It was complicated, in the days that followed their conversation about the dream. Reagan tried as best she could to behave naturally around Loki but there was now an excited sort of nervousness that gripped her every time she so much as glanced in his direction. Visions of their intertwined bodies filled her mind relentlessly. The harder she tried to think about anything - anything - else, the more those images seemed to assault her. And so she spent a great deal of her time shielding her thoughts from him in a way that she'd never had to before.

And Loki, well, he was now unbearably tense whenever she was around. He tried his best to hide it, holding up that calm, suave demeanour of his that would have had Reagan fooled if she hadn't learned to read him so well. She could see the tension in his shoulders that he couldn't quite ease, the way his eyes were so guarded, even though he'd force himself to hold her gaze. It was as if he were readying himself for an attack. As though she were some sort of time bomb that might explode on him at any moment, not a matter of if but when. She didn't understand it.

Part of her thought that perhaps she should just leave him be for a few days - give him some space. But this weakness had developed in her, one that left her craving even a few seconds in his company, and so she couldn't resist her visits to his cell. And though this strange tension in him didn't ease, she felt the way he welcomed her company in return, even down the bond which they now both kept so shielded from one another. Whenever she did project into his cell, he always offered her his full attention. If she was elsewhere, and she sensed his presence, it felt as if he were testing, tentatively, to see if she'd do the same. She granted it to him every time.

And so they each tried to ignore this new distance between them that neither of them quite understood. Which meant, mercifully, here and there, they did manage a few moments where the tension eased and they achieved some form of normalcy - well, normal for them, that is. And on the morning of the approaching ball to celebrate the Convergence, they achieved one such moment.

"Something just occurred to me," Reagan mused. "It's probably not great that I'm attending a ball tonight when I don't know how to dance, huh?"

Loki glanced over at her, genuinely perplexed.

"You didn't learn to dance growing up?" he asked.

Reagan threw him a quizzical look in return.

"No, why would I?"

"Thor and I had lessons twice a week as children. It's so alien to think that you didn't."

"Oh, alright, your majesty," Reagan replied, rolling her eyes.

"You know, that actually is my correct title. You don't have to saturate it in sarcasm."

She snorted.

"I do when you're bragging about your childhood dance classes, butthead."

"It's not uncommon for Asgardian children to learn to dance," Loki said, a little defensively. "Don't forget that I was also tutored in all manner of spellwork and how to wield a blade."

"Uh-huh. And was that in amongst your equestrian and etiquette lessons?" she asked, equally sarcastic.

"Yes, actually."

"Ugh, I always forget how rich you are," she muttered, folding her arms. "It's by far my least favourite thing about you."

Loki weighed her up for a few moments before he smirked at her.

"And what's your favourite thing about me?"

Reagan's expression shifted with over-dramatized thoughtfulness as she considered the question for a moment.

"Oh, I know!" she said at last, rather decidedly. "I really like the way you say rhubarb."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"You kind of pronounce the 'h' in it a little bit. I've never heard anyone else do that before. It's cute."

Loki stared at her for a few moments, scandalised.

"Are you being serious?"

"Yeah."

"Your favourite thing about me - out of everything - is the way I pronounce the word 'rhubarb'?"

"Yep."

"You are the strangest person I've ever met."

Reagan just smiled.

"Is that your favourite thing about me?" she challenged.

"Well, I suppose I certainly can't say it's your dance skills, can I?"

"I know some dances," she assured him. "But somehow I don't think the Macarena is going to be appropriate for tonight."

"What's the Macarena?" He asked the question as if he already knew to dread the answer.

"Oh, I'm so glad you asked. It goes a little something like this," Reagan said as she leapt to her feet and began to demonstrate.

She was less than a quarter of the way through the movements when Loki held up a hand, cutting her off.

"Stop," Loki said, adamantly. "Forever. Stop that."

"So, you see my point," she concluded as she slumped back down into her chair.

"Unquestionably so."

Reagan laughed just a little before quiet settled between them. It was not their regular quiet - the comfortable sort where they were just used to being in each other's presence. Instead, this silence was heavy - painful, almost. Reagan wished so desperately to undo it.

"I could teach you," Loki suggested then, quietly.

She glanced his way.

"Teach me?"

"To dance," Loki clarified. "If that were something you were interested in."

In an instant, a flash of her hand trailing down his naked torso filled her mind's eye, and panic swept through her gut.

To stand that close to him - even if she couldn't feel the warmth of his skin - to have his arm wrapped around her, to be pressed up against his hard body, his intense green eyes gazing down at her, close enough to-

She cut the thought short.

Bad idea.

Definitely a bad idea.

"Oh, that's okay," she said gently, trying to sound casual about it. "I think we both know I'd only end up stepping on your feet."

She laughed a little, uncomfortably.

Reagan glanced away just in time to miss the expression that swept over Loki's features and the way he let his gaze drop from her toward the ground as if once again measuring this newly established distance between them.

Loki was lounging in his regular place against the headboard of his bed. Reagan, however, was seated in an armchair in the far corner of the cell.

She'd taken to sitting there for the past few days rather than on the bed beside him, thinking it was safer.

Safer from what? She wasn't sure exactly. Maybe her own sinful thoughts. Maybe because of this discomfort she sensed in him. Either way, the space seemed to stretch out between them for miles. And now that she'd put that distance there, she didn't know how to close it. She didn't know how to allow herself to be closer to him again.

Not when Loki seemed so on edge, still all but flinching at the very sight of her.

She hated it.

She wanted him back to normal.

She wanted herself back to normal.

She wanted-

God, that stupid fucking dream had ruined her life.

If there were some kind of tonic she could take to erase it from her mind she would positively gargle it, without hesitation.

She worked hard to remind herself of what Loki had said - that it meant nothing. Nothing. He'd insisted that was the case, that it was a slip of the subconscious and nothing more.

And so she forced herself to pretend that's all it was.

She'd even stopped herself from disclosing the little tidbit she'd learned about him and Sif. She'd wanted to poke fun at it so desperately, to pretend that her interest in the incident was strictly for the purpose of her own amusement.

But then, she'd known exactly what he would have said.

Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?

Yes. She would have had no choice but to answer. Jesus Christ, yes.

Reagan was growing slightly exhausted from keeping so much of her mind shielded from him at all times now, but she saw no other choice. She couldn't let him know how thought-consuming those images had become to her. She couldn't let him see the confused emotions that battled on inside of her 24/7 of late.

She was so tense around him.

Loki loathed it.

The way her smiles seemed so forced.

The way she sat on the opposite side of the cell to him, with as much distance in between them as physically possible.

He hadn't meant to show her the force of his powers. He hadn't wanted to remind her of the evil that lurked inside of him. But he'd made a mistake - a monumental one. And he'd revealed the truth of himself to her. He'd seen it in her eyes- the damage he had done. She'd looked at him differently then. She was tense and guarded and he hated himself for it.

She was hiding it from him - her shields being held almost permanently in place were evidence enough of that. He was proud of her for the progress she'd made, even though their plan to establish permanent blocks against the bond seemed - until recently - to have all but been abandoned. Loki didn't peak. Not once. Not even when she slept and in unconsciousness, her barriers fell away. Her mind opened up to him in those moments like a blooming flower and still he denied the temptation. He wouldn't invade her privacy like that no matter how badly he wished to. Not her. He loathed himself now for having done it in the past. He wouldn't do it again, not when he'd, at last, earned her trust - however fleeting that was to be.

To learn that Fandral was dangling his most hideous secret right before her, ripe for the taking, it had pushed him to somewhat of a breaking point. It was only a matter of time before this companionship he'd somehow managed to build with her unravelled altogether.

She hadn't figured it out yet. But it wouldn't be long.

He was on borrowed time with her.

He knew it.

And so, all the rage and bitterness and hatred in him that the past few months had seemed to quell was slowly rising in him again like a waking dragon, and the peace that seemed to be replacing it all but evaporated. He concealed it from her with all the might he had - he didn't want to ruin what little time he had left with her. He was painfully aware of just how easily he could self-sabotage right now. He wanted... just this once, he didn't want to push her away.

And still, he loathed himself for his weakness. For allowing himself to grow attached to her. How had he forgotten himself and allowed hope where it didn't belong?

It had been so stupid of him.

But that infuriating little mortal of his. She'd made it so impossible for him not to adore her.

It had been effortless.

And these past months with her... It was far from what he truly desired, and yet it was so much more than he'd ever imagined he'd be granted, even if it were already drawing to its conclusion.

After all, fate had never been particularly fond of him.

She was trying so hard, too. He knew she was. As if she also recognised the curtain call though she may not have understood the reason why just yet.

And so as he watched her leap to her feet and do the most ridiculous dance he'd ever bared witness to, his heart clenched almost painfully.

"I could teach you," he offered, against his better judgement.

The desire to be close to her - to hold her one more time - got the better of him. Even as he knew what an unfathomably bad idea it was.

And, of course, she'd rejected the offer - kept that distance between them. And worse, still, she was so kind about it as if that was something he deserved.

"I should go," Reagan said at last, and Loki cursed the way he let himself believe there was something of reluctance in her voice like she didn't truly want to leave. "Lots to do to get ready for tonight."

"Run along then," he said, a little too dismissively.

He winced inwardly at the harshness in his own tone.

"Enjoy yourself tonight, mortal," he tried once more to sound a little gentler.

Reagan studied him for a moment - looked as though she wanted to say something more - but instead, she only offered him one last smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and soon her projection faded into nothingness.

Loki closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back with a muted 'thud' against the wall.

He fought against the ache in his chest, the want - fought back the useless desire to follow her.

After shooting halfway across the galaxy in a matter of mere seconds, Skurge found himself standing inside the dome of the newly rebuilt Bifrost. The battle of Vanaheim against invading marauders had drawn to a rather abrupt conclusion when Thor had arrived and defeated the enemy's staunchest ally - an eleven-foot Kronan - with a single swing of his hammer.

Led by Lady Sif, the battalion now ferried those captured on Vanaheim into Asgard where they would be safely confined to the dungeons below the city.

A few rows ahead of him, Halvor strutted along happily, directing his prisoners with rather unnecessary prods. He spent the entire walk down the Rainbow Bridge boasting pompously about the blows he delivered during battle. Skurge had never understood how so many others indulged the moron, just because he outranked them. There were an awful lot of brown noses throughout the ranks of Asgard.

His tirade continued until they, at last, reached the entrance to the dungeons.

As they descended into the dungeons, Skurge found his focus drawn to one cell in particular.

Far larger than the others, it was the only one furnished. And Skurge took note of the way many of the soldiers pointedly avoided peering at the lone figure who occupied the cell. The figure who stood, calmly, watched as the new prisoners were escorted towards their own cages.

A small frosty smile played on Loki's face as he watched Halvor appear amongst the soldiers escorting the prisoners into their keeps. Skurge watched as the smile turned into something... deadly.

Soon, as if sensing the cold gaze, Halvor turned to find Loki watching him. He practically preened under the attention and moved towards Loki's cell. He was visibly confident with the magic wielder safety locked away and clearly wanted to make a show of it in front of the other guards. It was a mistake - platformed as the cells were, it only made Loki appear that much larger than him. More menacing.

"Behold," Halvor shouted dramatically, flourishing an arm towards Loki's cell. "The Jotun Prince!"

As a low swell of laughter rippled through a few of the soldiers there, Skurge turned to look at the raven-haired God.

He stood by his cell wall, hands clasped calmly behind his back, statue-still. His gaze was on Halvor and Halvor only. He stared at him cooly, steadily. As if unaware anyone else was even present - like a predator calmly waiting for the perfect moment to strike a kill, one who knew its prey had no chance of survival.

It didn't seem to shake Halvor.

What an absolute fucking idiot, Skurge thought.

"How fare your new dwellings, your Highness?" Halvor called loudly again, earning another few, less enthusiastic chuckles from those around him. He still looked entirely too proud of himself at the result.

Loki ignored the jab. He kept his chilling gaze on the blonde man as he sauntered closer to him. He leaned in, closer and closer to those lethally powerful cell walls. A single brush against one was enough power to kill a man. Loki appeared totally unphased. He loomed over the soldier and when he spoke his voice was low and deathly calm. He didn't even seem aware of their audience - perhaps he didn't care - his focus was unwaveringly on Halvor.

"If you ever so much as breathe in her direction again... I will unmake you," Loki promised. "Not a single being in existence will have the stomach to gaze upon you. Even the foulest creatures infesting the deepest bowels of Hel will recoil in horror at the sight of what I do to you."

A strange chill swept through the dungeon, and a hush fell over the men there. They all turned their attention to Halvor to gauge his reaction, all of them unsettled. Even Skurge, who held the opinion that Halvor was getting exactly what he deserved, felt slightly unnerved by the threat.

Halvor was visibly shaken.

He evidently remembered that others looked on and tried to regain his composure. When he forced out a laugh, there was a tell-tale tremor to it.

"Fancy words and empty threats when you're locked inside that cell, Majesty," Halvor shot back.

"Find yourself in her vicinity again and you'll learn all too quickly that these walls will do little to keep you safe from me, I give you my word on that."

Dark energy began to roll off the prince then in ebbing waves of smoke. It emanated from him, powerful, and potent, and even though the dark clouds of power sizzled and wilted as they came into contact with the walls of the cell, Loki was not deterred. Power roiled from him, filling the starkly white space. The cell walls crackled menacingly as more and more, his power pressed up against them. Until Skurge began to grow uneasy, uncertain that the walls would in fact hold.

Unsettled murmurs amongst the soldiers witnessing the display quickly morphed into panicked shouts. Some of them began to back away, uncertainly. Others took up their weapons.

And all the while, Loki gazed unblinkingly at Halvor.

Fandral alerted to what was happening, pushed his way through the crowd of armed Asgardians who now watched on.

"Loki," he shouted firmly. "That's enough!"

In an instant, Sif had joined him too, glaring up determinedly at the raven-haired prince.

Loki didn't even acknowledge them as power continued to broil out of him, pressing threateningly against the barriers of the cell. Still, the magic sizzled there, but it would not be deterred, pressing harder still against the power there. Might against might. Will against will.

"Stand down," Fandral shouted, coming to stand in front of Halvor, and therefore in Loki's eye line. "I said stand down! Now!"

At last, Loki relented. His powers slowly dissipated, soaking back into him. He raised his chin as he watched Halvor and took a slow, calm step away from the edge of the cell. Another. Another.

But he never once dropped his gaze.

"Dismissed, soldier," Fandral said, turning to Halvor whose face was a pure vision of horror. "Go on, off with you!"

Halvor, at last, obeyed the order, turning and fleeing the dungeons and Loki's deadly gaze.

Fandral turned back to study the tricker, who was still staring after Halvor's retreating figure. Though now he looked far more satisfied.

"What are you playing at, Silvertongue?" Fandral asked at last. Whatever he's planning with you, it won't work.

Without offering any response, Loki flicked his attention to the other man for only a moment before turning his back on him entirely. Sif and Fandral turned to one another, understanding passing between them even in their silence.

Reagan stared at herself in the mirror as Malin worked on the final touches of the dress she was to wear to the Convergence ball. It was truly beautiful. Made from the most delicate tulle, which was whisper soft against her skin, in the softest champagne pink, it shaped to her body and draped from her hips down to the floor gracefully.

Gold embroidery decorated the bodice, so intricate and delicate that it looked as if flakes of gold had fallen like autumn leaves, settled there upon her and decided to make her body their home. It was elegant. She felt elegant. Even in its unfinished state.

As with most of her garments, Malin intended to fashion her sleeves, she just had some finishing touches to make on the length of the skirting first. And so for the first time, in what seemed like an age, Reagan took in her form with the length of her arms on display.

So much of herself she'd hidden away. The small dragonfly tattooed on her left shoulder because her mother had always loved them. A stupid little UFO she'd gotten when she was twenty on the inside of her right arm. A tiny crown on her inner wrist for her love of Where The Wild Things Are when she was young. A wishbone on the other. The sloping script that ran along her left forearm that read maybe once, maybe twice. One for a reminder that she was strong. One for her love of Halloween. And some meaningless ones too, like the tiny little markings that decorated some of her fingers just because she thought they were pretty.

All these tiny little parts of her. She'd always wanted to wear herself on her skin, to make her own body her home. And she'd hidden them away.

And the iridescent cuff around her forearm, and all that it meant. Who it represented. She'd thought it had been branded onto her skin. Taken away from that story of her, but this... it was a part of her too. If nothing else, Loki had shown her how to be unafraid of herself. He'd taught her to believe in her power, not fight it. He'd believed in her. And she hadn't even realised that it was more than that, he'd brought back her smile. He'd made her feel less alone, not just in Asgard but in a time that she'd felt so completely... other to everyone around her. She hadn't realised how much of herself she'd lost since gaining her powers, how much she'd buried herself. How had Loki taught her to be bright again when she hadn't even realised she'd been dulled?

"Alright, my lady," Malin said, interrupting Reagan's thoughts as she took a step back to admire her handiwork. "All that's left is to sew on some sleeves. Shouldn't take me long."

"No," Reagan replied in little more than a whisper, her gaze still fixed upon the mark. "It's okay, Malin. I'm going to go without."

"My lady?" Malin glanced up at her, unsure.

"I quite like the dress like this," Reagan told her softly, still gazing at her reflection. "I think it'd be a shame to overdo it."

Malin hesitated for a moment before she inclined her head.

"As you wish, my lady."

Any other night, Reagan would have been blown away by the splendour as she entered the ballroom. Any other night she would have gazed around in wonder at the lavish decorations, the otherworldly lilting music, the stunning chandeliers which hung overhead adorned with a thousand, thousand candles. On any other night, she would have been obsessed with the gowns, more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen on Earth.

But tonight, all that went unnoticed as a hush fell over the crowd, every set of eyes finding their way to her. The mortal girl. Bonded to the traitor. The Mark of Sjelevii proudly on display. The mark that had not been heard of for millennia, not gazed upon by anyone alive in Asgard, at last, laid bare for all to see for the very first time.

And self-conscious as she was, under the sea of watchful eyes, she found that there was nothing even resembling shame that accompanied it. She'd wondered - had even been a little apprehensive - that perhaps it would come when met with the stares. Because she'd expected the stares. She was used to the stares now. But she'd also wondered if there would be shame. If that was still in her.

It wasn't.

Reagan wasn't ashamed of the mark.

She wasn't ashamed of him.

The crowd parted slightly as she moved through the hall and she found herself longing for his presence. With each of their shields in place because of whatever embarrassment or fear or confusion - whatever else it might have been - it meant she could only feel a vague whisper of him.

She wondered if he missed her, too.

And the realisation struck her like lightning, that the place in the universe where she most wanted to be wasn't a lavish ballroom of the gods filled with the finest music and feast and wine in all the nine realms. No, it was an infuriatingly well-lit prison cell with the person doomed to waste away there for all eternity.

Her heart clenched at the very thought of it.

It was then that she spotted a familiar face and she offered a soft smile as Skurge approached her. He glanced around at the people nearby, all of whom were pretending not to be watching - listening in - and with a smile that looked more like a grimace he handed her a drink. Affection for the strange gruff man washed through her. He had no obligation to approach her tonight, not with the audience she'd drummed up, but he had anyway.

Because he was the coolest fucking dude in all of Asgard.

"You scrub up alright, don't ya?" he said, under his breath.

"Thanks," she replied and took a gracious gulp of the wine he'd offered her. "I have to admit, I hadn't expected an Asgardian ball to be so... tense."

"Ah, yeah," Skurge rubbed at the back of his neck. "In all honesty, you might have that Prince o' yours to thank for that..."

Reagan looked up at him questioningly. Skurge glanced around before leaning in a little closer so that he wouldn't be overheard.

"Word's been gettin' around about a little incident that occurred earlier today. We were escorting some prisoners down into the dungeons and basically, his Highness threatened to kill Halvor if he ever went near you again," he explained.

Reagan's stomach did a strange little flip.

"He did?"

"Put on a right little display. And there was quite an audience." Skurge nodded. "It was pretty visceral. Something along the lines of 'the ugliest monsters in all of Hel will cower at the sight of what I do to ya.' I don't really know - he's better with words, obviously."

If someone had told her a year ago that such a statement would force a warm, affectionate smile onto her face against her will, she probably would have kicked them. Her attention shifted to the link, but his shields were adamantly set in place, she brushed affectionately against the bond, regardless.

"That big old softy," she murmured at last.

Skurge watched her, as uncertain of what her response was going to be, he hadn't anticipated that.

"Right, that's soft," Skurge asked, slightly sceptical.

"Trust me, it is," she replied.

Reagan gazed around the room as she took another sip of wine and her eyes fell on another familiar face - albeit one that she was far less fond of. Sif was already watching her, with an absolutely withering glare, when Reagan's eyes met hers.

Reagan let out a long, slow sigh.

"So," she murmured to Skurge. "This little incident in the dungeons, any change that's the reason Sif looks like she's currently fantasising about all the different ways she'd like to kill me?"

Skurge didn't need to follow her gaze to know what she meant.

"Lady Sif was leading our battalion today," he explained. "She was in charge when things got outta hand. Fandral needed to step in. Think maybe it wounded her pride a little. But the fact that it was the prince - the fact that it was about you... yeah, I don't think that helped much neither."

It was as if something in her finally snapped - some final straw. She was done pretending she deserved the judgemental looks. Done with the mistrust. Done acting like it was their opinions that she valued most.

"Hold this for a sec?" she handed her glass to Skurge before striding determinedly towards the dark-haired woman.

"Reagan," Skurge called after her. "Wait, there's something else you should probably-"

It was too late, Reagan was already halfway across the massive hall.

Sif seemed to tense as she watched her approach, but not for fear, rather as if she were readying herself to fight.

"Go on, get it over with," Reagan said, when she at last opposite the warrior. "Say whatever it is that you're dying to say."

Sif studied her, eyed her up and down, her gaze lingering for a few moments on the mark before she met Reagan's eye once more.

"I don't think you should be here," Sif said. "I don't think that a prisoner and a traitor should be allowed to have a spy wandering around on his behalf."

Reagan squinted a little.

"I'm so completely lost as to what it is that any of you are doing that Loki is supposed to be so interested in. What exactly am I spying on?"

"One can never be sure with that snake."

Reagan scoffed in disbelief. It was apparent that this was not going to be a productive sort of conversation by any means. She didn't care. And as Fandral silently sidled up beside Sif, also eyeing Reagan's bare forearm, the quiet outrage inside her only grew. She allowed her gaze to flick between the two of them, defiantly.

"He attacked one of my men today," Sif went on, her voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, unclench, Sif," Reagan drawled and the dark-haired woman's eyes grew wide in response. "He's locked away in a prison cell, I'd hardly say he 'attacked' anyone."

"He threatened to escape."

"Yeah, and? Can he?"

"No, he cannot," she said it like a promise - like a threat.

"Then I'm sorry, but I really don't see the problem."

Sif cast her gaze down to Reagan's arm. The mark boldly on display, shimmering iridescently for all to see for the first time since Reagan had arrived in Asgard. The legendary mark, that everyone had so desperately wanted to gaze upon - that the mortal finally laid bare for all to see.

"It brings you pride," Sif said quietly. "The mark. The threats he makes on your behalf."

Reagan studied the immortal woman before her for a moment before she answered her honestly.

"Yeah, it does."

Beside Sif, Fandral's jaw clenched and he cast his gaze away as he shook his head.

"You're just like him," Sif whispered.

"Maybe I am. What's so terrible about that?" Reagan shook her head. "You think you're so much better than him. You all act like he's some horrible monster. But he's not."

"How can you say that after all he's done?" Fandral interjected at last. "After what he tried to do to your own planet."

Reagan didn't respond to that. There were things they didn't know. Things she wanted to shout for all the world to hear so that they might look at Loki and understand. But these things, these secrets... Loki hadn't given them to her willingly. She wasn't sure he even knew what she knew...

"You don't know him," she told Fandral steadily.

He only scoffed.

"On the contrary," he replied. "You met the trickster all of five minutes ago. I warned you that he deceives people. That he would con you into seeing him as the victim. And that is clearly what he is doing to you. I know his games, Reagan. His ways. I have known him for nigh on a thousand years."

"Yeah... But you don't know him," she said softly, simply.

"Oh, and you think you do?"

"Yes, I do actually."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Because I know for a fact he hasn't divulged the truth to you - of what he truly is." Fandral studied her as he spoke, looking for any sign that he was getting to her. "I think we sensed it before any of us learned the truth of it. Perhaps that's why he was always such an outsider. Because something in us knew what he truly was."

It was then that Skurge decided to step in.

"Alright, now hold on just a minute-"

Reagan raised her hand, she settled it on his chest for a moment to stop him. Her eyes never left Fandral, even as her pulse began to quicken. Her jaw clenched. And the fire deep inside her bloomed, sorely wanting to burst forth from her.

"Say it," she told him, quietly. But she knew, then. Even before he said it she knew.

"There's a reason that your dear Loki is such a cold, hateful creature. It's because ice is in his very veins. His soul is made from it. He is capable of nothing but rage and destruction. As are all his kind. The Frost Giants."

Reagan's lips parted slightly as realisation swept over her and Loki's too-calm, guarded voice came back to her.

So, I take it they told you?

Oh...

She hadn't known what that had meant. She'd disregarded it because she'd been so caught up in her own embarrassment that she hadn't seen it for what it was. She hadn't realised that that had been the moment - that had been when the shift in him had occurred. It was then that he'd shut her out and started behaving like... like any moment she was about to stumble on some terrible truth.

It was the final piece of a puzzle that she'd been trying to piece together. And everything - everything - was laid out before her.

The way they all spoke of the monsters from Jotenheim, this awful self-loathing in him that she could never quite figure out. The way he hid himself away. The way he guarded himself against her.

Oh, Loki...

She shook her head once again.

"What do you want here, Fandral? What's the goal? You want me to say that I'll never speak to him again? To call him a monster? Because I won't."

"I only want for you to know the truth," he told her calmly. "And for you to rid yourself of the illusion that we are making him out to be something that he's not."

Reagan's expression grew pained as she studied the man before her - the one spilling Loki's secrets as if they could poison her.

"A thousand years," she said calmly at last. "You said you've known Loki for a thousand years."

"That's right."

"So... your king found this helpless little baby, abandoned by his family in the midst of war," she said slowly. "He brought him back here, to raise as his own, alongside his own son. And all the while he thinks he's Asgardian, right? And that Frost Giants were - how did you phrase it? 'A vile species.' 'Beasts shaped like men.' That was it, wasn't it? That's what your people believe."

Fandral watched her, he didn't respond. There was something in his eyes she couldn't quite read. She didn't care.

"Odin had a thousand years to change this stigma that they're something... he didn't do that. He let Loki grow up believing that. What did he think would happen when he found out the truth? I mean, is he fucking mentally ill or something?"

Fandral's nostrils flared and he took a step closer to her.

"Fandral..." Sif cautioned but he ignored her.

"Have caution how you speak of our king, mortal."

Reagan took a step closer still, glowering back at him.

"Your king... is an asshole. And if anyone is the monster in that story, then it's him."

She tried to step around him - to make her way for the exit - but in a moment of outrage at her words, Fandral moved to block her way.

She reacted on instinct.

It was a parlour trick. Nothing more. Just something to force him to take a step back - to get him out of her space. A small burst of fire, there and then gone again in an instant. But it was enough.

Enough to cause the crowd around them to gasp and leap back in horror.

Enough for Sif to draw her blade, ready to attack.

Enough to singe the hair right off Fandral's stupid face.

They stood, staring at each other in equally stunned silence for a few moments and Reagan fought the urge to apologise. Icy guilt swept through her and as she glanced around, she saw the looks of horror evident on the features of everyone there. Before anyone was able to react, she gathered her skirts in her hands and hurried for the exit. The crowd parted for her, giving her a large birth, though mercifully, that also meant a quicker escape.

As soon as she burst through the doors and into the sparsely populated palace corridors she sucked in a deep, steadying breath. The instant she heard footsteps following her, the urge to start sprinting gripped her, but she resisted when she recognised his voice.

"Reagan!" she turned to find Skurge following her, and she slowed to a stop to allow him to catch up.

Her skirts were bunched tightly in her fists and she fought against the lump forming in her throat, willing away the tears wetting her eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently when he reached her at last.

"I'm fine, Skurge," she assured him. "I've just got to go. I need to... I need to see him."

"Listen," Skurge said quickly before she could turn from him. "About what they told ya."

"I don't-"

"I wanted to tell you the other day. Warn ya about what they were up to but... I didn't feel like my place. I'm sorry that I didn't."

Reagan offered him a watery smile as she reached out her hand and took his, she gave it an affectionate squeeze.

"Don't apologise," she said, gently. "You have treated me more decently than just about anyone else in all of Asgard."

She squeezed his hand once more before letting go and retreating to her chambers. She ignored the stares of the people she passed. Ignored any whispers. They didn't matter. Only one thing did.

The instant she reached her rooms and the door latched shut behind her, hiding her away from the golden city and everyone in it, at last, she did the thing she'd wanted to do that entire evening and projected herself into his cell.