen, Eva. Oh, it will happen. Tomorrow, a week from now, one, two, perhaps even three months. I will be impressed if you do last that long, though I doubt you will. Look at you, trembling, and all it has taken is a kiss to your throat and a touch to your thigh. Are all mortals as easily seduced as you?"

She did not answer him, and his hand slid upwards to her waist. He lightly squeezed, before releasing her. She almost fled from him, only turning to face him when she was on the other side of the room. Her dress was torn, her hair mussed, and her cheeks were splashed with spots of crimson. Loki almost licked his lips.

"Goodnight, Eva."

She did not wish him likewise, and she left the lounge, slamming her bedroom doors shut behind her. He could hear her sink to the floor, though she did not cry. He briefly debated tampering with her dreams when she would be sleeping, but decided against it. He needed her looking refreshed for the morning.

After all, she was his. His mortal.

And soon the world would know it.

"His Grace asks if you are ready, mademoiselle."

Eva sighed, and looked for the last time at her reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in a dark blue sheath dress and black patent court shoes. Her hair was perfectly done, her makeup subtle. Jeanne had told Eva that Loki specifically wanted her to dress elegantly, and, biting back a sharp retort, Eva had acquiesced.

She walked from the bedroom to the lounge, where Jeanne stood, patiently waiting. The assistant nodded, as if in approval, and gestured.

"If you will follow me, please."

Jeanne led her out of the hotel and a footman opened the door of a sleek charcoal-grey Mercedes. She rolled her eyes. Clearly Loki has a penchant for these goddamn vehicles…

"Indeed I do. Now please get in. We've a plane to board, my dear," came his silken voice from inside the car. She sighed, but slid in, the door closing smoothly behind her. The Mercedes drove off, and she turned her head to glance at the god sitting beside her. He had shunned a seatbelt; well, she supposed he could easily survive a car crash.

"I thought you disdained all Midgardian transport," she remarked dryly. He smiled, and the look in his eyes was all too knowing. She inwardly cursed – she knew that expression. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you planning, Loki?"

He laughed. "Patience, lítteinn. You will find out soon enough."

And as it happened, she did.

Her heart sank as she saw the first few.

"No. No, no, no." She stared at Loki, whose smirk was obscenely satisfied. "You bastard! I'm not going out there!"

The car rounded onto the open tarmac where the private plane was situated, and she groaned.

Paparazzi. Everywhere.

Oh, no.

"I refuse to leave this car," she said through gritted teeth. Loki smiled, and ran his thumb along her cheek.

"You have no choice, Eva."

"But why?" she cried, her eyes dilated in horror. "Why would you do this?"

"I? I did nothing. I am King of this realm; any time my whereabouts change, this planet's media seem to swarm like flies. Now, be graceful and gracious like the good girl I know you are."

The car had come to a halt, and the doors opened. The flashes, clicks and shouts of journalists filled Eva's ears, and, swallowing her nerves, she got out of the vehicle.

The reaction was immediate. She was almost overwhelmed by the press, and it wasn't until Loki reached her that she felt relief.

Wait. Relief?

Shit.

She felt fucking protected by him!

Pushing that horrific realisation aside, she let Loki guide her through the mob, his grip firm yet surprisingly gentle on her forearm. He steered her along, calm as anything, and she had to marvel at his composure. He swept past the crowd with consummate ease, and she kept her face carefully devoid of any outward emotion. The papers and the internet would be buzzing like hell within a few hours, if not minutes. The last thing she wanted was to show her true feelings.

Now, of course, she knew why he had wanted her to 'dress elegantly'.

"Naturally," he murmured, so only she could hear. "I could not have you shaming me, could I?"

Her cheeks pinked a little, but her visage remained passive as they reached the stairway to the entrance of the plane. Loki gestured with a lithe flick of his hand.

"After you, my dear."

She ascended the steps, her hand sliding up the rail, and the minute she was inside, she sat in the nearest seat and closed her eyes.

"Ms Manning? Are you alright?" came the soft voice of a stewardess. Loki spoke then.

"Leave her to me."

Eva guessed the stewardess must have bowed her head and left the area, because the next thing she heard was Loki's accent in her ear.

"Is my little lioness so easily frightened by crowds?"

"I dislike having my personal space invaded," she replied curtly, eyes still shut. "Particularly when I had no prior warning that it was going to occur."

There was silence, and then she felt his hand lift hers, pressing a kiss to the back. Her eyes flew open, and his smile was triumphant. She pulled her hand away, and he chuckled, his gaze piercing hers.

"Since when did you act like a gentleman?" she asked him warily.

"I'm offended. Unlike most of these brutes known as men, I was raised properly," he replied, taking the seat beside her. "Now do prepare yourself; I believe the plane is due to leave."

Eva had never been so glad to see the suite in her life. After being near-mobbed by the New York media both at the airport and outside the Chrysler, and the seven hour flight, she was exhausted. Loki had swiftly guided her through the crowd of journalists and photographers, and had then shifted them both to her quarters, much to her relief. Without saying a word, she had run straight to the bathroom, slamming the doors shut and running a bath. Somehow she still looked presentable, even after all that travelling.

It wasn't long before the bath was full and steaming, and she quickly stripped, before climbing into the tub large enough for four. She slid down, the bubbles and the water covering her body, and she simply lay there, at peace, her hair fanning out around her. The water gently lapped at her skin, and she closed her eyes, a faint smile curving her mouth.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Her eyes flew open, and instinctively she sat up, the water splashing around her. Loki was sitting on the far edge of the tub, and too late she realised her mistake. Her hair, while long, could not cover her breasts, and, her face flushing, she scooped up the nearest mass of bubbles to hide what he had already seen.

Seen, and liked, judging by the look in his eyes. Pervert.

"Please leave," she said through gritted teeth. "A gentleman should not burst in on a lady bathing."

"True. But there are occasions where I prefer to deny that title and do as I like."

She had no answer to that, and settled for simply leaning back in the tub, glaring at him. His lips quirked, and he placed one hand on the bath's rim.

"You handled the press well. I'm impressed; I half expected you to yell abuse at them."

"It crossed my mind."

"I know. But it was only briefly. I must admit, you dealt with them gracefully, though I could sense your unease."

"Are you awaiting a show of gratitude for steering me through them?" she asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. He smiled.

"No need; I felt it earlier."

"Of course you did." She sighed, and noted that he had changed his clothing. Gone was the full, formal suit, and in its place were black trousers and a simple white Nehru-collar shirt. His fingers lazily trailed the water, and she drew her knees up a little. "Why were you in Paris?"

"Politics, my dear Eva," was his answer. She rolled her eyes.

"I gathered that. Specifically, though – why?"

"Political unrest, then."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? In Paris? I would have thought they valued their capital enough not to challenge you."

He laughed. "They do seem devoted to their architecture. But it was not amongst the public to which I was referring. Their government was showing signs of mutiny. Clearly my message was not evident enough the first time."

Her eyes narrowed as the words sunk in. "Who did you kill?"

"Not a one. I simply reiterated my previous warning – should they attempt a rebellion, the reaction will be swift and unyielding. I told them that if I sent the Chitauri in full force, their beloved citéwill fall to ruins. That did not appeal to them, predictably."

"No, I wouldn't have thought so. Especially since you destroyed the Eiffel Tower, the goddamn symbol of France."

"That structure was aesthetically hideous. Of course it had to be destroyed."

She bit back a lashing retort, and ran a hand through her wet hair. "So long as you do not touch my country."

"England? No. They were quick to kneel – a wiser nation than others. Your Prime Minister is not feeling particularly mutinous, it must be said."

"If the Chitauri damage the museums or the monuments – of any state, not just England – I will kill them. You may not appreciate our heritage, but we do. And I'm sure the stone carvings of you and your non-existent wife and children would amuse you."

"Those in particular are meaningless now. I sit here before you, plain evidence of the god himself; I hardly think relics and myths are needed now."

"Oh, you'd make scholars go mad," she muttered. "God help them if you ever set the records straight. No wife, no children, brother of Thor and not Odin, adopted son of Odin… they'd have a field day."

"Then it is well that I never shall," he said calmly. "Leaving them guessing is much more entertaining, don't you think?"

"I should point out that no-one's ever come to a solid conclusion when trying to figure you out, so I doubt this will change anything."

"Excellent." He leant forwards, and she stared in amazement as he didn't fall into the bath, as he somehow kept his balance. "Now tell me, my dear… have you come to any conclusions? What has your curious mind determined?"

"Only that I should never have come to you in the first place." Her voice was terse, hiding her fear and perverse anticipation. "Because I know I will not get out of this alive."

All of a sudden he reappeared much closer, yet still sitting on the rim of the tub. His hand held her cheek, and he canted his head, eyes inscrutable.

"You truly believe that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And if I were a more naïve human, I would bargain my life to keep my family alive and unharmed. But I know promises mean nothing to you, Silvertongue."

He reached out to run his fingers along her collarbone, and she tensed.

"Personal space," she reminded him coldly. "Stop it."

His smile was wicked.

"Ah, but look. You are blushing."

"What else would I do? I have a strange man – who just appeared in my bathroom – sitting on the edge of the tub and just oh so casually stroking my skin. Do you have any idea how creepy that is?"

His fingers toyed with a lock of her hair, seemingly lost in thought.

"Tell me, what think you of anarchy?"

She was momentarily thrown, but her wits quickly kicked in.

"Of total freedom? I advocate it. But anarchy which could descend into chaos? No. There must be certain laws, decided by the people. Democracy is what I believe in. It's their country, their lives. They should not be told how to live. Nobody should."

"But if it is for the good of that nation?" he argued. "What then?"

"You mean if the country was crumbling? Like Russia in the early 1900s?"

"That could be one example."

Her brow creased in confusion. "Since when do you know about Russian history?"

A flicker of mirth broke through his serious façade. "Call it research, my dear. Now please, continue."

"If the state was falling apart, then a strong leader is needed, of course. People respond well to good leadership, that's been proven. But if that leader becomes too powerful for their own good, then that's when the trouble begins. I mean, look at Hitler. He may have helped Germany get back on its feet, but what happened next? He caused the next world war – and Germany was almost in the same situation it was at the end of the first world war in 1918. He couldn't keep hold of his empire. It was too much power for one man. Just as Earth will prove too much for you. We're not meant to be led by just one, Loki. There are too many countries, too many people. Too many voices. How do you expect to hear every one of them?"

"Did you not see Paris?" he reasoned, with a smile that was genuine, neither mocking nor dark. "The city was thriving. Alive. You cannot deny that my rule is succeeding, Eva. It has been months since I first took hold of your beloved realm. And it has never been more prosperous."

"But its people fear you."

"They will not, in time. They will learn that I can be as merciful as I can merciless."

"And where do I stand?"

His smile returned to the dark smirk she knew so well.

"Oh, I grant you no mercy at all, lítteinn. I don't believe I ever will."

"Then we understand each other."

"Perfectly." His hand held her jaw, and he leant forwards to kiss her, his lips unyielding. To Eva's horror, she found her body heating up, and it wasn't due to the temperature of the water. Her hands moved to push him away, but she found her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, keeping him close. She felt his chest reverberate with his amusement, and his own fingers tangled in her hair, the slight tug making her gasp in surprise.

Mine. The single word echoed in her mind, and all her defences shot up. Her hand struck his cheek hard, and she broke the kiss. The look she gave him was both annoyed and aroused – and he was laughing at her, she realised. He hadn't even been hurt by the slap, only spurred on by it. His eyes were smouldering, and she almost lost her resolve there and then.

Almost. Not quite.

"No. Never. Now get out. I want to finish my bath in peace, you pervert."

He chuckled. "You were mine the minute you entered the chamber."

With that, he disappeared, leaving a horrified and bewildered mortal in his wake.

She groaned and threw the hot washcloth over her face. The nerve of that god was unbelievable. To enter her bathroom, tease her and then kiss her! It was no wonder she was so confused. They were dancing around each other; it was a game of cat and mouse – and the cat was hungry. She could see it in his eyes, the near-triumph, the smugness. He honestly believed he would have her.

Ha, she thought. Well, he'll be disappointed. Because there was no way she would let him that close. No. She could see the abyss, and the kiss had been one slip nearer to tumbling in. Yet she never would. She valued her life too much to throw it all away, to let him throw it all away. She would continue to dance around him, and she would do so on her own terms.

That, and it was purely to give him the figurative middle finger.

Although, the literal version was sorely tempting.

Actually…

It probably wasn't the best idea. She liked having all her digits, and she suspected Loki would have no problem with removing one or two.

"Bastard," she muttered. And then, just because it made her feel better, she yelled it.

"Bastard!"

There, let him take that as he would.

Sighing, she settled back in the water, taking refuge in what little peace she had left.

A/N: I don't know why, but this chapter... I rewrote and rewrote. I hope it's up to the standard you love.

Lightning xoxo