Avengers 1. Chapter 1

A door slammed open behind me, and the younger prince of Asgard blew into the palace hallway, snow swirling dramatically around the ripples of his emerald traveling cloak. I rolled my eyes internally. _Ridiculous_, I thought, certain the snow's movement was nothing more than his magic. The small blizzard he brought with him conveniently whipped around the bare ankles of the serving girls close to the door, eliciting squeals from them as they halfheartedly tried to push down the flying folds of their skirts. Cheeks pink from the sudden cold, and eyes bright with desire for the god who had just entered, they clutched each other's hands as they curtseyed before him. He, of course, did not even condescend to look at them as he passed.

_But you'll magic their skirts to fly up. What an idiot_.

Loki did not impress me. I had only been at the palace a few short weeks, yet I had observed much. I had witnessed the games he played with the little maids, using invisible hands to smack their round bottoms or pinch their pink arms as he sauntered past them. They would jump, giggle, and avert their eyes in demureness, and then, in the safety of the servants' quarters, bawdily repeat everything they had heard or guessed about him, hungry in their desire for his touch. And, truth be told, more than just his touch. Of course there had been no shortage of my fellow servant girls who had tasted of the god in flesh—he was wanton in selecting the ones he found pleasing and bedding them a few times. The blushing girl would tell tales of screaming pleasure, his pale skin pressed against the pink of theirs. Whispers, caresses in the candlelight of his chambers, or heated, rapid encounters in places as random as the second-floor observatory.

He would then move on to the next stupid girl. Strangely, they did not seem bothered by this arrangement…not a single tear was shed regarding the prince casting them off in favor of another. Often several times in the same week, I noted.

Sighing quietly at the silly girls, I curtseyed as the god approached where I was working, tending to a large floral arrangement. In typical Loki fashion, he did not turn his gaze down for me, which I accepted gratefully. If I never had to meet his eyes, he would never see the contempt for him there. And as I was a servant—albeit of a higher ranking than the foolish girls he entrapped in his snares—it would not do for my prince to be aware that I did not admire him as the others did.

He moved on down the hallway, toward the great hall, where the Allfather and Prince Thor awaited him with the Queen. It was rapidly approaching the time to sup, and the kitchen servants were rushing to complete preparations. Glad to be apart from the haste, I turned back to my flowers, breathing in their soft scents, and wondering once more where the palace of Asgard—even the Allfather—could obtain fresh foliage in the dead of winter.

* * *

Several weeks later, I was on an upper floor, tending to a large wall of ivy that provided a lovely backdrop to a hallway that overlooked the frozen lake and cold, forbidding peaks around Asgard. Enjoying the quietude of the isolated corridor, I idly wondered how the ivy was even made to grow inside. Then again, this was the palace of Asgard, and no doubt all manner of things happened here that happened nowhere else.

As I fingered the leaves, I fell to reverie. My ability with plants came from my mother. She was a natural, dab hand with anything that grew (except her own daughter), and had taught me, in her rough way, how to care for the greenery of the city. Her miracle hands tended plants with a gentleness she never showed me, and it was a source of great confusion to me that those hands, so careless with my moods and feelings, could be so tender to a blossom. Her small floral shop thrived in the summer, when we could grow and harvest flowers. The winters, well…the winters were what caused me to seek this position when I heard talk of an opening at the palace one late summer day.

Surprisingly, there was much by way of plant for me to care for in the palace. Around every corner there was a tree, an arrangement, a curiosity like this indoor wall of ivy. I had spent the fall on my knees, bedding down the flowers and vegetables for the winter with the outdoor grounds keeping staff. When the freezes had come, I knew the plants would weather well.

Remembering I was not in that hallway to daydream, I descended the ladder I was using to reach the uppermost leaves of the ivy. Moving it a few feet down the wall, I took hold of my small sprayer and shears and climbed up. I began trimming the brown, deadened leaves and stems, singing softly to the green around them to help them heal from the pruning. Stroking them gently, I clumsily tried to infuse them with the same brand of small magic my mother used to help plants prosper. I was nowhere near as skilled as she with the magics, but I had learned enough to help these plants.

Suddenly, the ladder shook violently. Unable to correct my footing in time, I fell. A scream escaped my lips, and I involuntarily tensed my body and slammed shut my eyes, knowing that when I hit the rough-hewn stone tiles below me, it was going to hurt.

But there was no impact. Instead, a pair of strong arms held me fast.

I opened my eyes in surprise, and immediately saw the green and black of his clothing, the gold of his metal. Anger rushed into my veins, adrenaline pumping in one second. HE had done this. He had almost seriously injured me. And for what? A joke?

I knew I would pay for it somehow, but I opened my mouth to berate him, to speak my mind to him. As I raised my head to do so, his eyes met mine.

_Oh, my gods. _

They were the green of the ivy, deep and verdant. His skin, always pale, now glowed almost ethereally in the bright winter sunlight that reflected off the snow outside. He smiled at me, mischievously, right eyebrow cocked.

_He was beautiful._

My mouth was still open, my resentful words choked to nothing in my throat. He must have taken it for the same awe the servant girls showed to him, because he half-whispered in a seductive caramel voice, "Are you all right, pet?"

The sobriquet, so false on his lips, shook me back to reality, but also back to my senses. I could not verbally abuse a god, my prince, no matter how worthy or deserving of it he was. I quickly averted my eyes. "I am fine, my lord," I answered, somehow succeeding at hiding my rage. "Thank you for helping me avoid a nasty fall. I am fine, you can set me down now."

"Ah, pet, seek not to command your god. I will set you down when I am good and ready to." To my utter astonishment and anger, he moved swiftly to the bench overlooking the lake, sat down, and positioned me on his lap, arms still around me. I was seething, but I could not, I must not, betray my rage to Loki. I needed my position at the palace far too much.

"What is your name, sweetling?" he said again in the half-whisper, lifting a long, pale finger to run it along my cheekbone. I quelled a shudder. _Disgusting. Do you really think this is going to work on me, that I will melt into you as the maids do?_

"Genevieve, my lord," I answered, determined that he wouldn't see through my false obeisance. His hand moved to my neck, tracing my collarbone. I suppressed another frisson of revulsion.

"Genevieve. What a beautiful name. It suits you," he purred, hand now moving to my hair, curling a lock around his finger, face moving closer to mine, chin tilting toward my lips.

"Thank you, my lord." _I will not break, I will not break. I will not do this_. _I will not betray myself_.

"Why will you not meet my eyes, sweet Genevieve?" he asked voice rising a bit in volume, finger pulling slightly at my hair now—out of irritation with my impudence or whether this was just how he teased women, I did not know. But now I had to lie. I thought quickly, selected a response, and prayed to the Allfather that Loki would be convinced and I could be released.

"A mouse must not look at a lion, my lord," I whispered demurely, hoping beyond hope that he was buying my farce.

He laughed lightly, letting my hair fall back as he loosened his grip on me. "Ah, you're a cheeky one," he growled, lips still uncomfortably close to mine, and my heart fell.

_Damn_, I thought desperately…_he knows, he knows. How do I salvage this?_

"You will look at me, sweetling," the command came, silken but dominating. I had known he would not let me disobey him. Sighing, I raised my eyes to his.

"Hm. You _are_ impertinent," he said, locking his eyes with mine, peering into them and seeing no desire for him there. "I shall have to decide just how to rectify that, little mouse." He lifted me up, and, setting me on my feet, turned to walk away.

"Ah, one more thing, Genevieve," he called back over his shoulder, regal profile illuminated by that same snow-burned light from the window. "What is it precisely that you do in the palace?"

My heart falling through the floor as I saw my future slip away, I answered, voice quavering as I internally admitted defeat. "I tend the plants, my lord."

To my surprise, he hesitated slightly, almost faltering. It was the movement of a half a heartbeat, and had I blinked I would have missed it. Before I could ponder what it meant through my growing fear, he turned the corner at the end of the hall. I stood there for several minutes, watching where he had disappeared, terrified of his retaliation.


	2. Chapter 2

I spent the next several days walking on eggshells, waiting for the summons to come to inform me I had been terminated. I had even started packing my meager possessions in my small leather knapsack, the sole thing I owned of my late father's. I racked my brain for options, but I knew full well no one in the city would employ a servant who had been fired from the palace. I had all but accepted my fate that I would have to return home. Wandering the halls of the palace, I cared for my plants but only half-heartedly so, chest freezing in alarm every time a palace courier approached me.

A week after the incident in the ivy hallway, the axe dropped. I was repotting a stargazer lily behind the kitchens, its roots having outgrown the confines of its previous home. This was a task I normally would have enjoyed immensely, the orange pollen staining my hands and confident, cheerful pink petals smiling at me. Today, though, the blossoms seemed only to just tolerate my touch.

The courier, a boy in his adolescence with a freckled and acne-scarred face, delivered the message that I was to report immediately to the servants' supervisor. He skipped off, innocently secure in _his_ position, while I stared after him, tears filling my eyes. All this because I wouldn't submit to and adore Loki like the other brainless servant girls. My life, my future, over—because of him. Hatred for the prince welled in my heart, threatening to spill into my veins.

I quickly finished with the lily, and rising, I brushed a hot tear from my eye with the back of my hand. I returned to the servants' workroom to scrub the dirt off. Stopping for a moment to check the redness of my eyes, I straightened my frock in the mirror. Half-running and wanting to get this over with quickly, I moved through the winding passages of the servants' work areas. I entered the castle proper at the closet place I could, and arrived at the office to which I had been summoned. Hand trembling, I knocked, dread creeping through me.

"Enter," came the command. I did so, and stood before Lady Edith, an older, slightly grey woman with sternness etched in every wrinkle. I admired her greatly, knowing she had begun her career at the palace as a kitchen maid and had worked her way up through decades to being supervisor of all the indoor staff. Sadness gripped my insides now that I realized I would never have the opportunity to follow in her footsteps.

"Well, Genevieve, you seemed to have made quite an impression," she said, raising her eyebrows at me from behind her desk.

"Ma'am," I started, wanting to at least tell my side of the story before my termination. "If I could please just explain what happened, I—"

"Quiet, girl. You have been promoted," she snapped.

"What?" I sputtered, taken completely aback. A sudden blossoming of hope—otherworldly from the trepidation I had been drowning in for a week—fresh and beautiful as the lily I had just repotted.

"Yes, yes, you've been promoted. To assistant groundskeeper. You are to report to the far side of the palace—where precisely I cannot tell you, but you will be led there by a courier. He will be here straightway. You will not fail me, girl. You will represent me well. Do you understand?" Her austere grey eyes surveyed me, piercing, as she spoke her commands. Noticing the tightness of her lips even in my sudden joy, and knowing she would tolerate no foolish displays of emotion, I nodded my assent and turned to leave.

"Genevieve," she said, stopping me in my tracks. I turned back to her, still almost delirious in my relief.

"Don't mess this up. This could be big for you." A rare smile whispered across her features.

"Yes, Madame!" I promised, and bounced out the door, heart lighter than it had been in a week.

* * *

Less than half an hour later, I was walking with the same courier boy who had summoned me earlier. He was leading me to a part of the palace that I had never before seen, even with all my far-ranging activities caring for the palace's plants. My eyes widened at the views this side offered—a spectacular vista of a canyon below us, rimmed with craggy peaks that stretched far, far above our heads. A river traced its way through the canyon's depths—it must have been deep water, as it had avoided the winter's freeze.

The boy stopped in front of an enormous set of green double doors. "Here you are, miss," he said, bowing low. "I was told you are to enter. I leave you here."

Thanking him, I turned to face the doors. Looking up at them, my eye was drawn to the intricate carving that covered them—a huge tree. _Yggdrassil_, I thought. The detail was glorious in its meticulousness—depicted was not only the branches and roots of the World Tree, but animals gamboling along its branches. Here Ratatosk chattering his gossip on a limb, there, there Vidofnir, his powerful snake body wrapped around a thick branch. It was breathtaking.

I gathered my courage and wits about me, feeling a sharp pang of excitement for this new step in my career—whatever it was. Laying my hand on the large, ornate wooden handle, I pulled open the door and stepped inside.

And stopped, gasping.

It was a room—I knew it must be a room, but…it couldn't be. It more strongly resembled a forest, albeit a strange one. It was enormous—at least as large as the Great Hall, if not more so, as I could not see a far wall. Flourishing everywhere was a mix of fruit trees, flowers, plants large and small that even I had never laid eyes on—_was that a dove I just heard?_ It was inexplicably lit with something that was like sunshine, but not the pale sun of this midwinter—it was a yellow, sweet sunlight that warmed without burning. The source of the fresh flowers and fruit in the palace, even in the dead of the season, was suddenly explained. _But how? How do green things grow in a castle hewn of stone?_

The plants were obviously well cared for and healthy. Immediately to my left lazed a large rose bush, the sunset-colored blossoms huge and blowsy, as if it were high summer. A few feet in front of me was a cherry tree, heavy-laden with ruby fruit. I approached it, hand stretching up to touch a low hanging branch, in awe of the size of the cherries. As my fingers brushed one, a voice behind me, lilting but low, froze me in my movement.

"Don't eat too many of those, sweetling. They are needed for the Allfather's table."

I slowly retracted my hand, wildly wondering in my consternation what I had done to offend the Norns to merit a punishment such as this. I turned, insides screaming for this not be happening. But it was, it was, and I felt my heart sink once more, panic replacing it in my chest. The joy of just a few moments past was gone.

Loki stood next to the rose bush, head cocked to one side in an expression of amusement, fingers lightly tracing one of the buds not yet opened. _He wasn't there a moment ago—how did he move so quietly?_

He clasped his hands together, and then spread his arms expansively. "What do you think, little mouse? I spoke to Lady Charlotte, and I gather you are fond of plants. As the fates would have it, so am I." He stalked toward me and then circled behind me as he spoke. Finishing his sentence, he put a hand up to slide my hair off my neck. I stood, immobilized by him, terrified.

_Which is no doubt exactly what he wants._

"This room is truly astonishing, my lord," I stammered truthfully, knowing I had to respond and choosing to go with honesty.

"Little mouse," he murmured, speaking right in my ear. His breath was strangely cool—almost too much so. It was making my hair prickle, the sensation disturbingly arousing. I fought down a sudden, revolting instinct to turn to him and meet his lips. "I had you reemployed here so you could assist me in the upkeep of my little room. Do you object?"

I stiffened. What could I say but no?

"I am honored, my prince," I replied, eyes straight ahead. _All right. I will play your game. But if you try anything—anything—with me, you will regret it._

"Good," he breathed, again into my ear. "Then we shall begin with a tour. Is that agreeable?"

"My lord commands it," I said evenly, still slightly off-kilter from his breath on my skin but determined to comport myself with as much dignity as possible so he would get no ideas about my intentions. _Though that is no doubt why he moved you here, silly girl. This is a wicked chess game to have you bedded and checked off the list with the other servant girls. He teases you with things you love. Do not give in._

He touched my hand and laced his fingers with mine (_ugh! And yet…the feeling of his breath on my neck would not abandon me. No, no no no. NO._). Leading me further into the forest-room, he pointed out various plants, requesting in his soft tone that I identify those I could. I recognized most of them, having tended them in my mother's shop or having examined them with interest in the large planters the Allfather had commanded to be placed around the city several years prior.

We paused next to blackberry bush, and he released my hand, long fingers plucking two large, ripe berries.

"Excellent answers, my pet," he said, and I was surprised to hear what I took to be a pleased note in his voice, despite my irritation at the continued diminutives he directed at me. I would have to endure them. _May as well accept it now._

"Thank you, my lord," I answered, keeping my eyes low.

"Sweetling, I know you wish not to, but you _are_ permitted to look at your god, you know," he said softly, moving his finger under my chin to lift it. I could not outright refuse to look at him when I had been more or less commanded to do so, and dared not decline, remembering that the last time I attempted trickery I paid for it with a week of soul-crushing anxiety. Though it pained me to do it, I allowed his finger to raise my face to his.

Our eyes met. The green was boring into me, the dominance that glittered in the lush emerald sapping away my willpower to resist. He moved his lips toward mine, and I let him. I _let_ him.

Something in me shrieked_. NO! Gods, no! I will NOT be another servant girl!_

Not an instant before he would have met my lips, I turned my head. His kiss grazed my cheekbone instead, and I felt a sudden rush of fear. I had never seen Loki's temper, but I imagined it must be swift and painful for its object. I would be punished for my rebellion—it was the how I dreaded.

He froze, suddenly stiff, his finger cool where it rested under my chin. I dared not meet his eyes.

"Genevieve," he said lowly, dangerously.

"Yes, my lord?" I asked, attempting to hold myself together, to keep my knees from shaking. I had just remembered that there was no one but us in this section of the palace. No one else to hear me scream.

He guided my chin so my ear was once more next to his lips. "You are an impudent and frustrating girl. Do you know that?" he murmured, threatening tone still shading his voice, finger tracing my jawbone.

The fear in my chest was suddenly lightened—anger was building there now, and I abandoned caution to the wind—if he was going to punish or take me forcefully, I would not go down without a fight. The spoiled prince-god would know what it truly meant to be disobeyed.

"I have been told, my lord," I snapped, raising my eyes to his so he could get a full dose of the contempt I felt for him. It was a truth—my mother had often used those same adjectives regarding her only daughter.

Loki paused again, eyes narrowing, a touch of surprise entwined with the annoyance traced there. _But wait…was that…__defeat__ there too?!_ What I took to be almost a concession in his eyes passed instantly—giving me pause to doubt if I had truly witnessed it there. The look on his face remained so menacing that my heart skipped several beats, but I held on to the disdain. An eternity passed in those few seconds_. Go ahead. Do your worst, _Ichallenged him silently_._

In one swift movement, he stepped back from me, retracting his hand from my face. The thunderclouds on his visage had suddenly vanished, replaced with the lazy haughtiness that usually resided there. He smiled at me, and I hardly dared to breathe. Was I actually going to escape vengeance?

"Well, little mouse, I think that will be sufficient for today. You will report to me here tomorrow morning at sunrise. There is much to do and I am in need of your hands to assist me in accomplishing it. Is that understood?" The quiet threat in his voice, so frightening a moment ago, had been instantly replaced with the commanding half-whisper.

"Ye..yes, my prince," I stammered, not believing my luck.

"You are dismissed." He turned his back to me, fingers running over the leaves of the blackberry bush.

I curtseyed quickly, wanting nothing more than to escape with my good fortune before he decided on a more unpleasant course of action for me. I spun on my heel, walking fast toward the large doors of the forest-room. I opened them, risking a glance at him. His back was still turned to me, black hair gleaming in the false sunlight. But what made me almost throw myself out the door was his hand—dark violet juice dripped like blood through the pale, clenched fingers.

Juices from the two huge blackberries he had picked, and subsequently crushed.

I exited the room, and, shutting the door, broke into a run.

* * *

I slept fitfully that night. When I did dream, the images in my head swirled with monsters and men. My subconscious must have undergone a change sometime during the night, however: when I rose I felt like a different person. The anxiety that had clouded my spirit the night before somehow vanished, and a newfound peace had replaced it. I would no longer permit Loki to intimidate me. He could try what he wanted—I was a free girl, and therefore at liberty to take my leave of my position as I wished. However unpleasing and distasteful the thought, I would return home to my mother rather than live in continuing fear of a god.

It was long before sunrise. My face was puffy and fatigued, and my brown hair disheveled from tossing and turning, but in my mirror my eyes shone with confidence. As for the rest of me, well, there was nothing for it. I washed and dressed quickly and went to breakfast with the other servants

_Maybe looking like a half-dead bilgesnipe will make him leave me in peace today._

I ate as quickly as I could, knowing I would have to leave shortly to make it to the Garden Room in time. I followed the corridors the courier had shown me the day before, the breathtaking views resplendent in the early morning's rays of sunlight. Pink and dusky purple clouds ringed the mountains, dark blue of the night still couched above. A last few stars were sprinkled across the clear sky, lightening my mood even further. I was ready for whatever Loki might put me through today.

I reached the large doors and pulled one open. Entering, I paused to breathe in the scent—jasmine mixed with a hint of—what was it? Sweet pea? It was a light fragrance, and matched my buoyancy of soul.

"Good morning, little mouse," came the inevitable, and at this point invisible, purr. "Please join me near the honeysuckle. You will be working with me today."

_Oh, for joy, _I thought sourly.

I reached the honeysuckle and found him. To my utter wonder, he was kneeling, hands in the dirt around the plant, digging, smoothing. His pale hands, which I had assumed he never employed but for battling Jotuns and pinching servants, were covered in what appeared to be fertilizer. He had abandoned his usual leather jerkin and trousers for a smooth, albeit dirty, undershirt of a rich jade cotton and soft trousers of black. The filth on his hands was smudged up his arms—it looked as though he had been here a while already.

_But why? There are servants for the manual labor._

He looked up at me, gaze appraising, judging, looking me up and down, but only in a partially lecherous manner. True to my self-oath, I stared without fear back at him, looking down my nose.

When he realized I was not averting my eyes, he chuckled softly and turned back to his work. "Emboldened today, are we," he spoke as he moved his left shoulder back and head to the right in a gesture of stretching. "Join me, little mouse. Get on your knees."

As I had so many weeks ago in the hallway, I internally rolled my eyes at the innuendo, praying his magic didn't include being able to see out of the back of his head and into mine. I knelt beside him and started to spread the fertilizer he was working with on the exposed roots of the honeysuckle. I had never guessed this prince—nay, this god—who I found so alternatingly obnoxious and frightening, would deign to do work such as this. With such placid creatures as plants.

His own hands continued to work as he began to speak. "Today you will observe how I want the plants in this room to be cared for. After this day, you will often be on your own, as I have many matters that require my attention." (Through supreme willpower alone I did not snort at this statement—_yes, my prince, the kitchen girls are missing your…charms._)

"This room is something of a special place to me. I fitted it to my desires with magic, planted it and made everything that grows within do so by my own touch. However," he stopped, and to my surprise bitterness colored the clarity of his half-whisper, "As my brother," (he almost spat the word) "will soon be ascending to the throne, my responsibilities are changing and I will not be able to spend as much time here as I would like."

Wait, he built this room? This was…his? _But…these are __plants__. They require a gentler hand than you can possibly possess. You're nothing but a bully. Using magic to create life is a work of a pure heart, not one like yours._

"Move closer to me," he commanded softly, fixing me in the eyes. I did so, and he took my left wrist in his hand. I shuddered involuntarily.

He laughed lightly again, clearly reveling in making me uncomfortable. "Now, pet, I want you to show me the magic that I know you possess. Seal the spell on this honeysuckle."

His large hand covered my small one, grasping it, but not enough so I couldn't open it to complete the spell he was asking. As I called forth the nature magic, I felt his hand tense slightly, and my skin responded with the hairs on my forearm rising. He folded his fingers in the spaces between my outstretched ones, gripping my palm. It was an intimate movement that instantly brought images of sighs and entwined, heated bodies to mind. The sudden sharp intake of my breath made him softly snort at me.

Flustered, I refused to give him further reason for amusement, and finished the spell. As I chanted the low words, the honeysuckle responded with a faint glow of blue. Done, I tried to move my hand from his, but Loki would not let go. Looking to his face, I saw his eyes were closed. He looked almost…peaceful. It was such a foreign expression on the visage where usually reigned condescension or mischief.

"Excellent, excellent, my sweetling," he breathed, opening his eyes and fixing me with a green gaze that, to my suspicion, had abandoned the scorn they normally showed. My stomach clenched at his use of the possessive "my", and I, disgusted with myself, subdued a sudden, horrible, magnetic attraction to the prince. "You have a bit of magic, that cannot be denied. I can help you refine and improve your abilities. Would that be agreeable to you?"

_He was offering me kindnesses now?_

"I…I would very much appreciate that, my prince. Thank you." As he released my hand, I leaned back in confusion. What was he playing at? Was this another game?

Standing up, he brushed dirt off his trousers and, in a show of chivalry—_I was unaware he even knew the term_—held out his hand to help me up. Anxious that it was a ploy, that he would make me stumble to fall into his arms or some such nonsense, I hesitated.

He noticed. An instantaneous, slightly pained look crossed his face.

"You do not need to fear me, Genevieve," he said softly, tone approaching tender—almost pleading. He stepped closer to me, hand still extended.

Indecisive, I fought a quick internal battle. He was wickedness incarnate—was I really going to fall for this false gentleness? This god who did naught but tease and bed maids and cause general mayhem?

_But…the __plants_, I thought desperately. If their luxuriant flowers and fruit truly were his workings, he could not possibly be composed solely of lust and trickery. That level of magic required not only time, but unfeigned affection. It asked a sacrifice of oneself—a sacrifice he had clearly made for beings that could not repay him in pleasure or a warm body with which he could toy.

My eyes drifted back to the honeysuckle, orange flowers huge and open. In that instant, my decision was made for me.

Almost hating myself for the tiny flame of trust that was flaring hopefully in my breast, I inhaled deeply, and took his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

That first day I bustled along behind Loki as he introduced me to plants I had never before seen—huge, orange, multi-angled and armed blossoms called Birds of Paradise, a row of trees that produced fruits of furry skin and sweetness that he called peaches. The Garden Room, as he identified it, was neverending in its botanical marvels, and I felt drowned in the sense of completeness I felt among the leaves and branches, the flowers and fruit—even with him looking over my shoulder.

Once again taking my hand, he showed me two simple spells to help with mold prevention, half-singing and half chanting in a whisper tone as he performed them. It was calming to hear him perform the incantations, hand over mine and guiding it in the proper movements. Several times I nearly forgot who it was I was dealing with—this was not the god I knew, all condescension and flirtation and danger. This serene Loki was almost unrecognizable.

_But he's Loki, _I reminded myself._ No one—not even gods—can be so two impossibly different beings_.

_Can they?_

He stayed with me until I had satisfactorily mastered the spells, and set me to work mulching a particularly spectacular row of courgette plants. It took a good portion of the day, and by early afternoon I emerged, cursing quietly at the countless scratches on my arms that the plants had inflicted.

I walked to the head of the row, examining the scratches and not looking where I was going. I ran into something hard. Loki, of course. Standing right in my way. He had no doubt planned this when he saw me not paying attention.

He laughed, and I was pleased to hear it pleasant instead of mocking for once. "You must watch where you are going, little mouse. There are all manner of beasts in this room who would snap you right up."

He seemed in a good mood, so I decided to risk a bit of sauciness, not entirely knowing why. I cocked my eyebrow and arranged my face in a look of incredulity. "I am not afraid, my lord. No beast in this room is a match for me."

He tilted his head, regarding me closely. For a moment I feared I had crossed a line and was preparing an apology when he threw back his head and laughed with that same welcome, mischief-free laugh. He looked back at me, mouth opening for what was no doubt a retort, when he saw my lacerated arms. He pursed his lips. "Hmm, I should have provided you with long gloves, sweetling. Let me help."

Wondering what on earth he could do to fix the countless scratches, I extended my right arm to him. He took it and pressed it between his two long-fingered, pale hands, almost unbelievably gently. I started at first, his touch downright arousing. But he was paying no mind to the hairs rising again on my arms…I was shocked to see that this was not a typical Loki tease. He was genuinely engaged in doing whatever it was he was attempting to accomplish.

I felt a cool-warm sensation cover my arm. Loki was bent over it, using the same half-singing, half-chanting tone he had used on the plants. When he finished, he leaned back and released me.

The scratches were gone.

I gasped, looking up at him. He smiled, taking my left arm and performing the same spells of healing. I had not realized he was capable of such magic. "Thank you, my lord," I said, honestly quite in wonder.

"There you are, little mouse. I think that's enough for today. You are dismissed, but return in the morning. You will need to harvest the pears, blackberries, and peaches for some pointless event later this week."

I was curious, but it was not my place to ask. I curtseyed and turned to go.

* * *

I wandered aimlessly back through the pillared halls of Asgard, lost in my recollections of the events of the day. Loki flitted into my mind and stayed there, and I found myself altered of opinion regarding the prince. Who would have supposed that under all his bravado and charade there existed a soul of such gentleness to defenseless creatures? I was usually a fairly good judge of character…why had my sense on Loki been so far off? Or was it?

He could be playing a game, I mused as I passed the Great Hall. This could still be just a ploy to bed me. Time would tell.

_I still don't trust him. _

_Maybe. _

* * *

The next day I arrived at the room, and, finding it quite empty of Loki, I proceeded with my orders. I picked bushel after bushel of blackberry until my fingers were stained purple and plucked so many of the tree fruits that my arms became sore. Loki appeared after the dining hour, regarding my work and praising it.

"Now, little mouse," he began, silken voice taking on its commanding tone_, _"I require your assistance for another matter. We will need several large floral arrangements for the day after tomorrow. I usually take care of the castle arrangements myself, but I will be…engaged with the Allfather, and I want you to complete them."

_He does the flower arrangements? The ones I have been tending? This is not happening._

"I had much experience with arranging in my mother's shop, my lord. I will not disappoint you," I said, hoping he wouldn't use my words for an occasion of innuendo.

"I am sure you won't," he said, right eyebrow cocked, emerald eyes laughing at me, teasing, seductive. _I should have known he wouldn't resist that._ "We are expecting a large delegation of visitors from somewhere horribly important, no doubt, so the Allfather wishes to have a long, boring dinner with them that includes impressing them as much as possible. Partially by using my little hobby here." The last words he uttered with a furrow of his eyebrows and an acidic color to his voice.

Remembering the previous day when he had spoken of Thor in the same way, I cringed internally. _What is going on there? Why does he speak of his family with such sorrowful asperity?_

He must have noticed my curiosity about his tone, because he immediately changed it back to the low growl. "In addition, sweet Genevieve, and I am sorry to inform you of this, but you will be required to help with the preparations and service of said boring dinner. So the day after tomorrow, you will not report here, but to the kitchen staff. I apologize that I was unable to rescue you from such a fate," he said, teasingly, smiling at me. Whether the bitterness was actually gone or he was trying to distract me, I could not tell.

I curtseyed, responding that I was happy to serve where required. He told me which flowers he wanted used in the arrangements, and instructed me to choose a few of my preference to use as well.

The rest of the day and the following one was passed pleasantly, Loki arriving from time to time to oversee my preparations for the delegation. He quietly regarded each of my arrangements, flowers stuffed to the hilt in the large crystal vases he had provided me, and would move a blossom here or there. The eve of the dinner, he pronounced my work done and turned to me, smiling.

"Excellent again, little mouse. You have pleased me."

_Because we all live to please you, my lord_, I thought, but I was surprised to find without the annoyance I usually laced thoughts of Loki with.

Masking my sudden confusion with a smile, I curtseyed and responded, "My lord is too kind."

Stepping closer to me slowly, he moved his hand in a complex motion. When he came to a stop, inches from me, he extended his palm to me. Still glowing blue from the magic, in it was one perfect, glorious white blossom of a rose.

I looked up at him, confused. But in my heart I felt a lurch of…something. I could not identify the feeling.

That feeling of whatever it was—uncertainty, doubt…_attraction?!_—intensified as he put his hand to my hair, and, gently brushing it behind my ear, placed the rose there. He smiled at me once more, and dismissing me, took his leave, saying he would see me at the banquet.

I stood there for several minutes, staring after him at the door. Lost in a whirlwind of emotion, I stumbled out of the room as well. I removed the rose before the maids could see it, but, in a gesture of whatever that stomach-clenching sentiment was that I was starting to feel for Loki, I placed it gently upside down in my chambers to dry.

* * *

The next day was a cyclone of activity. I spent the majority of my morning in the kitchens, peeling potatoes and chopping the pears I had picked. In the early evening, an hour or so before the delegation was to arrive, I went quickly to the Great Hall to make a final check on the arrangements, as I had been instructed to do by Loki. Afterwards, I got in line with the rest of the maids and servants to welcome the delegation.

They blasted in through the large oak doors of the front hall, and we all bowed. Tall, muscular men and delicate women and an older, potbellied man I assumed was their king, all laughing with the Allfather as they paraded past us. Loki entered with Thor, and the unnamed feeling clenched in my stomach again. I glanced sideways and saw the serving girls next to me blushing furiously, and I knew what they wanted from him. It sickened me slightly.

The party passed, and we rushed to the kitchens to begin service. One by one the servants left the kitchen and proceeded into the hall, large platters of fish, cheeses, meat precariously balanced on shoulders. I was given the platter of fruit I had prepared, and walked into the hall, carefully, so as not to upset it and make a complete fool of myself. Lady Edith had been explicitly clear on the manner in which we were to serve—come in quietly, call no attention to ourselves, kneel to each person at the table, and wait until they had taken their share.

I went at once to the Allfather and knelt. He helped himself to the fruit and I moved to the King of wherever-it-was, performing the same kneeling to him.

As I was moving to the princes of Asgard, I heard the foreign king remark, in a heavy accent, his surprise at the fresh fruit in the midwinter. I suddenly wondered how long I was going to have to kneel in front of Loki before he took his share, for surely he would want to talk about the Garden Room when the Allfather praised the source of the fruit.

But Odin said nothing of it, only acknowledging the king's comment with a wave of his hand and moving on to the subject of Thor's upcoming coronation.

My heart dropped.

_Ah._

_I understand. _

I was now kneeling before Thor. He quickly took his share and continued in conversation with the stunningly beautiful female foreign delegate next to him.

I turned to Loki, wanting to meet his eyes, but they were downcast, looking at his hands. I knelt beside him, and felt the platter lighten somewhat. And then, a whispered "Thank you, Genevieve."

I rose, looking at him as I did. He still would not meet my eyes. I continued around the table and retreated to the kitchen, heart hurting for the younger prince of Asgard.

* * *

Several hours later, feet aching, I leaned against the wall outside the Hall. I had been instructed to wait there in case I was needed. With the doors to the Hall closed, the only light flickered from the torches in their brackets on the wall. I was getting sleepy, and there was no one in the hallway to talk to.

"Hello there, pretty thing," came a heavily accented voice behind me.

I turned and saw one of the foreign guards, clearly drunk. He must have been dipping into the mead while supposedly keeping watch. I muttered a "Hello," and turned away, my nose wrinkling in cloying, disgustingly sweet combination of mead and body odor.

I heard him lurch closer to me, slurring his words as he spoke again. "I said, hello."

Already in a phenomenally annoyed mood from what I had witnessed in the Hall and starting to get a headache, I turned to him, all niceties over. "Go away, you great oaf," I spat.

He suddenly moved with a speed I never would have attributed to a drunkard, because before I could blink he had me pinned against the wall, forearm to my throat. I struggled against him, but he was far too strong. His sickening breath came on me as he leaned down to kiss me. I was getting lightheaded, and my eyes began unfocusing in the flickering torchlight.

His lips pressed against mine.

And then he was gone. I slumped to the floor, too hazy-headed to understand what had happened. After a moment, I regained my clarity and looked up to see Loki _(where did he come from?! The Hall door didn't open!) _looking enraged, pale hand gripping the drunk guard by the throat. The man's eyes were starting to bulge, and his face was turning purple.

I tried to speak, but couldn't. Clearing my throat, I tried again. In a raspy whisper, still gasping for breath, I begged him, "My lord, please don't. He's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing."

Loki answered calmly, voice not betraying the fury in his face, his eyes glittered. "Sweet Genevieve, you know nothing of men. This imbecile knows exactly what he was doing."

Turning his head to me, I saw him grin wickedly, and he released the man from his grip. The drunkard fell to the floor, gasping and massaging his throat. Loki was not done with him, however.

There was a sudden, blinding blue light, and the man was hoisted in the air. Loki, fingers outstretched, hand pronated, had suspended him with magic, and proceeded slamming him against the walls of the corridor.

"You. Will. Not. Touch. Her," he half-whispered, each word an impact as he jerked his hand back and forth.

The door to the Great Hall slammed open.

"Loki!" shouted the Allfather, rage on his face matching his son's. "Drop him!"

"I would love to, Father, but he has assaulted my servant. He needs correcting," Loki continued in his calm tone.

Odin looked at Loki, expression unfathomable. There was another flash of blue light, and the guard fell to the floor, groaning loudly.

The king of the delegation arrived at the doorway, huffing loudly. "What is the meaning of this," he sputtered, looking from Loki, to me, to his guard.

"I offer a thousand pardons, Leif," said the Allfather, looking daggers at Loki. "Your man has overindulged, apparently, and decided to kiss this servant girl. Loki got a bit…overheated." He clapped his hand to the old king's shoulder. "You know how boys are. He placed a light emphasis on the word 'boys', and Loki jerked. "They don't know their own strength and get overexcited by drink."

The old king laughed, and started in on some story of his own pretentious youth, babbling in his accent.

The Allfather turned the king back into the Hall, looking over his shoulder at Loki. "You will heal him," he hissed. "Now."

The door closed. Loki and I and the drunk, who was still groaning loudly, were left alone in the hall. From where I was still crumpled on the floor, I looked up at the prince-god, my mouth agape. Raising his head, he met my eyes, and I saw in them vast, emerald oceans of pain. My heart immediately seized. He turned quickly, disregarding the Allfather's command to heal the man, and re-entered the Great Hall. I tried to call out to him, to thank him, but my voice, along with my heart, had stopped working.


	4. Chapter 4

Hearing the door of the Garden Room open, I raised my head from behind the grapevines. I was filthy, covered in dead leaves and debris, but pleased to see my master. I had been in his service now five months, though it hardly seemed that long. Though for the first few days following the foreign delegation's visit he was slightly edgy, he never mentioned it and I of course had followed suit.

The intervening months I had passed working in that marvelous room—planting, growing, harvesting. Loki visited most days, spending anywhere from an hour to an afternoon. I had spent enough time with him to know to gauge his mood by how he opened the door.

Some days he blew into the room, bursting with energy, all haughtiness and joviality. It pleased me when he was like this, for he would take me by the hand and instruct me in nature magic, laughing and teasing as he did so. Together we would sing lowly to the plants, bewitching them into growth or health. With every glow of blue from the plants in response to our ministrations, I could feel him relax, his hand over mine and body lightly touching me. He would guide me in the spells, and when I mastered them each he would praise me with another quiet, "Excellent, Genevieve." Looking in his eyes, I felt a glow as I saw his pride in my ability growing—I was rapidly attaining his skill level in nature magic.

* * *

On those days of mirth, often he would remove his leather outer clothing and join me in the dirt, rolling up his sleeves and playfully throwing clods of earth or roots at me as he weeded, mulched or pruned alongside me. It took me some weeks to get used to this treatment, and I of course did not respond, but Loki's lighthearted chiding finally coaxed me into retaliation. One early summer afternoon, after he had laughingly dumped a half-bucket of mulch directly on my head, I had had enough. I grabbed the water bucket next to me and threw its contents straight in his smug face. Sputtering, he looked at me in surprise, black hair streaming down, so unlike his usually perfectly coiffed tresses.

I couldn't help it—he looked so much like a drowned cat that I laughed out loud. He fixed me with a green stare, amused disbelief written all over his features. He ran a hand through his hair and shook it, rivulets flying everywhere.

There was no way I was backing down this time. I grinned innocently, tilting my head to heighten the effect.

He opened his mouth, incredulity increasing. Narrowing his eyes and smiling wickedly, he whispered, "I will give you a thirty-second head start, little mouse. Run."

Knowing I was in for it, I tore off through the apple trees and tried to find a place to hide. Ensconcing myself in a small copse of white flowering dogwoods, I held my breath. Loki stalked me for several minutes, though of course I knew that he was perfectly aware of where I was. Watching him through tree limbs, I saw him pass about ten feet in front of me.

And then, a hand over my eyes.

I stifled a scream as Loki drawled, "Checkmate, little mouse," in a dark chocolate, amused voice, right behind me.

Whirling, I yelped, "How did you do that, my lord?" I had nearly forgotten to add his title in my surprise.

He laughed softly, right eyebrow cocked. "Magic," is all he would say.

* * *

However, today Loki entered the Garden Room quietly, subdued, head down.

_Ah, today is a melancholy day. _

When he came in the room like that, I knew to keep my distance. He would wave me away and seek solace with his plants. I was sure his sadness stemmed from what I had seen the night of the delegation's visit—a father who clearly favored his elder son.

_Odin One-Eye, blind to the destruction he caused in the younger. _

I would watch him those days, watch the forlorn caresses with which he lavished the flowers, the berries, the roots. One by one he would attend to them, fingertips glowing blue as he incanted. As he finished, he would place a final blessing on each one, and I started to doubt the veracity of the bawdy tales the maids told—he was so impossibly, achingly tender with the plants.

And, as much as I feared to admit it to myself, I found myself wanting to be touched in the same way by him.

I shoved the thought down each time it came—I had fought too long to give into Loki now, though my outward movements sometimes betrayed the intense warmth and something akin to attraction that I had come to feel for him. I was sure he knew—how could he not?—but other than his constant flirtation he kept a respectful distance.

Even the raucous gossip of the servants had tapered off—it was as though he was no longer interested in debauchery. They had discovered quickly that in my promotion I now worked with and for him, and needled me endlessly for information as to his change in demeanor, which I of course could not provide.

_Though if I admit it to myself, I cherished a hope in my heart that it was because of me. _

Noting his head hanging lower than usual on a melancholy day (as I had come to call them in my head), I went back to my pruning. He disappeared somewhere near the mistletoe, and I continued with a spell he had taught me to encourage the grapes to sweeten.

I was nearly done when I heard him approach behind me. Finishing, I turned to him and moved to rise, but he waved me back down, telling me to stay where I was. He knelt next to me, regarding the grapes.

"That was a perfect execution of that spell, Genevieve." (A month or so prior he had abandoned the pet names, to my vast gratitude.) "You progress well."

"Thank you, my lord," I responded, wondering why he was speaking to me on a day where he was clearly morose.

He turned to me, and in disbelief I gasped. His emerald eyes sparkled with tears.

"Tell me, Genevieve, do you think me worthless?" he asked, voice breaking. I looked at him, speechless, as he sat back, putting his knees up and resting his head in his long hands. My mind raced as I searched for something—anything—to respond with.

"My lord, I don't understand," I said, tilting my head to see his partially buried face. My heart wrenched as I saw three glittering drops leak between his fingers. It pained me physically to see Loki suffer so. What could have caused this?

"Worthless, Genevieve. Of no value, contributing nothing," he snapped, head ripping up to meet my eyes. The tears still traced a path down his pale cheeks, the green of his eyes intensified by their red rims.

"My lord, I—"

He moved so fast I almost didn't see it. He gripped my wrist, painfully, squeezing tightly as he pulled me toward him. In an instant my face was inches from his, and he asked again, snarling, "Do you think me worthless, girl? You will answer your god!"

His fingers tightened yet again on my wrist, and I opened my mouth in desperation, heart hammering, willing to say anything to make him let me go. My heart aching to see this awful change in him, I attempted to answer, but instead my own tear streaked down my face as I whimpered in pain.

This only seemed to enrage him further. He gripped my wrist tighter, and shook it, voice dropping to that dangerous whisper. "Answer me, girl."

The pain was intense to the point that I was starting to lose consciousness. Stars swimming before my eyes, I made one final attempt.

"Please, my lord…Loki."

His name on my lips snapped him out of his rage. He immediately released me. "Oh, oh, gods, Genevieve," he whispered, eyes darting between my wrist and my face in horror, clearly shocked by what he had done. His chest heaving, he reached for the wrist he had injured, and I instinctively pulled back from him, my heart racing, head spinning.

Loki sat back, looking in terror at me for a moment, then gave himself over to sobbing. Heart-wrenching, animal sobs that must have come from the deepest part of his soul to rack him so. He cried as though his heart was physically torn, the sobs of a brokenhearted boy who wanted nothing more than the love of his father.. Curling his knees to his chest, he buried his head in his arms.

I sat there, riveted to my spot in my confusion and leftover fear. My mind, despite the hazy pain I sat in, harkened back to the hallway that winter night—how he had so swiftly defended me. All the intervening months of play and work. Why would he do that only to turn and injure me? For a minute I contemplated running. Leaving the palace and never looking back. Getting safely away from him. I _knew_ I should. I would never understand him. He was the burning joy of summer and the frozen wasteland of winter, and from one moment to the next I would never know which.

_But how can I abandon him when he is clearly in so much pain? This had nothing to do with me. It started somewhere else. _

Slowly, tentatively, I moved toward him. My awkward sliding over sent a fresh stab of agony through my wrist, and I inhaled sharply. Lifting the other hand, I reached to his shoulder. As my palm made contact with the leather of his jerkin he pulled away slightly, but not enough to break my touch.

"My lord," I whispered, not knowing what else to say, forgetting temporarily the pain he had caused me, and wanting nothing more than to erase his grief. I could not stand to see such a high being—horrible, obnoxious, delightful, vastly grieving god as he was—in such utter pain.

He raised his head, pale cheeks flushed from weeping. His eyes locked with mine for a moment with an unfathomable expression. Suddenly, with another swifter-than-sight movement, he gathered me in his arms and pressed me to his chest, gasping and weeping his apologies. Before I could respond, he had pulled back, and, with both arms around me, gently cradled my wrist in one soft hand while the other moved, ever-so-lightly tracing my skin as he chanted a healing incantation. Even in my dullheadedness from the break in my wrist, I shivered at his touch, gooseflesh rising. I felt bones and sinew knit together again, and the already-purple bruises began to fade once more into nothing.

He finished the spell and leaned back slightly, sweat beading on his brow, the green of his eyes clashing with the slight purple shadowing under them from the exertion of the healing. He looked exhausted. Meeting my eyes, he began again, softly, pleadingly, to beg my forgiveness, tears streaming down his face.

Sitting in Loki's embrace, I knew I could not refuse his apologies—not because I was his servant and he was my master, not because he was a god and I a girl, but because he was so clearly, painfully broken. I could never deny him my forgiveness. Not now. Not ever. The desire to heal him, to render him whole from his shattered self, was far too great.

Though I could not believe I was doing so, I reached up with my newly-healed hand, and traced his cheekbone with two fingers. I continued to his mouth. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to them, relaxing into my touch. With those same fingers trembling, I smoothed back a lock of black hair that had fallen onto his brow.

S_o beautiful, even in sorrow. _

He looked at me, heartbreak for what he had done shading the bright green, eyes still imploring pardon.

"Please, Genevieve, I am so sorry, I never meant to hurt you," he beseeched again quietly. "Please, please forgive me, sweet dove. I forgot myself."

Scarcely believing that I was so doing, I leaned into him, caressing his jaw. His eyes grew wide, his breath caught.

"Genevieve," he whispered.

His lips met mine, and I was lit aflame. There was no more pretense, no more charade, no more anger. I let myself kiss him back, desperately, full of need. I felt the depth of his sorrow to the last inch—I understood it all now: the canyons of pain he hid with the endless easy conquests and trickery designed to make others look foolish. My sole desire in that moment was to show him he was not alone—the always being second best, the never measuring up—I would share his burden, heal it if I could.

He pulled me into his chest again with the same invisible hands he used to tease the maids, one gently grabbing a fistful of my hair, another holding me fast. His lips moved to my neck, and I moaned softly. A corporeal hand, long and beautiful, traced down my neck and to the laces of my bodice. Though my every fiber was screaming for him to proceed, he stopped, and pulled back, eyes searching mine for permission.

I nodded, my own eyes pleading now.

With trembling fingers, he unlaced my bodice and slid it off my shoulders. My undershirt was not quite warm enough, and I shivered involuntarily. Loki noticed, and pulled back from where his lips were brushing my neck.

"Oh, gods, did I hurt you again?" the prince asked, desperate, alarm in those beautiful, beautiful green eyes.

"No, I am fine, my lord, I—"

He cut me off gently, placing a finger to my lips. "Genevieve," he whispered, and that voice finally broke whatever few dams were left in my heart to keep him out. I was unmade.

_I am yours. Gods, I am yours. Body and soul. I will always be. Yours. _

"Yes, my lord?" I choked out, barely able to stand the tide of desire washing over me.

"Please call me Loki."

And he kissed me with the force of a thousand Asgardian winters.


	5. Chapter 5

Eyes cracking open, I moved as he stretched beside me. Bleary-eyed from the late night before, I looked around, wincing in the light. I still could not get used to waking in the prince's chambers, with its subtle hangings of dark green and deep gold. The huge four-poster bed with ornate, carved oak pillars in which we lay took up one corner. It faced a wall of shelves and shelves of books, backlit by some enchantment Loki had placed there. Giant, open doors led to a large balcony, where we had passed many hours of conversation and quiet embraces, looking out over the Rainbow Bridge and the Asgardian Sea. But in this morning's light the nighttime sky, lit with nebulae, was fading, and I sighed.

I moved to stretch but gasped as Loki's lips were suddenly on mine. Laughing, I pushed him away and sat up, gathering the silken gold sheets around me.

"There is no need for modesty at this point," he said in his seductively low growl, raising his eyebrow at me as he too sat up on the bed.

I shrugged, batting my eyes, trying but failing miserably to be flirtatious. "Force of habit, my—Loki," I said. I had also not quite gotten accustomed to not referring to him by his title. His name, while sweet, still felt strange on my lips.

He snorted at me, and I stretched, looking around. It had been two beautiful, passionate weeks since the Garden Room, and Loki had refused to let me leave his chambers, claiming my need for a 'vacation.' And what a vacation it had been—we had spent day and night in each other's arms and company. One thing Ihad grown accustomed to in the last fortnight was the feel of his cool flesh against mine, the way his hair would fall into his eyes as he lowered himself over me in the flickering firelight; how in so doing his fingers would lightly run through my disheveled hair and his eyes would meet with mine, an expression of deepest tenderness written there. I found myself melting into him time after time—I was powerless to resist, and as the plants in the Garden Room glowed from his caress, so did I.

We had ignored the outside world as much as was possible in those weeks—courier's messages, summons, and invitations for Loki went largely unheeded. One evening, as we sat on the balcony, clothed only in the golden sheets of his bed and eating giant, sweet strawberries as we watched the sunset, Thor himself actually came and pounded at the door, hollering about this or that. He tried to push his way in, but Loki waved a hand at the large oak door, slamming it on Thor and making the barring beam fall in place. Turning to me with a mischievous grin, he muttered something about how he would pay for that, and pressed another strawberry to my lips.

Of course, he had duties, responsibilities—but he would complete them as quickly as possible and return to me. Playfully forbidding me to leave his chambers, he would sit me down at his table with a stack of books of nature magic, instructing me to read this or that chapter. When he returned, pale visage beaming at me, he would throw off his outer clothes and assist me with what I had learned. His tutelage did not limit itself to solely nature magic—he also taught me defensive spells, making me use him as a victim until I could slam him against the wall hard enough to bruise, which of course would cause serious damage to any other poor fool who might attempt to bother me. There were also minor healing incantations, and he volunteered his own flesh to lacerate so I could practice. I objected to this, but he would tolerate no disagreement. We sliced his pale arm open again and again, he only slightly wincing each time (and myself greatly so), but smiling, emerald eyes sparkling with pride as I repaired the cut.

I probably would have been missed had I been a regular member of the castle staff. As it was, I answered to only one master, and he was absolutely insisting I remain here with him in his chambers, so no one seemed to pay much attention to my prolonged absence. However, I had a sneaking suspicion that I had probably become the subject of much gossip among the maids. The first morning I woke in Loki's bed, a blonde, curvy one of them (her name I could not remember—I had never socialized much with the other servants) entered the prince's chambers to prepare the bathtub. I had forgotten they did this—mortified, I watched in horror from his bed as she poured the steaming water. She glanced up, caught my eye, and winked, grinning.

_About time_, she seemed to be saying.

The next morning, when she entered again and saw me once more in his bed, his lean arm tossed over me in sleep, she looked less happy. And of course, I was still there the following morning. That time she shot me a glance of annoyance and huffed through her work, all but slamming the door when she left.

Loki had witnessed it that morning, and chuckled while I pulled at my hair in worry. "They're going to love me when I go back to my quarters," I whispered.

"That would require my permission to leave, which I do not grant," he said, chortling at my distress. He then grabbed me and unceremoniously dumped me in the tub.

The entrance of the maid on this, the fifteenth morning, was stonily silent. By this point I had grown used to it, and paid her no mind, though I did sigh with regret upon seeing her. I wanted to stay here forever with him…I had everything I could possibly wish for.

But today I had to get back to work.

"Genevieve," Loki said, persisting with the seductive tones, "You don't _have_ to go. Just stay one more day…one more night," he said, voice moving to a whisper as he moved behind me. He wrapped himself around me, face in my hair, breathing me in. I shivered, closing my eyes. We stayed there for a moment, lost in time and the filtered light of morning. And then I sighed, reality setting in.

"You know I have to. Not everyone was born into royalty. And I'm shuddering thinking of two weeks' worth of weeding that will have to be done." I turned, still in his embrace, and winked up at him. "Anyway, I'll see you later today."

Sighing, he released me. Taking my hand, he raised it to his lips, eyes staying locked with mine as he did. "You certainly will," he murmured.

* * *

The next three months passed in a blissful almost-blur. I spent my days working to my satisfaction in the Garden Room, having tamed it from the two weeks' worth of unrestricted growth it had been allowed to do while Loki and I exchanged dreams and passions. My nights were mostly spent in his chambers, as he seldom permitted me to return to my quarters, begging and cajoling me until I could resist him no longer (truth be told, it didn't take much). Lying on his huge balcony and looking up at the stars while he would do small magic for my amusement, we ignored the sounds of the city far below. We lived in our own world those times—nothing but he and I and we existed in it. Some nights he would envelop me in his tall, lean frame, holding on as if for dear life, talking to me in sweet, soft tones. Other nights, my bare, flushed skin against his and our breathing rapid, he would drive me to the edge of madness with pleasure.

He was still subject to melancholy from time to time…he would enter his chambers, head down, eyes sorrowful or swimming in tears. Voice hollow, he told me his heartaches of some small, subtle or not-so-subtle way in which he had felt again second-best to his brother, usually emphasized by Odin. I would sit on his lap, caressing his hair as he spoke, trying with all I could to infuse each touch with the love I freely allowed myself to feel for him now. I hoped beyond hope that it was enough for him.

It seemed to work. His days of sorrow came less and less frequently, and he had begun telling me tales of when he and Thor were young—raucous stories of muddy pirate-boys fighting with wooden swords that inevitably ended in tears and cryings for Mother from one or the other. A beautiful, wistful smile would touch his face when he spoke of those times, and I began to hope that the rift was being healed.

But with the end of fall was approaching, I began to get nervous. The day of Thor's coronation was imminent, and I watched Loki carefully for signs of the old sorrow entering his eyes. He had told me late one night, head resting on my breast, how he had hoped to be chosen for the throne, but had known it would be Thor. Thor, the golden one. Thor, whose wielding of the mighty Mjölnir had turned every eye to him except those of the maids. Loki confessed that he had been quite young when he noticed that their father favored Thor, but would not speak to how he had come to know; he shook his dark head, tears in his eyes. I did not pursue the subject.

* * *

One day, a week or so before the coronation was scheduled, he came to me in the Garden Room.

I was deeply engaged in a tussle with a pumpkin vine that was attempting to strangle the tomatoes, and I was embarrassed to admit that it was winning. I didn't even hear Loki enter, and as I looked up and saw him standing directly over me I nearly screamed.

He grinned. "Good afternoon, my love." My heart skipped a beat each time he called me by that name, and gooseflesh would erupt on my skin. Sometimes he did it on purpose, just to see the reaction, which made me blush, but was greatly amusing for him.

"Hello," I gasped, trying to disentangle myself from the huge pumpkin's tendrils. "Are you in the mood for pumpkin pie tonight? Because I would very much like to dispose with this one. You must have accidentally infused it with a curse, because evil is not a sufficient word to describe it."

He laughed lightly, eyeing the pumpkin vine and passing his hand over it. It immediately shrunk back from the tomatoes. I gave him a look of false annoyance.

"Why couldn't you have just showed me how to do that yesterday when you were here?" I pouted, putting my arms around his waist. "You could have saved me a lot of trouble."

"Ah, love." (Gooseflesh again) "If I taught you everything, there would be no reason for you to stay with me," he teased, sliding his arms around me.

"I would never leave you," I said seriously, moving my hand down to help myself to a small squeeze of his rear. "If you had no magic and were toothless, I would love you the same."

He jumped slightly when I grabbed him, and grinned. Gently removing my arms from him, he took my hand and led me over to a row of large white delphiniums.

"Genevieve, as much as it pains me to do this, we must cut these down. In fact, cut down every white flower in here. We will need them for the coronation." He sighed slightly as he looked the flowers up and down. They were taller than he was, a glorious wall of white. "We will need sixteen large arrangements, and then of course the smaller ones for the tables at the feast."

I looked at him sharply. I had been expecting this, but a wave of apprehension hit me like a fist. I turned to him, and, putting both of my hands on his face, turned it to me. I searched his eyes, and he let me.

"I am _fine_, Genevieve," he assured me, sitting down and pulling me into his lap. He instructed me with all I would have to do to prepare for the coronation. My eyes widened as he outlined all that needed to be done. It was going to take the better part of the week to get everything ready.

Noticing my nervousness, he added, "But, I will be here as often as I can, provided I can remove myself from having to entertain visitors whose names I don't know and don't care to find out."

"Loki, I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about you."

He laughed, lightly, but the smile did not touch his eyes.

* * *

The day of the coronation arrived, dawning with a magnificent, cloudless blue sky. I was required to be up before the dawn, however, and was already deeply engaged in work by the time the late-autumn sun did rise. I was in the kitchens, up to the elbows in flour, already sweating and irritated when Loki turned up. Ignoring the dirty looks this earned me from my fellow female toilers, I went back to my flour. He had tried to convince me to stay with him, that I didn't have to work the kitchens that day, but I insisted, knowing that bowing out of duties would not make me any more popular with the maids than I already was.

He leaned on the counter, poking his fingers into the dough, which earned him a slap on the hand from me. He laughed, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Can you stay?" I asked, brushing the hair out of my eyes that had escaped its handkerchief prison on my head.

"Sadly, no, beloved, as much as I would like to. I have to get ready with all the usual nonsense and pomp. And I have a…surprise…for my brother that I must prepare."

I looked at him sharply. "What kind of surprise?" I asked, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, just a small joke that will make today more interesting," he said, running a finger down my bare arm.

"Loki—" I began, ready to scold him that this was neither the time nor the occasion for one of his jokes.

He cut me off with a kiss and was gone in a whirl of green and black before I could state my mind.

* * *

Several hours later, after having removed dough from what seemed like every body surface I possessed, I went with the other maids to the gigantic throne room. Thousands of Asgard's citizens were already there, filling the multi-leveled, enormous chamber. The golden throne of Asgard glittered in the back. We took our places in the area designated for servants, and I looked around for Loki as the maids twittered excitedly next to me.

The ceremony began with a fanfare from the trumpeters. I saw the Allfather take his place at his throne, and two rows of guards marched in, turning to face one another, their dark metal helmets and spears glittering in reflection on the shiny floor. My breath caught as I saw Loki enter, escorting his mother. He was breathtakingly handsome in his ceremonial best—golden helm and armor gleaming, green cape flowing behind him as he led Frigga through the double line of guards. They took their places on the steps in front of the throne, Loki below his mother. The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif followed after, also positioning themselves on the steps.

And then the crowd erupted in cheers. Thor entered, waving Mjölnir and in general carrying on like an idiot. I watched him for a moment, and then turned my eyes back to my love. The servants had been placed close enough so I had a good view of his face, and I saw clearly the look of annoyance that flitted across it as he regarded Thor and his antics.

_Just breathe, beloved, you can do this_.

Thor arrived before the throne and knelt, removing his helm. I scarcely listened to the Allfather as he rose and spoke to Thor—I was too busy watching Loki. I saw him turn his eyes down as Odin called Thor his heir, and my heart reached out to him, trying to support him, hoping he would feel my love.

The Allfather began to swear Thor to service, to protection of the realm. With the final, "I swear!" that Thor exclaimed, Odin began to finalize the coronation, but then stopped, one eye looking away from Thor, but at what I could not guess.

"Frost Giants," he said, turning his head. My heart froze in fear.

A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Children started crying, their mothers in terror trying to calm them. Some of the men moved forward, as if to go and attack straightaway. One of the maids beside me screamed, and that seemed to set off a chain reaction of others. The anxiety in the crowd was just starting to work to a fever pitch when Odin raised his hand, silencing us.

"They are gone," he said calmly. "The Destroyer has dispatched them."

Sighing in relief, the crowd fell to mutters and whispers. Odin gestured to his sons and left through a back door. Loki, having finally seen me, threw me a quick, mischievous glance, right eyebrow cocked. He strode off after the Allfather, green cape swirling beside the red of Thor's.

"But how did they get here?" whispered a plump servant beside me to her companion.

My eyes widened as I remembered the look he had just given me.

_Loki._

I was so angry at him that my hands shook as I worked the rest of that day. The letdown from the botched coronation was palpable as the servants muttered their annoyance. The feast had been cancelled, and I was busy the rest of the afternoon and into the evening with takedown.

When I was finally finished, I headed straight for Loki's chambers.

Enraged, I stomped through the castle proper, not bothering with the servants' passageways—anyway, the guards were used enough to seeing me enter and exit Loki's chambers that they no longer paid me any mind when I did chance to go through the castle corridors. In the back of my mind I found it odd that they didn't at least give me the knowing looks they usually did when I visited Loki—they were whispering amongst themselves, and I thought I heard Thor's and Odin's names mentioned. I was too infuriated to wonder why.

Arriving at the large oak door, I banged on it, yelling, "Loki! Open this door!"

I heard a weak voice behind it bid me enter, and I did. I saw him sitting against the wall next to the door, head in his hands. He raised his face to me. He had clearly been weeping, but I neither cared nor wanted to know why. Feeling the magic course through me, I raised my hand, fingers extended, and pinned him against the wall as hard as I could, some ten feet up. He grunted with the force of it, looking at me in shock as I held him there. I had never done so so forcefully in our practice sessions.

"Explain yourself," I snarled, furious.

He laughed lightly, but it was a mirthless one. "Sweet Genevieve. It was a bit of fun, nothing more," he said, averting his eyes momentarily, having the grace to look slightly ashamed. It didn't last long—the next moment he had snapped them back to me and was grinning. There was something wrong with the smirk, however, but in my indignation it only briefly clicked subconsciously. "Let me down, love, and let's discuss this in a more amiable setting, say, perhaps, the bed?"

"Enough of the silver tongue, Loki. There were children there. They were terrified!" I shouted, tears prickling in my eyes now.

"Genevieve," he said softly, grin fading, seeing now that I was truly furious. "Sweet dove, no one was in any danger. Even they knew it; that's why there was no stampede to leave. Everyone knows about the Destroyer. The guard who was injured was healed straightaway. It was a prank, an immature one, to be sure, but no harm done. And, beloved, do you truly think I would put you in danger? I would protect you to the ends of the Nine Realms."

Despite my anger, I sighed internally. He was right—no one had been harmed. Though my fingers stayed splayed, fastening him to the wall, my wrath was fading. Letting my breath out, but wanting to make a final point, I didn't lower him to the ground. I let him fall the ten feet.

Crumpled on the floor, he laughed again, the same hollow sound twinging a nervous bell in the back of my brain somewhere. It was then, only then, that I saw his chambers.

I gasped audibly as I turned. The books, his precious books, were all over the room, pages ripped out, spines broken and splaying their contents around them. His table was splintered and in pieces on the floor, the four posters of the bed ripped off and lying partially out the open doors to the balcony. The brass bathtub was upset, the china pitcher for rinsing shattered in a million sharp ivory shards. Dozens of candles lay broken—clearly some had been lit when upset, as wax was splattered around them. The poker for the fire was lying next to a splintered window, the fragments glittering maliciously in the firelight. Everywhere I looked there was obliteration. Nothing, not even the soft golden sheets of the bed, had escaped it.

"Loki," I whispered turning to where he was still lying on the floor, "what happened?"

Again, the humorless laugh. "It would appear, my love, that I have destroyed my chambers."

I walked over to him and knelt. He would not look at me. I tried turning his face to mine; he resisted.

"Loki, if you don't look at me, I will hang you up again," I said, voice starting to show my desperation.

He turned his head, and I gasped.

His eyes were red. Not just the pupil—the pupil, the white, everything. His beautiful pale skin took on a blue hue, strange lines running across his forehead—the forehead I had stroked a thousand times. I scrambled back, fear shooting through me like the poker had through the window. He looked like—but no, it couldn't be—

"Now you see the monster for his true colors," he murmured, skin and eyes fading to their usual appearance. He looked up at me, tears glittering. "_Your_monster, love," he said, sitting up and folding his legs.

Still in shock, I had not moved, dread rooting me to where I sat. I opened my mouth to speak, but could not. I just sat there, staring at him, my mind a whirlwind. As I child I had heard legends of the Jotuns, learned to fear them at my mother's knee, as every other child of Asgard had. My mind flitted back to a storybook I had had as a girl. On one of the pages an artist had painstakingly depicted a Frost Giant—tall, abnormally long legs and arms, a blue color to the skin and eyes of red. The eyes used to haunt my dreams. And now here they were, right in front of me—the eyes of my beloved, the eyes of a monster.

I sat, stock still, for several minutes, trying to think of something—anything—to say. Loki, refusing to look at me, stayed where he was with his head tilted away from me, the firelight reflecting on his pale brow, shining in his eyes.

_Oh gods, what do I do?_

"Loki," I whispered, begging.

Still not moving his gaze from the fire, he responded with an empty, "Yes, my love?"

"How long…I mean, have you always…"

His eyes darted to my face. "Always known I was a creature of filth?" he snapped, anger welling in his voice. "Why no, I had the pleasure of finding that out today."

I tried again, tentatively, not wanting to scare or enrage him. "But…how?" I moved a little closer to him—although I was still terrified, I wanted to know, to show him that I would stand by him, even in this.

He began, in a shaking voice, to tell me the events that took place as a result of his trickery. How Thor was enraged at the Jotuns' daring, how he had convinced the warriors to go with him to Jotunheim. He had tried to convince them not to fight, not to irk the Frost Giants, but Thor, as usual, had overridden him and started a battle.

"I was fighting one of them—he grabbed me and my armor shattered off. And then," he stopped here, holding up his arm to the firelight and watching my expression as it turned blue, "This."

I tried not to betray the flash of vile, betraying, involuntary disgust I felt in the deepest pit of my stomach as he continued his tale, telling how Odin had come, rescuing them, and how he had cast the future king of Asgard out for inciting a war. My insides jumped at this, feeling a sick suspicion well in me—_had this been his plan all along? To get rid of Thor?_

He related how he had gone to the reliquary to seek out the casket, how his fears had been heightened when he touched it. How Odin had arrived and confirmed everything—that Loki was a Frost Giant, taken from Jotunheim as an infant, to be used as a tool to unite the two worlds.

"It was all lies, Genevieve. Everything. Thor was always better because I am, in fact, lesser than he. I am nothing more than a bargaining chip to Odin," voice breaking again as he said so. "Gods, why did they have to lie?"

"Loki, I lo—"

"The funny thing is, I never meant harm from all this—I just wanted to ruin Thor's glory for once," he whispered, his tone taking the dangerous color it had the day he had broken my wrist. He looked at me and I shrunk back again—fury blazed in the green, and as he rose, his demolished possessions rose with him and started whirling, a hurricane of debris. I could feel him losing control, and anxiety once again blossomed in my chest. I knew what he was capable of. I stood up quickly and started backing away. I was on the wrong side of the door, however, so my only option was to move further into his chambers.

All joy, all traces of my Loki, were gone from his eyes. They took on a red gleam in the green of his irises, and he started moving toward me. One step forward for every one I took back. My heart pounding, my breath racing, I spoke.

"Loki, this isn't you. You are not a monster."

"Really, Genevieve? I am fairly certain this does qualify me as exactly that!" he spat, moving faster now as I almost tripped over the upset bathtub.

I tried another tack. "Loki, I love you. No matter who or what you are," I begged, chancing a glance behind me as I kept taking steps back.

"I saw your face when you figured it out!" he shouted, rage coloring his voice. I knew there was no going back now. I felt my back hit the wall. I was trapped, and he was getting closer, eyes fixed on me, hungry, infuriated.

_Oh no. No no no. _

All of a sudden, fury of my own rushed through me, filling my chest and every last vein and pore.

"NO!" I screamed, and raised my hand. Loki was once more lifted in the air and I slammed him against the walls, over and over and over, as hard as I could—hurting him with as much force as my fury could muster, battering him until the books and candles swirling around me fell, until he stopped grunting with the force of my beating, until he hung limp, eyes empty.

I collapsed, and I heard him hit the floor for the second time that night.

Instantly sorry, I gathered what little strength I had remaining and crawled over to him. He lay there, once more next to the fire, its light dancing over him, alternatingly illuminating or shadowing. He was not moving or blinking and a sudden, desperate panic that I had seriously hurt him ran through me.

"Oh, oh my gods," I sobbed, running my hands over him to ascertain if he was breathing. He was. I relaxed a little, but moved to put his head in my lap, still horrified. "My sweet, sweet love, I am so, so sorry," I said, brushing back his hair as I had done so often.

The familiar movement seemed to rouse him somewhat. He blinked, and his eyes focused. He looked at me, finally, and my heart released its ice. "Gods, Genevieve," he croaked, blood running out of the side of his mouth. "You are so much more powerful than I thought. I shouldn't have been so easy on you."

I exhaled out of my nose, relieved that he seemed to be physically all right. I knew he was far from well, however.

"Loki," I whispered, once again smoothing his hair.

"Yes, beloved?" He coughed, and more blood escaped his lips.

I ran my finger down the side of his nose and to his lips. Taking a deep breath, I started hum-chanting the healing incantations I knew, mending his bruises. I lifted up his shirt and saw awful purple marks covering his torso—I had broken his ribs. Inhaling sharply and tears forming in my eyes, I healed the bruising and did what I could for the bone. Gently replacing his shirt, I once more took his head in my lap.

He took a staggered breath, and smiled. "Thank you, my love. I deserved every inch of that beating."

I laughed, shakily. "Perhaps you taught me all that magic to protect me from you."

He looked down. "Perhaps," he murmured sadly. "I am sorry, Genevieve. I do nothing but fail you. Again and again."

"Loki," I said, guiding his chin up to me so he could look me in the eyes. "I love you. I will always love you. I don't care if you are a Frost Giant or a god or a bilgesnipe or a king or a vagabond. I. Love. You," I said gently, emphasizing each word with a kiss in between.

His eyes filled with tears once more, spilling out over his face and on to the folds of my dress. I leaned over, helped him up, and took him in my arms. We sat there, him sobbing, wailing, heartbroken, into my shoulder—no more a god but a lost, broken boy—until the fire burned out.


	6. Chapter 6

Day dawned, grey with thunderclouds. Loki had fallen asleep, spent from sorrow, in my lap sometime during the night, and I was content to let him lie there as I stroked his hair. I had passed the night in quiet contemplation, reviewing the previous day's events over and over. Thor cast out. Loki a Frost Giant.

For the first part of the night, every time I remembered his green eyes turned crimson, another jolt of fear ran through me. I had been taught to dread the Jotuns, after all—and here was one in the flesh, sleeping mouth slightly open, face still tear-stained, in my lap. He looked so innocent somehow in slumber, the trickery of years and pain of decades washed from his face. But a monster's face?

_It's Loki, _I thought_. I cannot hate him. I cannot fear him, _I thought, watching him breathe softly, feeling the coolness on my thigh. Not because I was too afraid to do otherwise, but because I loved him; I loved him with every single part of my soul. The fact that the blood that ran in his veins was Jotun did not fundamentally change him—I would not let it change me.

He stirred slightly, puffy eyes wincing as he opened them to the morning light. I tilted my head, looking closer at him, moving my hand to caress his face—to calm whatever dragons might be waiting to pounce in his heart again, to let him know I was still here. And would always be.

He turned his head to me. "Genevieve?" He asked, hurt still haunting his eyes, with a touch of surprise as well. He must have thought I would be gone when he woke.

"Shhh, shh, my love. And why do you look so shocked to see me?" I chided gently, still running my fingers up and down his cheek.

He laughed softly, the mirthless sound from the night before. _Will I ever hear him laugh with happiness again?_ I wondered briefly, desperately.

"Not many damsels would choose to be trapped in a room with a monster," he said quietly, still looking at me.

"Loki. Hear me," I commanded him, leaning over him until his eyes were two inches from mine. "I do not care that you are a Frost Giant. It makes no difference to me at all. I love you. I will always love you. You are a Jotun, yes, but a monster? No. I know you well enough to say as much," I finished, tears of desperation filling my eyes. _I have to make you understand._

A single tear fell out of my eye, falling on his cheekbone. He raised his hand to it, and then retracted it, looking at the shining spot on the tips of his fingers. He pressed them to his lips, eyes closing.

"Beautiful Genevieve," he whispered, once more looking up at me. "Beautiful girl, weeping for a monster." I opened my mouth to object to the term, but he put his hand to me, and I tasted my own tear there.

He continued, voice barely audible, all pretense and mask gone from it now. "My sweetest love. If you are next to me I can face this. All of it. Will you stay with me?"

I was outright crying now, tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Forever."

He closed his eyes again, stretching his neck back, an expression of soft pleasure on his face as my tears fell on him. He then sat up. Gently taking my head in his hands, he pressed his forehead, wet with my tears, against my own. I leaned into his touch.

"Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

I took the morning off—no one cared anyway where I was, so I chose to spend it making certain Loki was all right. We spent a small part of the time repairing what we could of his chambers. At the end, his books were back in their honored places, the bed and sheets restored to their former state. The window and tub were once again whole and upright. I placed the candles, newly mended, in their respective positions.

I turned and saw on the balcony. He had been quiet—_of course, how could he not be? His entire life is a lie_, I thought, anger bubbling in my stomach at the Allfather. Odin's scheme of uniting kingdoms and worlds seemed dirty and dark in the face of the pain he had caused his stolen second child.

I moved to Loki, putting my arms around his waist and pressing my forehead against his back. I felt the lean muscles tense and then relax as he breathed out. I moved to his side, lacing my fingers in his against the cool marble of the balcony's baluster. For a few minutes we watched the thunderclouds in silence.

He finally spoke. "Beloved, I must leave you for a while. Do you object?"

I looked up at him, incredulous. What duty could possibly call him away?

"I do. I need you here with me," I said, turning to him.

Again the hollow laugh. "Do you need me, or do you want to keep an eye on me?"

"Well, a little of both," I smiled. Reaching up, I touched his face. He looked down at me, eyes reflecting the storm without and within. As rain began to fall on us, he kissed me, hungrily, deeply.

I kissed him back, apprehensive at first because I wished nothing more than to not hurt him right now, and I wasn't sure he was entirely healed from the beating I had given him the night before. He gathered me in his arms, pressing against me with his coolness, and I responded with my heat, arching into him. Giving in to the passion I felt rising in me, I leaned my head back as he kissed down my neck, rain streaming down my skin. He was being gentle, overly so, and it was driving me mad with desire.

I stepped back from him, ignoring his noise of annoyance, and looked him straight in the eyes. I slowly removed my bodice, my undershirt, my skirt. He watched, rain streaming down his face and running down his chest, his legs, the now-soaked cotton of his garments accentuating his slender, lean frame. With an expression that frightened me slightly—it was wolflike, ravenous—he stepped toward me and attacked. Tenderness vanished, and I was swallowed into his passion as the rain drenched us. I felt his desperation, his sorrow in every impassioned touch, and with mine I tried to imbue him with acceptance and love. The storm raging around us, we fused—melding his melancholy and anguish with my devotion to him.

* * *

Some time later, we were still on the balcony, but wrapped in a blanket. I was in his arms and he in mine, warm and dry now under a shield of his magic as the storm continued to pound over and around us.

Turning my head from the tempest raging above, I remarked dryly, "What was that you were saying about having to leave?"

He looked at me sheepishly, but smiled—the first real smile I had seen on his face since the previous morning in the kitchen when he had come to visit me. It warmed my heart and ignited a tiny spark of hope. It was far, far too soon to tell if my Loki would come back to me, but I would take this small ember of faith.

"Well, I do still need to go at some point. I need to visit my fath—Odin," he said lowly, pursing his lips slightly. "The Odinsleep overtook quickly this time."

"What? The Allfather sleeps?" I yelped, sitting up.

"Oh, yes, my dove, I suppose that in the events of last night it never was mentioned. The queen fears it may be permanent this time," he said, turning his eyes down, but in an expression of what I could not tell.

"But, Loki," I stopped, heart filling with a mixture of excitement and shock. "That means…"

He cut me off with a grin. "Yes, my love. You are the consort to a king."

"Loki!" I yelled, punching him in the arm with all the force I could muster. Of course he didn't even flinch, but smiled at my attempt. "I don't care about me! How could you forget to mention that?"

"Well, love, once you had gotten done beating me to a pulp it slipped my mind. I was attempting to breathe with broken ribs," he said, running a finger over my bare breast.

"Oh, my gods, you are an idiot," I accused, jumping on him and taking his ability to breathe once more with my kiss.

He grunted in my mouth as I landed on him—obviously his ribs were not quite yet mended. I leaned back, starting to apologize, but leaning up, he silenced me with his own kiss as the lightning flashed around us. It was only in the back of my mind that I remarked that there was no thunder.

* * *

I helped him dress in regal finery, having more or less shoved the chambermaid from the room. He looked truly majestic, and my heart skipped a beat or two as he turned to leave his chambers, green cape swirling. As he left, he turned and implored me to visit him later that afternoon. Upon my promising, he smiled and left for the afternoon, and as the door shut I wondered idly what I should do. He had left me no reading, and I wasn't about to spend hours in his chambers with nothing for my hands or mind. Thinking that earning my living might be a good idea, I headed to the Garden Room. I spent a profitable three hours, weeding and harvesting some potatoes and coaxing a particularly stubborn iris back to health. My strength in magic spent, I washed and headed for the throne room.

As I approached the huge chamber, I immediately bowed my head as I passed the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. They paid me no mind, talking amongst themselves and in general looking impressively engaged in planning something. I heard Thor's name, and I was struck by the sudden remembrance that the prince had been their closest friend. I felt a twinge of a feeling I could not identify—perhaps regret? Annoyance at Loki for having been the catalyst to Thor's banishment? Unable to decide but still slightly uneasy, I quashed the sentiment and proceeded.

I stepped into the side door of the throne room, entering quietly into the shadows next to the throne. Loki heard the noise anyway, and without looking at me dismissed the guards. The two yellow-and-black-clad men standing at the foot of the throne bowed and departed past me out of the same door by which I had entered.

He turned his head to me, he smiled. I ran up the steps and curtseyed to him.

"Enough of that, Genevieve. You don't bow to me. You will, however, come sit with me," he said, grabbing my hand and leading me to the throne. He pulled me on to his lap and put both arms around me.

I leaned in for a kiss. "My lord is resplendent," I said after he had granted it, lowering my eyes in false demurring.

He laughed, a sparkling sound, and my heart leapt with joy. "My love, you have never been good with flattery. I am, however, elated that you are here. My previous…call…was of a rather unpleasant nature."

Suddenly remembering his previous visitors, I started to ask what had happened, but he put a hand to my mouth. "Genevieve, you will do my bidding."

I looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Since when are you my master again?" I teased.

"Since precisely this moment, my love. I command you to return to your quarters—or mine, it makes no difference—and to sleep. I know you were awake all night watching over me and frankly, love, you look exhausted. Go rest, and return to me in the Garden Room at moonrise. Is that understood?"

I rose from his lap, curtseyed, threw him a grin and said, "My lord commands it."

* * *

Loki was right. I was beyond fatigue as I collapsed onto his bed. I slept long and hard, and though I had feared it, no red-eyed monsters haunted my dreams. Upon awaking, with the sun setting out of his windows, I felt much better. I skipped to the Garden Room, wondering what he wanted me to do there.

I entered the giant green doors and immediately gasped.

The room was a storm of purple—the air was swirling with wisteria petals. It was beautiful, and I gasped as I turned in a circle. Upon my completing the rotation, I saw him through the fluttering petals.

"Loki, what is all this?" I said, moving to his side.

He sat, pulling me down with him and onto his lap. He immediately tucked a strand of hair behind my ear that had fallen loose. Looking at me tenderly, his touch moved to my face. Looking at him, it was as if the events of the other day had never taken place, and he was the same beautiful, mischievous, intolerable Loki I had come to love.

I opened my mouth to speak, to confess again my love for him, and inhaled a passing wisteria petal.

Coughing, tears streamed out of my eyes while Loki pounded me on the back, laughing. He raised a hand and the petals froze in midair. "Well, that wasn't quite the romantic scene I was hoping for," he said, once more smoothing the escaping lock of hair behind my ear.

I removed the sodden petal from my mouth. Throwing it aside and trying to clear my throat, I looked at him. "Yes," I croaked. "Wisteria. Brilliant. I told you they were parasites."

He smiled again and cupped his hand around my throat, gently, carefully. Closing my eyes at the cool-warm feeling, I felt the rawness subside. I cleared my throat experimentally, and found it entirely back to normal. "Thank you, love," I murmured.

"Genevieve, I have something for you," he said, hurriedly, nervously. I started in his lap, concerned at the sudden change in his demeanor.

"All right, I—"

He moved his hand in a motion similar to that of the day so many months ago when he had conjured me the white rose. In seconds there was a rectangular wooden box roughly the length of his hand lying in his palm.

My heart froze.

_But—_

Before I could say anything he had teased apart the silver clasp workings and opened it.

My breath caught. Inside, on a delicate gold chain, was a breathtaking, glittering, oval-cut emerald, set in an ornately worked series of flat golden spirals. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I had ever seen.

_A golden necklace, the traditional Asgardian symbol of betrothal._

I could not breathe. I met Loki's eyes, my own wide. He was looking at me with an expression I had never seen cross his face—anxiety.

"It was my mother's when she was betrothed," he whispered, touching my face. "Genevieve, I know I will never, ever be truly worthy of you but I was hopi—"

My heart unfreezing and suddenly filled with more excitement than I could contain, I cut him off. I met his lips with my own and threw my arms around his neck. Breaking off the kiss, I yelled, "Yes! Yes, yes a thousand times yes!"

The look of concern left his face, and he smiled, another beautiful, genuine smile. "I know it's a strange time, with Thor gone and the Allfather's state uncertain, but I thought that with my new…responsibilities…that I wanted to begin them with you at my side. As my queen. And, my mother wants to meet you," he added, laughing softly, and I noted with surprise another emotion I had never seen displayed by Loki—shyness.

My heart hammering, I nodded. He removed the necklace from the box and placed it around my neck. I lifted my hair, and he closed the clasp. Letting my hair fall, I felt its coolness against my neck. "It's beautiful, Loki," I gasped.

"Its beauty pales in comparison to she who wears it," he murmured, touching the chain at my collarbone. "Genevieve, I love you. You are goodness and light and everything I wish I was. I don't want to live without you."

I met his eyes again, and saw them glittering with tears, matching my own. I leaned into him and kissed him, softly, slowly, trying to convey everything I felt for him in it. Passion, love, heartbreak, worry, anxiety, hope. I tasted his tears in my mouth as they started rolling down. I felt him move his arm, and once more the wisteria began to fall around us. We stayed there, slowly getting covered in the soft purple petals, his tears intermingling with mine.

* * *

The next day I spent in a kind of happy daze, floating around the castle and whistling happily as I worked. Though I did not see Loki as much as I would have liked that day, we made up for the time that night. Lying in his arms, I looked up at him and noted a preoccupation in his eyes.

Leaning up on one elbow, I traced a finger on his lean chest. "What troubles you, my love?" I whispered.

He snapped back to reality, looking at me in a slightly shocked way, as if his reveries were so deep he had forgotten me there. Shaking his head in a small way, he said, "nothing, my sweet. Nothing that concerns you. I have a minor task I must accomplish and I was thinking on it, that is all." He smiled. "Genevieve, my mother is pestering me to bring you to her. Shall we do so tomrrow?" Smiling at me, he ran his fingers through my hair.

Though he had reassured me, I still felt a slight anxiety at his words. _A minor task?_

"Whatever you like," I replied, uneasy. Trying to shake off the feeling, I nestled back down on his chest.

* * *

At dawn the next day I departed his chambers, determined to get some work done before the appointed time to meet the queen. I worked for several hours, and then bathed thoroughly in the servants' quarters. I donned my finest frock, arranged my hair with a small calla lily in it, and fastened the golden betrothal necklace around my neck. I arrived at Loki's chambers and let myself in.

He was striding toward me, scepter in hand, looking angry.

"Loki, are you all—" I began.

"No, my love, I must leave you for a time. I will return," he said, brow furrowed.

"Can I help with—" I asked, alarmed, touching his arm as he thundered past.

"Genevieve, just stay here," he said. "I will return straightaway." He ran out the door, not even closing it as he left. Shocked at this but feeling that I should obey, I went to the door and closed it. The sun was setting, and the beautiful nebulae of the Asgardian sky were starting to materialize. I went to Loki's bookshelves and selected a leather-bound volume. Setting myself up on the balcony in the dying light, I conjured a small, glowing orb to read by.

The book held my attention for some time. I read into the night, sky darkening around me. I only looked up from time to time to shift position or wonder where Loki was.

All at once, a light in the distance. The Bifrost was being activated, its sphere turning and shining point directed toward space. _That's strange_, I thought, but not completely out of the ordinary. Jumping out of my chair to search out a blanket against the rapidly chilling night, I took one from Loki's—_our_, I thought—bed, and returned to my perch, nose once more in the book.

It was some time later that I looked up. The Bifrost had once more been activated, pointing once more to the abyss beyond the Asgardian Sea. This time, curiosity getting the best of me, I set down my book and walked over to the telescope Loki employed to watch the movements of the nebulae above us. We had spent many happy hours at its lens, he showing me stars and galaxies in various stages of life and death.

I turned the scope to the Bifrost and set my eye to the eyepiece.

_What in the gods' names!?_ Thor, standing in front of the Bifrost. He ran inside. I could not see past its boundaries, but flashes of light appeared, reflecting on the Rainbow Bridge.

_Thor? But he's banished to the Earth Realm. How—_

I had barely had time to think on this when there was another, larger flash of light and two figures flew out of the Bifrost. Spinning, one of them fell off the side of the Bridge, green cape whipping around him in the wind. I screamed.

_Loki!_

Thor knelt over him, extending a hand, but the Loki hanging there vanished in a golden glimmer, replaced with the real one that I hadn't seen behind Thor. He hit Thor again with the scepter, standing over him and laughing as dozens of Lokis formed around him. I put my hand to my mouth, horrified.

A strike of lightning, and the false Lokis disappeared, my Loki blasted back and landing hard on the Bridge, scepter bouncing on impact.

Thor approached Loki, standing over him. He put Mjölnir on my Loki, my love, pinning him there, and moving toward the Bifrost. Loki struggled and tried to move the hammer, but could not. I could see him yelling at Thor—what was going on? What treachery was Thor attempting?

Thor extended a hand and brought his Mjölnir to him. He started hammering the Rainbow Bridge, again and again as it cracked underneath him. _What in the name of the Allfather!?_ My eyes darted back to Loki, who had sat up, screaming at him. Thor raised Mjölnir, posed to hit the bridge once more, and in the same moment Loki rose and leaped at him, scepter extended.

I was blinded by the explosion. I screamed and stepped back, hands rubbing desperately at my eyes, begging their sight to be restored. After a few moments, it was and I pressed myself again to the eyepiece.

The Bifrost was gone. All I could see was the raging sea around the Bridge, and—Odin?!—standing at its edge, arm extended.

_Where is Loki?!,_ my heart shrieked, panic rising in my chest.

Odin raised his arm, and I saw Thor's blond head clear the edge of the Bridge. Relief washed through me. Surely Loki would follow. I waited, watching as Thor pulled himself up on the bridge, and then stood with his father, looking over the edge.

The panic rose again as I watched them—I watched them forever or a moment, praying, waiting, desperate. Breath halted in my chest. My heartbeat stopped.

_Please, Loki, where are you, pleasepleasepleaselokiwhereareyouohgodswhereareyou loki_

He did not appear.

Odin put his hand on Thor's shoulder and turned him toward the castle. Thor took a final look over the edge, and as he turned I saw him sweep a tear from his eye.

My scream was lost on the wind.

_pleasegodsnoilldoanythingpleasenopleasepleaseno_

I turned, sprinting through the room and out the door, past the startled guards. I ran and ran, tears streaming down my face as I pushed past servants, guards, surprised nobility. I raced into the main palace hallway, where the entryway was, and found a knot of people. Seeing the Allfather and Thor in the middle, I shoved guards and Warriors aside and faced them.

"Where is he?" I demanded, fear cracking my voice.

_pleaseohgodsletthisbealokitrickplease_

Odin looked at me, startled, and I saw the tears on his own face.

_ohgodsnonononononoplease_

He said nothing, and I yelled as loudly as I could, voice still breaking and my chest heaving, "WHERE IS HE?!"

Odin looked at me again, and I finally noticed Frigga next to him. I saw their red-rimmed eyes look at the glittering necklace at my collarbone, comprehension dawning on their faces. Frigga moved to me, and took me in her arms. "Genevieve," she whispered, holding a hand against my hair.

_OhgodsnoNONONONONONONONO—_

Shaking loose from her embrace, I screamed and screamed and screamed, screamed until the Warriors and Thor tried to hold me, screamed as they tried to contain me. I escaped their grasp, beating at Odin's armor until my hands bled screaming at him, screamed until I finally collapsed in the Allmother's arms, insensible to anything but pain.

_ohgodsnomydearestlovenopleaseno_

_Loki._


	7. Chapter 7

**_***Please note this is not the last chapter!****_**

_Is she going to be all right_

_I don't know my lady, she has suffered a terrible shock. She is quite insensible_

_What can we do_

_Nothing, my lord, she will come out of it or she won't_

* * *

Three days later, I opened my eyes. And immediately shut them again.

_Loki_

_Pain washed over me like a tidal wave. I lay back on a healing room bed, sobbing once more._

_Loki_

* * *

It took several days, but I was finally able to get out of bed. A grey-haired Healer, whose encouraged smile served nothing but my annoyance, helped me up by the elbow.

"There you are, dear. Come now, come wash up a bit," she said, leading me to the basin across the small room. Sunlight filtered through the white linen curtains, and the cleanliness of the room would have pleased me under any other circumstances. I leaned on the basin, and looked to my right. I froze.

Sitting on the counter was a crystal vase with six white roses.

I felt something snap inside me. I grabbed the vase and flung it across the room, narrowly missing the Healer. The vase shattered on impact with the wall, and the flowers fell to the floor, buried in shards.

I immediately went to the roses, kneeling down, crying, tears streaming from my eyes and blood blossoming on my hands as I stroked the flowers, begging for their forgiveness. I screamed again, and did not stop until a crew of Healers had entered the room and applied something to my skin, knocking me out instantly.

_ Loki_

The next time I woke, in my grogginess I realized there were bonds on my wrists, and there was a hand stroking my forehead.

Frigga.

I turned my face from her.

"Genevieve, sweet girl," she said, almost humming in her quietude. She continued to touch me, gently. The feeling was so pleasant, so maternal in a way I had never experienced with my own mother, that I finally relaxed into her caress.

She felt me do so, and spoke again.

"Genevieve, I am so sorry."

Feeling tears prickle in my eyes, I turned to meet her kind, beautiful face. I could not form words, however, feeling a lump in my throat threaten to strangle me.

She smiled at me, and tears rolled from the corners of my eyes. She gently moved her hands to my bonds and released them. Gathering me in her arms, she cried with me, my grief once again hitting me with the force of a hurricane.

* * *

I was released from the Healing Room four days later, once I had proven myself able to control my grief. Having nowhere to return to but my own room (I could not bring myself to return to Loki's chambers, though Frigga had encouraged me to do so), I walked slowly, insides numb, in the direction of the servants' quarters. Stopping at the Great Hall's entryway _(ohgodshesavedmehere), _fresh tears filling my eyes, I saw a feast taking place.

Rage suddenly filled me.

There they were. Sif, those ridiculous warriors, the nobility of the realm—there they sat, stuffing their stupid faces and laughing—_oh gods, they are laughing—_clapping each other on the back, roaring at what must be ridiculous, nonsensical stories, faces reddening with mead.

I stood there, shaking with anger. I was about to storm inside, to scream at them—how dare they laugh when he is gone?!

I had taken a step toward the door when Frigga caught my eye. She looked at me so tenderly, so forlornly, that I could not continue.

I fled for the safety of my quarters, and collapsed on my bed, tears watering my pillow. After some time, I looked above me at my shelf, and remembering, I stood up. Sitting on top of it was still the white rose Loki had given me…dried, but whole and perfect. I gathered it gently in my hands and kissed it softly.

_Oh gods, I miss you._

* * *

My dreams were haunted, a pale face vanishing into an abyss, over and over and over, until I could stand no more. I woke long before sunrise and dressed early to avoid the maids. Brushing an ever-present tear away, I fastened my betrothal necklace on. Though I dreaded doing so, fear creeping in every vein, I had decided I must return to the Garden Room.

I walked slowly through the pre-dawn, torchlit corridors. I entered the room.

The wisteria petals from our betrothal, still lying on the ground, had browned and crumpled. Sifting through the piles, I found one last, perfect, purple petal. I held it in my hand, heart wrenching in pain, and closed my eyes, trying to remember his face, every detail of my betrothal to him. Trying to freeze it in my memory so it would never, ever leave and so that when I was a thousand years old I could still remember the perfect joy of that day. Tears flowed freely once more, and I allowed the grief to overtake me until I had cried myself completely out.

When it was over I opened my eyes and twirled a finger over the petal. Using a small spell Loki had taught me, I set it in glass, preserving it forevermore.

* * *

I spent the next several days working in the Garden Room. Everywhere I looked there were memories of him—the dogwood copse, the bucket I used throw water in his face. The honeysuckle where I discovered he might not be all I had thought. A million more memories swam in and out of my mind as I weeded, pruned and set enchantments on the plants. I had become determined to preserve this room, no matter the cost to me. It was a piece of Loki's soul in blossom and branch, and I would not let it die as his father and brother had done to his body.

Thor. Odin. My anger burned bright at them. I intentionally started avoiding the Great Hall and the Throne Room so I did not have to curtsy or bow to them. I would not have done so anyway had I run into them elsewhere. They could have saved him—Odin was a god, the Allfather.

_He could have done something._

I gained a modicum of normalcy back. The maids and serving girls, having thoroughly exhausted the subject of Loki and I while he lived and having been expressly forbidden to mention him in my hearing by the Healers, tried to avoid my eyes when I chanced to see them. I hadn't cared for a long time what they said, but now I took perverse pleasure in looking them in the eyes and making them look away. Oftentimes I saw their eyes stray to my neck, where his necklace still glinted at my throat, and always would.

About a week after I had been released from the Healing Room, I received a summons to the throne room. This brought no anxiety to me at all—I was too numb for that, and too enraged at the Allfather.

I cleaned up and walked to the Throne Room. Stopping for a moment to touch my necklace, which had become something of a talisman to me, I entered.

I winced internally as I saw the throne. There I had sat with him…he was so beautiful in his finery….

I was snapped out of my reverie by the Allfather's voice.

"Approach, Genevieve," he said in a solemn voice.

I did so, and averted my eyes as I stood before him.

_I will not bow to you. _

If Odin noticed, he didn't remark on my serious breach of servant etiquette. He instead began to speak in a fatherly (I felt my stomach heave in nausea) tone.

"Genevieve, I need to ask you something, and you will answer me truthfully. Do you understand?"

"I do, my lord," I responded, keeping my eyes turned away but rolling them internally. Did he think I was stupid?

"Did you have any knowledge of Loki's plans to destroy Jotunheim?" he asked, keeping the fatherly tone.

My head snapped up, though I kept my eyes to the side.

_What?_

_Ah, I see what you're doing. You're looking for someone to blame, since the one at true fault sits on your throne. _

"No, I did not, my lord," I answered truthfully. The fact that he had tried to do so was conveyed to me by Frigga in the Healing Room the day she had visited me. I had been shocked at first, but turned the shock to anger at Odin. The fault in all this was his, and his alone. Anything Loki had done was to please him.

"Genevieve, you are aware that we have…methods…for verifying your answers, are you not?"

I laughed at him, laughed at the Allfather, though still my eyes would not meet his face. "Torture, my lord? I thought your society above such barbarisms."

I heard him intake his breath sharply. I waited, not caring what happened to me. My daring did not affect my state of mind whatsoever—I stood there, calm as the Asgardian Sea.

It took a moment, but he gathered his composure and attacked.

"I see you still wear his betrothal necklace. Why?" he asked, annoyance coloring the fatherly tone, replacing it with ugliness.

At this I did finally raise my eyes to his one. He looked slightly shocked as I did so, for I was sure he could see the anger and hatred I had for him written there, plain as day.

"I wear it as a token of a boy who was so broken that even my love could not save him, _my lord_," I spat, putting the full force of my rage and scorn in the last two words, mocking him.

He moved suddenly. I was sure I was about to be jailed, but I kept my eyes locked with his. A tense moment passed, and Frigga broke its spell by lifting a gentle hand to Odin's forearm. Placing it there, she looked at him. He leaned back, though I could tell it angered him to do so.

"Genevieve, there is one more thing," she said, imploring, forgiving.

"Yes, my lady?" I answered her politely, feeling pleasure in the irritation this must have caused Odin.

"Loki" (a pain in my chest at his name) had planned to do something for you before he…" she stopped, looking down. I stood there, defiant, tears prickling in my own eyes.

_I will not grieve in front of you, Odin. _

Calming herself, she continued. "He spoke often to me of the work you have done in his Garden Room. With his passing I wish the work to continue, for he would have wanted it so. One of the last things he told me is that he wanted to promote you to head groundskeeper of the Castle's interior, and especially charged with the Garden Room."

I looked at Frigga, confusion blossoming in my chest. Head groundskeeper?

_But that would mean…_

"Kneel, Genevieve, and rise a Lady of Asgard," she smiled, eyes sparkling with tears, as Odin sat back, looking shocked.

Joy filling my veins, I did so.

_A Lady._

Odin spoke again, tone dangerous, but I was too elated—with the Ladyship he could no longer touch me. I looked him square in the eyes, a small smirk forming on my lips.

"You may take your leave, Lady Genevieve."

I spun on my heel and hurried out of the Throne Room. I paused right outside the door, leaning against the wall, trying to catch my breath.

Frigga moved quietly out of the door and came beside me.

"My lady," I said, bowing my head.

"No, no more of that, Genevieve. 'My lady' will suffice," she smiled, putting a finger to my chin and raising it. The gesture struck me inside, hurting, as I remembered Loki doing the same so many times.

"But my lady, won't you—"

"Get in trouble with the Allfather? He will sulk, certainly, but the groundskeeping staff is under my guardianship, and I choose to honor Loki's final wish for you," she said, smile still lighting her beautiful features. "He loved you so much, Genevieve."

I closed my eyes, not bothering to stem the flow of tears. She gathered me again in her arms, and I smelled her scent of jasmine. She held me while I wept, and once I was done, leaned me back, hands still on my shoulders. "I would very much have liked to have you as a daughter. You remind me of me in my younger days—I was rather…forward…myself," she said, laughing.

I hugged her again, wiping my tears on the handkerchief she gave me. At her request, I promised to visit her soon, and went back to my quarters, head spinning.

* * *

I decided to stay where I was quartered for the moment. Ladyship or not, I could not afford to live anywhere else until I had been paid as a Head Groundskeeper for a time. Gold was needed to move, and so to the astonishment of my fellow servants, I remained with them. I had a difficult time adjusting to them calling me 'Lady Genevieve' and curtsying when they saw me. I tried to get them to stop, but the etiquette was branded in them, and my pleas were to no avail. Lady Edith offered to let me move in to her spacious quarters in the castle until I could purchase my own, but I declined. I needed to earn this completely, not just ride on the coattails of Loki's last wish. I toiled as hard as I could, keeping the Garden Room to its standard of glory, and worked to ensure the rest of the castle's greenery was kept healthy and beautiful. The staff who worked under me were obedient and good workers, and everything under my touch thrived.

Upon my first payment as Head Groundskeeper, I took leave for a day, thinking to pay my mother a long-overdue visit, and turn my gold into the trust that held it for me.

I arrived at the trust and told the banker my name. He shuffled through some papers, searching for my account information, and, finding it, looked up at me sharply.

"This way, my Lady," he said, gesturing to a hallway behind him.

This treatment puzzled me, as I had told no one of the Ladyship, and I was certain the court didn't send out regular notices about servants who had been promoted to such. I followed him, though, thinking there was some error in the paperwork.

He stopped at a vault and inserted a key. Unlocking it, he stepped back, and opened the door.

The room was as big as mine in the servants' quarters, and it was almost painful to look at—dazzling, for it was filled with gold, silver—piles and small mountains of it. Diamonds and rubies glittered here and there, other jewels winking green, pink, orange from each corner.

"There must be a mistake, sir," I said, turning to the banker with a look of complete confusion.

He swiped a hand across his sweaty brow, jowls quivering. "No, my lady. This is your vault," he said, and extracted a small envelope from his waistcoat pocket. He handed it to me, and took his leave. As I had nowhere else to go, I entered the vault and opened the envelope. I froze as I recognized his handwriting.

_Loki._

_"Dearest, sweetest Genevieve,_

_You are a prideful creature; a stubborn and willful little mouse. I know you would never accept this treasure with me living, even after we wed, quoting some noble nonsense to me that it wasn't yours for the taking, that you weren't wedding me for treasure, et cetera. Incensing, beautiful thing that you are, I love you for that. _

_If you do have this missive in your perfect hand, it means that I have not succeeded in my venture to bring peace to the realm. You may feel free to analyze the situation and believe I attempted it to prove my worthiness to my father—you would be correct. That does not change the fact in so doing I have left you. I am so sorry. So, so sorry._

_Genevieve, I love you. I always will. No matter what. I want you to be taken care of, and if it can't be by my hand this will have to do. I beg your forgiveness for leaving you and pray that someday, somehow, I may be reunited with you. But for now, please, if only once in your stubborn life, accept my last gift to you. _

_I will love you forever, little mouse."_

I lowered my hand, tears flowing freely. I looked around at our treasure, and hiccupped as the angry tears racked my body.

_Damn him, damn him if he knew he might not return_.

I left the trust as quickly as I could and returned to the palace. I ran to the Garden Room—the only place I knew I would be left well and truly alone, and I gave myself over to sorrow.

I stayed there the rest of the day and night. I wept until I could weep no more, for him, for me. For us. For the life we might have had, for the sorrow he carried always in his breast that I though I tried with all I had I could not cure.

_For my beloved Loki. _


	8. Chapter 8

**There will be another chapter :)**

Walking back into our chambers from the glorious summer sunshine, I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the darkened, cool room. The garden outside our door was flourishing, and I was covered head to toe in dirt, carrying an armful of carrots of all colors. The sun had kissed my pale skin rather too hard—I could feel the skin tightening. Ah well. A healing spell would sort that.

I barely had time to venture far into the room when something ran into my legs. Hard. That small something began to wail, and I dropped the carrots on a nearby table as I bent to lift him up. Holding him to my shoulder, I shushed and rocked him until he calmed and found solace in the sucking of his thumb. I caressed his mop of curly black hair and sung to him softly, rocking all the while, and in a few minutes I knew he was asleep by the small patch of drool that I could feel forming on my shoulder.

I moved gently to the child's room, and, placing him in his small bed, I stepped back and admired him. Beautiful child that he was, he would someday rule Asgard. But for now, he was a sleeping tyrant, thumb still in mouth and black curls slightly damp against his pale face from crying.

I backed out of the room, closing the door softly. Suddenly, from behind me there was a hand over my mouth and a body pressed to mine.

I started, but did not scream, which was precisely why he had done it.

Turning and removing his hand with my own, I said, "Thank you. I just got him down."

He laughed softly and kissed me on the nose. "You're so skittish, my love."

"And filthy," I observed, brushing some dirt off his ceremonial armor that my aprons had left there.

Taking my hand, he led me to the large loveseat in our common area. He sat down and pulled me on his lap. "How has your day been?" he asked, running a cool finger over my pink cheeks, healing them instantly. I sighed at the sensation.

"Nice, actually. I got the carrots harvested, but I need some help with this pepper bush that refuses to bear."

"I'll sort it later. For now I want to sit here and look at the beauty that is you," he said, seductive growl creeping into his voice.

"Flatterer," I replied, smiling. I kissed him softly and leaned into him, breathing in his coolness, his air of royalty, the mischievousness that hid in him but occasionally came out to play.

I curled in his arms, and we stayed there, silent, merely relishing being together in the cool breeze that twirled the white linen curtains and tendrils of his black hair.

* * *

I awoke with a start, eyes flying open.

_Oh gods, why?_

I lay in my bed; alone, cold. I shut my eyes tight and tried to hold on to the perfect happiness of the dream, but it was sliding away as the tear slid down my cheek.

_That same damn dream. Why? _

It danced like ghosts in my head, that dream. It would appear just as I was starting to feel like I could live a normal life again—when I was beginning to experience a glimmer of emotion other than sorrow or rage. It would come and torture me, holding hostage before me the life we could have had—that we would have had save for Odin's treachery.

The vision would then slip away, leaving me broken as I ever was after his death. The reality of it was tantalizing—the sense of the hot breath of his child on my shoulder pricked fresh tears to my eyes. I could feel the boy there now, his dense weight on me, warm, trusting, sweet. I ached inside for that child, the one who could never be. Not now.

_The kiss…._I closed my eyes and put my hand to my lips in a foolish gesture of wanting to feel the pressure there one more time before the vision left.

For what misdeed I atoned by being punished with this dream I knew not, but in hating it I didn't want it to vanish. It reshattered my heart at each presentation of itself, mocking, laughing, but giving me one more glimpse of my beloved.

_Gods, I miss you. _

I pulled the covers over my head and wept.

* * *

It had been a year and a half since Loki's death…six seasons of planting, growth, harvest. Of suns and moons and nebulae-lit nights, of winter tempests and summer zephyrs that he had not experienced with me. Though I tried not to do it, as it did nothing but pain me, I could not help but think of him with each new advent. When the cherry trees burst into blossom around the city, when the first snowflakes of the season touched my face, when the sunset blazed the evening sky with a purple-orange hue I had never before seen—he was always there in the back of my mind, comforting but injuring me with his presence. When a new plant I attempted growing came to bear fruit, I had actually looked up in joy, expecting to see his smiling emerald eyes looking down at me. Remembering at once that I would see those eyes no more, my joy fled, and I was left once more empty, bereft of all save despair.

In the end I had accepted Loki's final gift of treasure to me, but did so only to ensure I could keep my place at the palace and to engage in what I considered to be subversive acts toward Odin. I petitioned Frigga to have Loki's books moved to my new, spacious chambers inside the palace, and she granted my request straightaway. I spent my nights poring over the dusty leather tomes—I did not sleep much anymore, and when I did sleep all I experienced were nightmares or the torturous golden vision of him and our child.

I took the gifts of magic he had given me and honed them, improved them with my study until I could glean no more from the books. I sought out a tutor. The wizened old man I found was well paid for his tutelage and silence about my education—I was not certain why, but I did not want Odin aware of my activities.

I toiled and labored for over a year, forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep. I grew angular, sharp, eyes wary and rimmed with circles, but I did not care. In thirteen months' time of ceaseless labor, I had reached the limit of all he could teach me. Leaning back in his old armchair and wiping his sweaty brow with his sleeve, he pronounced me a master of magic.

"Genevieve," he said, eyes crinkling with kindness. "He would have been proud of you."

* * *

As a Lady in the kingdom now, I had the miserable job of attending court from time to time. Almost immediately after I had been given the Ladyship, I began receiving invitations to dinners, balls, and other nonsense of that sort. At first the nobility was interested in me: how a groundskeeper had come to be numbered among them. Wanting in my perverse grief to shock them, I told them my whole story, from indoor maid to betrothed of the younger, troubled prince of Asgard who had died far before his time. Their eyes would dart to my necklace, and they would excuse themselves uncomfortably, citing having just seen Lord and Lady Such-and-Such. I began to enjoy this bit of wickedness, and thought to myself that Loki would have been proud of that as well.

I soon learned, however, that this behavior was earning me no points at court, and as I wanted to stay close to Odin, I adopted a mask of civility with the nobility. The only one who did not seem to believe my act was the king—but then I never looked at him without scathing hatred. I knew from his expression he did not trust me, and a small worm of delight crawled its way through me at each time he glanced my way with a pained expression. I was a physical reminder to him of how he had betrayed his son, and I took joy in bringing that to mind with my mere presence. Any way I could subtly subvert him, I planned on doing so. He would pay, one way or another, for what he had done to Loki.

As I had been entrusted with the palace's plants and the Garden Room as Loki's last wish, I ensured that that wish was honored. The castle's interior never wanted for large, fresh and beautiful arrangements of flowers, and the kitchens found all the fruit and vegetable they required and then some. Though exceedingly busy managing the interior grounds and all the keepers I was charged with, I spent some of every day in the Garden Room, finding in it, as my beloved did, some solace with the plants there. Though internally I did not thrive, the Room did, and that was enough for me.

For myself, I managed as best I could. It seemed that the pain was always lurking behind some bush, some dark corner; I would inadvertently wander into it and be struck again as if his death had just happened. I learned in time to let this happen when it did—as it always would— to allow myself to drown in the grief until it lay dormant, hiding, yet again. I could do little else. Loki haunted me everywhere I looked, every thought I had. When the grief didn't take me over, he was always there, behind me, beside me, around me.

* * *

This spring morning, the memory of the dream still fresh on my psyche, I rose and opened my curtains. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, again, and I marveled at the fact it was the second time they had done so since Loki left me. Closing my eyes briefly, I leaned my head against the morning-cool of the window.

The chambermaid dressed me in a satin frock, chosen specifically and made from a lush emerald green and trimmed with gold. Of course, it was a tribute to Loki, and after the dream, I needed it today. The heavy, sweating maid plaited my hair and placed there the small circlet of gold I was entitled to wear as a member of the nobility, and fastened on my betrothal necklace, which had never for a day left its place of honor at my collarbone. I placed a hand to it, adjusting it, and breathed out.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. _

"Beautiful, my lady," the maid said, smiling at me. I did not return the smile.

* * *

I walked through the palace corridors, all but empty this morning—everyone was no doubt outside, enjoying the cherry blossoms and cool/warm breezes of spring in Asgard. The sunlight shone through the windows in pillars, and the first one I walked through reminded me again painfully of the dream. My thoughts idle, I tried the door to my offices, and finding it unlocked, entered.

Sarah, my tiny, bird-like, freckled and overeager slip of an assistant was already at her desk, writing something or another. Hearing my entrance, she looked up eagerly, excitement pouring off her. Her enthusiasm was irritating in the extreme, but she had proven herself a competent and intelligent servant, so in an effort to not wring her neck, I frequently just tuned her out.

"Good morning, my lady," she chirped, bouncing to her feet and curtseying, reddish-blonde hair golden in the sunlight behind her.

"Good morning, Sarah," I replied, wearily wondering if I had any long or involved errand I could send her on to get her out of my presence this morning. Arriving at nothing, I sighed and resigned myself to her chatter.

* * *

The next day, everything changed.

Sarah and I were working calmly on missives directed to the farmers outside the city with whom the palace did custom from time to time. She was mercifully quiet for once, and I was almost starting to enjoy the peace in the office. Leaning back, I stretched and rubbed the bridge of my nose. Despite the quietude, I was getting a headache.

And then, shouts, blasts. Screaming.

Dropping my pen, I frowned. Telling Sarah to stay where she was, I opened the door of the office, only to see guards running past in their black and gold blurs. Several ladies and lords, who worked in the neighboring offices to mine, were whispering, clutching one another and crying.

"Lady Genevieve," one older, portly lord addressed me, red-faced and teary.

"What is happening?"

"It's terrible, Genevieve," wailed one of the ladies. I had never taken the time to learn her name, and, somewhat shocked by her response, opened my mouth to ask again.

A hand grabbed my elbow. Lady Edith.

Her grey eyes bored into mine, and to my surprise I saw tears in hers as well. I looked at her curiously, and she shook her head in response.

"The queen, Genevieve. She's dead."

* * *

That night, I returned to my chambers, still in shock. The Lady Frigga, soft and gentle, but powerful Frigga, had been murdered. She who had been more a mother to me than my own had ever been— who would have been my mother had I been allowed to wed her son—she was gone. Among my fellow nobles there had been whispers of a shadowy force—Dark Elves, they called them—who had broken into the palace. She had fought them bravely, like the heroine she was, but was overcome.

Locking my door, I collapsed on my chaise-longue, a new sorrow racking my breast. I fingered her necklace at my collarbone, and dissolved into tears. Her kindnesses to me, her honoring of Loki's wishes, were what had ensured my future in Asgard, even without her son by my side. She had stepped between Odin and I to do so.

_Loki, now Frigga. _

I would honor her as I could. Though we had been instructed to remain in our chambers by the head of the Royal Guard, I feared nothing, and cast a small glamour upon myself to ensure that I was not detected. I ran to the Garden Room to prepare.

* * *

The memorials were held two days later. The day dawned bright and cool, almost an insult to the grief of the palace and populace. I had been up since before dawn finalizing details, and was exhausted. My staff and I had been engaged almost around the clock with preparations— dozens of large arrangements, flowers for the pyre, a bouquet for her beautiful hands that I made myself, tears sliding onto the lilies as I did.

Instead of taking my place with the nobles to watch the procession pass from the palace to the Sea, where her pyre would burn, I rushed to a balcony several levels up. As the procession started wending its way through the courtyard, I looked to the baskets of the millions of petals I had harvested from the blossoms and flowering trees of the Garden Room. Concentrating my magic, I raised my hands and lifted them. Whispering lowly, I instructed the petals with a spell to fall over the crowd and procession. I waved a hand, and they began to descend, swirling, as they did the day of my betrothal.

In groups and one by one, the crowd started noticing the petals as they began to slowly rain down on them. They looked up in wonder, wiping tears, then turning their eyes back to their beautiful queen as she passed by. She could have been slumbering. The petals fell around her, the whole scene a mournful riot of flower, grieving the sweetest soul to ever rule Asgard.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

* * *

Three days later, I was back in my office. The day was a stormy one, and this time my mood matched the weather. Working once more on farming missives, I was attempting to ignore Sarah, who was going on and on about the funeral. Fixing a clasp on my cloak that had torn loose, her nimble fingers worked as her mouth did—unceasingly.

"And, my lady, my father said the prince wept at discovering that the queen had passed. I can't believe it, myself."

I stopped my writing momentarily to look at her in irritation. Unable to resist this morning an opportunity to perhaps shut her up by pointing out her stupidity, I asked, not hiding my exasperation, "Sarah, why would you be surprised at the prince weeping for his mother's death?"

"Well, he's a monster, isn't he?" she observed, holding out my newly mended cloak for inspection.

"For goodness' sake, child, what in the name of the gods are you talking about?"

"The prince—you know, the one they keep in the dungeons. Loki."

I stood up so quickly that I upset my bottle of ink. I strode over to the girl, who was looking quite alarmed now, and stood her up, shaking her.

"Sarah, what kind of joke is this? Why do you speak that name?" I said, rage filling my voice.

"My lady," she gasped, almost weeping, "I do not jest. My father is a guard in the dungeons and often speaks of the prince. I thought everyone knew he was returned."

I let go of her immediately, my chest suddenly filled with a feeling I had not experienced in eighteen months' time.

Joy. Pure, weeping, desperate joy.

_Ohgodslokiisitreallyyou?!_

And then another feeling surpassed the sudden elation. One that my body knew better after all this time, and was comfortable with. Fury.

_Odin_, I seethed.

Leaving my poor assistant trembling in her seat, I grabbed the cloak from her hands and threw it around myself. Slamming the door of my office, I ran to the Throne Room, where I knew his smug, condescending face could be found at this time of day.

Arriving, I entered, not waiting to be bidden. I walked past the guards and stood before the throne, as I had all those months ago, not curtseying, and this time meeting him straight in the eye.

"Why?" I spat.

"Lady Genevieve," he said, voice tired.

I had no pity for his grief. He had put me through too much, and now this—not telling me Loki was returned was akin to lying, and hatred coursed through every vein. It was all I could do to not slay him where he sat. I could have.

_It would be so easy_, I thought, fingers tightening.

"Why did you lie, Odin?" I asked, teeth clenched against the magic rising in me that wished him harm. My lack of respect for the king caused a gasp from some nobles nearby in the room. I did not care.

He leaned forward, looking exhausted. "Genevieve," he said, "You must understand something."

"I understand everything. You kept me from him. Why?" I roared, scaring those same nobles out of  
the room. The guards approached me with spears raised, but Odin raised a hand and dismissed them.

"Genevieve, please come sit with me," he said, taking on an almost begging tone. I did not believe it—I had known him far too long now for this.

"I will not. You will answer me," I screeched, the magic almost overwhelming now.

"Please," he said, quietly. I was forcibly reminded of his younger son—the tone was almost the same.

With a sudden release, the magic subsided. Tears filled my eyes instead, and, acquiescing, I walked up the steps to his side. At his gesture, I sat where the queen had, in all her beauty.

"He returned a half a year ago," he said, looking down. _Wait, was he __ashamed?_

"Genevieve," he said, once more meeting my eye with his fatigued one. "The reason we did not tell you is that we estimated that it was in your best interest. Loki is—"

I cut him off, rage rising again. "That was not your determination to make," I said, choked.

"You don't understand, dear girl," he responded, shaking his head. It was the first time he ever used anything other than my name or title, and it stopped me in my tracks in confusion. "Loki is not as he was. His mind is greatly troubled."

Rage again. "Of course it is. You let him die!" I spat again, trying to control the instinct to injure him.

"No, Genevieve." Although I shuddered internally when he did it, he took my hand. He proceeded to tell me of Loki's activities after his supposed death, of how he amassed an army and tried to take possession of the Earth Realm, killing—no, murdering—thousands in the attempt. He had been brought home by Thor and quietly sentenced to life imprisonment.

I could barely contain myself from screaming. "So he has been here, rotting in a cell, thinking I didn't care about him?"

"Genevieve, you have to know we did it for you. He is dangerous now, broken—"

"He was broken before, because of you!" I shrieked, rising, uncontrollable anger now starting to make the throne he sat on shake. I tried to stop it, but could not control myself any longer. "Anything he ever did was to impress you, to get your attention!"

Odin looked up at me, surprised. Whether by my accusation or the fact he now knew I had magical abilities, I didn't know. It didn't matter. Loki was alive, here, in the palace, wasting away in a cell in the dungeons, and thought I no longer loved him.

_Oh gods, oh gods._

He put a hand out, and the trembling stopped. I expected the full fury of his wrath, but was shocked to see him simply put a hand to his forehead.

"Genevieve, you must swear that you will not seek him out. It is for the best. Will you swear?"

Taken aback by this response, I looked at him. He raised his head, and asked again.

I had no choice. I swore to his face I would not find my love.

He dismissed me, and I left, both of us knowing I had no intention of keeping my vow.


	9. Chapter 9

Ok, guys, here it is. Thank you so much to all who have been here for all of this, and please know what an honor for me it has been to tell you this little bit of my soul. It was a serious exercise in character examination for me, and the Loki portrayed here is the one I believe him to be, gathered from what I have read and researched. Of course, this Loki could be the one I _**want**_ him to be. Either way, please know it has been a pleasure for me to explore him, and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Thank you so so much.

Again please note I have based where we go after the events of The Avengers on several theories that I am accepting as headcanon. They are found here andhere. I give full credit to those bloggers, for they are genius. Please note that because of this there may be some spoilers for The Dark Word (we'll know soon enough, I guess). And a final huge thank you to just-the-fics-maam, who helped this chapter write itself with her amazing advice. She is a brilliant writer, and I highly recommend that you check out her work.

Warnings: possible triggers for violence and downright codependency, but they did what they wanted here. I just wrote it.

* * *

Shaking with fury, I returned to my office, sending the still-terrified Sarah home, but not before I made her tell me how to get to the dungeons. I began that afternoon to plot my invasion. A small nagging in the back of my brain invaded my dreams that night—a nightmare, really: Loki standing over a pile of corpses, laughing, exulting. I awoke from the dream in a sweat, swearing in fear, but I tried to push back Odin's words about Loki's being a murderer.

_Not my Loki. _

I prowled the area for several days, observing the comings and goings of the guards, the patterns of the servants who did this or that. Odin, as I had suspected, did not trust me and set several guards to watch my movements. This posed no problem—he had sorely underestimated my ability in magic. I waved a hand and the guards fell into a stupor—they would have fabricated memories of monitoring me, and I could proceed with my plans unmolested.

_Your continual habit of underestimation will be your undoing, old man._

The night I was to make my attempt, I fastened on my traveling cloak, not entirely knowing why. My plan of a glamour would not permit me to be seen, but I felt safer somehow with the cloak's warm weight on me.

I dispatched the guards set at my door with no problems, hoping that wherever he was, Odin could see me rolling my eyes at him. I cast my glamour, rendering even my shadow invisible, and moved to the dungeons.

I had not yet been inside, but by now I knew the ornate, huge oak doors. Of course, the guards stationed there were given the same treatment as the others. They had just changed shift, and I (and hopefully Loki) would be left alone until morning. Raising a hand, I forced the locks on the doors and it did my bidding, opening wide. I ducked inside.

I was at the end of a long hallway of cells. They lined both walls, with glowing golden lattice of magic on each pane of glass. I stopped to examine an uninhabited cell, noting the strong magic imbuing it. I ran a finger along the pane, and the magic told me its secrets. This one would have been easy for a sorcerer to escape from, but I knew probably every spell caster in the city (except myself, of course) had probably been called upon to reinforce the one that would hold Loki.

I passed cell after cell, ignoring each with its contents, heart racing. I approached the end of the hallway, and stopped in the shadows.

There were three guards stationed in front of the cell at the end of the corridor, sitting around a large, lit, iron brazier, laughing and slapping their thighs at some no doubt bawdy tale.

_That must be his cell._ There is no one else in Asgard who could possibly call for a coterie of three guards in addition to the magic of the cell that held him. Ignoring the raucous laughter going on near the brazier, I remained in the shadow of an ornately carved, huge stone pillar. Almost afraid to do so but heart bursting, I took a deep breath and turned toward his cell.

His back was to me—he was rather broader in the shoulder, taller, than when he was mine. His raven hair was longer, and it hung loose around his face. Turning his head at the sound of the guards once more exploding in laughter, I saw irritation in his profile. He clenched his hands and started to pace the cell.

_Oh gods, he even moves differently_.

He _prowled_, head slightly lowered, a feral cat whose energy was only contained for show. I could feel his power almost radiating off him in waves—it had grown, and I knew the magic-saturated glass of the cell was only barely containing him. He knew it as well—as he paced he touched his fingertips to the glass of the cell, exploring the spells, unraveling their mysteries, calling them to do his will.

One spell or two broken, and he could be out.

However, the magic seemed to not be responding to his touch. More irritation touched his features, and I saw a muscle ripple in his jaw.

I gasped, suddenly aware I had forgotten to breathe. The sound made one guard turn his head in my direction, but my glamour was intact, and he seemed to think he had imagined it, because he turned his head back to his fellows. Letting out my breath for a second time, this time quietly, I turned my eyes back to Loki.

He was looking directly at me, and his eyes sent ice through my veins.

There was none of the twinkle, the mischief, the warmth, even the desperate spring that used to reside there. They were vanished from the emerald, replaced with calculating winter—a frozen wasteland.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

He smiled, a sardonic half-smile that was not reflected in his eyes, which he had narrowed. The look, so evil on a face that had formerly been so open—pained often, yes, but never malevolent—brought immediate tears to my eyes and I wildly wondered if Odin's assertion of murder might not be truthful.

_No, gods, no. Not my Loki._

_But he isn't my Loki anymore._

He stood stock still, staring at me, and I decided to emerge from the tenebrous corner I had ensconced myself in. His eyes still on me, I moved to the guards, now deep in conversation, and waved a quiet hand. As one, they straightened, eyes blankly reflecting the light from the brazier.

Now safe, I removed the glamour from myself, pulled my hood down, and turned to face him.

"Ah, we have grown in power, sweetling," he growled, tipping his head in acknowledgment.

I answered carefully, closely, though his usage of the sobriquet made my heart sink further. "As have you."

"Finally come to visit the bird in his golden cage, then, are we?" He continued, tone mocking. "Has the lady had a change of heart regarding the bird?" He put an ugly emphasis on the word lady, turning it shameful, dirty. I immediately felt the stab, and knew what he must be thinking.

"Loki, I—"

He slammed into the glass, fist rattling even its magical reinforcements. "You common whore!" he roared, and if he hadn't been behind that glass I would have despaired for my life. "I gave you that circlet you wear and your title, _my lady_," he seethed, dropping his voice to that dangerous whisper that had always thrilled but terrified me. "After all this time, you come now. What more do you want? You were almost a queen. Are you again purchasing that ambition with your flesh?" he spat, face blazing.

_Oh gods, he thinks I'm here for Odin._

The look of disgust that crossed my face was rewarded with a hollow snicker. He turned from me and paced away. Settling on the bed, he looked at me again, hate scathing his glare.

_Please, please just talk to me._

Almost as though another hand guided my own, I unclasped my cloak and let it fall to the floor. He looked me over ravenously, but I saw the tiniest hint of surprise cross his features when his eyes lighted on his betrothal necklace. The emotion vanished instantly, and he sat back, mask of cold haughtiness now in place.

I chanced to speak. "Loki," I whispered. "Please, just let me talk." My hand moved unconsciously to my necklace. His eyes followed the movement, and he glared at me, but did not speak.

I touched my fingertips to the glass. The enchantments sealing Loki in were legion—complicated, entwined one with the other in layers and weaves that I could never unravel. At the base of them were several spells instructing the glass to not respond to his magic. It was elegant spellwork, and had my soul not been breaking in two I could have appreciated it for its intricacy.

"Yes, sweetling," he spoke, sarcasm in his voice. "It will keep me in, but if you choose it won't keep you out."

Knowing full well what could happen if I entered, I took a deep breath and walked through the glass.

Immediately his hand was at my throat, gripping painfully. "How is that, little whore? Ready to get what you deserve from the monster?" he yelled, no longer bothering to contain his fury. He closed his fingers, starting to cut off my supply of air. I had expected this, and I was prepared, fighting back the instinctual magic that threatened to throw him off, to injure him. I stayed still, stars beginning to dance in front of my eyes. Lifting my head what Iittle I could, I looked at him. I tried to convey everything I still felt for him in the gaze—fear, sadness, anger, and deep, fathomless love.

He met my eyes, rage still filling his own. I was about to lose consciousness from trying to restrain the magic and lack of air. A fuzzy, lazy amazement flitted through my brain that he may actually kill me, but I was too far gone for the thought to cause me any fear.

He compressed my neck a moment more, and then, gritting his teeth, threw me down violently, releasing me. I gasped, coughing, curled in a ball, trying to breathe. Calling what little magic I could, I ran a hand over my throat, and felt the coolness of the healing soothe the pain, repairing the damage to my windpipe.

Still wheezing slightly, I raised my head and looked at him. He had retreated once more to the bed.

"What do you want, Genevieve?" he said wearily, rubbing his eyes with head down.

I rose and took a tentative step toward him. "Loki, I didn't know you were here."

He shook his head, locks of gleaming hair falling into his face. "Lying whore. Now that my mother is gone, you're Odin's now, I assume?"

I felt a sudden rage fill my person, and the magic acted of its own accord. It slammed him against the wall of the cell as I flew at him over the bed and slapped his face with all the power I possessed. Of course it did nothing to injure him, but he looked up at me in shock, the first emotion in his eyes I recognized from my Loki. It enraged me further.

"How dare you! I died the day you did!" I screamed. I pulled back from him, sitting on the edge of the bed, no longer able to control myself. I collapsed in tears, sobbing.

"But the circlet." His voice from behind me. I noted numbly it had lost some of its venom, but the continued implication filled me with wrath once more.

I turned and slapped him again. "Do you think I could betray you with _him? _With_anyone_?" I rasped, voice rising once more. "I took the Ladyship that _your mother_offered me and used it to remind him every single day of what he had done to you!" Grabbing the betrothal necklace, I shouted as much as I could with my ravaged voice. "I was always yours, Loki! Always! I have always been, and even if what they tell me is true, I will always be!"

Though I doubted it before, as I said it, I knew it was true. No matter what he had done—every sin he had committed—it had all been done in the name of the careless destruction that had been wrought upon him. He was damaged, perhaps irreparably so, and even if he no longer wanted me, I would always be his. Until the day I died.

I sat there, chest heaving, eyes blazing, glaring at him as he processed my words. He looked down, eyes troubled, and whispered, "But why?"

"Why did they not tell me? Odin told me that they had done it to keep me safe. Loki, had I known you were here, no force in the Nine Realms would have kept me from you."

Head still down, that same muscle in his jaw twitched again. I could see him considering, weighing what I had said. His aura of power had diminished, drained somehow. He sat forward on the bed and raised his head. He refused to meet my eyes.

"Genevieve, I have done terrible things."

"I know, Loki. Odin told me—"

"No," he cut me off. "You don't understand."

"Then help me, Loki," I begged, inching closer to him. I was close enough now to feel his coolness, and the sensation raised the hairs on my arms. I shuddered.

He raised his eyes to mine—those beautiful, inexpressibly sad emerald eyes. "Are you certain?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," I said immediately, only half-wondering what this would entail.

He raised a slightly trembling hand, tentatively. He placed his fingertips on my face and my temples with a gentleness that threw me back in time to nights spent in front of the fire in his chambers.

"Breathe," he whispered, and I did.

Suddenly, a whirlwind of sights and sounds. And screams. A scene of a cold, craggy, star filled world, but Loki was screaming, tied down, fire being pressed to his bare chest, his head. The pain was unbearable and I screamed with him. A monstrous, red-eyed tyrant sat nearby, approving the torture and calling for more. Loki's agony continued, and I felt his heart desperate, crying out for me.

Another vision: that same monster, staring into my beloved, penetrating with his thoughts Loki's deepest fears and regrets. Twisting them, breaking them, and not stopping until Loki was naught but a shell, bent on revenge and destruction in the tyrant's name. Malevolent wickedness emanated from him now, and he was given a scepter of light, but even with it in his hand he was frightened of the pain.

Now, a group of people, kneeling on the ground before him, but without the adoration he desired. Despite this, I felt his insane joy, his sheer satisfaction at subduing them, making them obey. A grey-haired man, rising, defying Loki, and Loki pointing the scepter at him, taking sickening pleasure at the thought of ending him.

The visions came more swiftly now—Loki sitting in a cell similar to his current one, but enjoying his game. The scepter's shining point driving through the heart of a man while Thor looked on from the cage now, horrified, and Loki's triumph growing. A shining pillar of light opening a portal to another universe, a battle in a place I had never seen, people screaming as the sky fell on them.

I gasped, shaking, as Loki retracted his fingers. He sat back, again not meeting my eyes. "I told you I was a monster, Genevieve," he whispered, childlike.

I stared at him, shattered. He had been tortured. My beloved, sweet prince, mischievous but never evil, had been touched with fire to his Frost Giant skin, and made to obey. I touched my own skin, still feeling the burning.

_Oh gods._

"Loki, it wasn't your fault…he forced you, he made—"

"No!" he came at me again, eyes wild as he grabbed my wrist. "Genevieve, don't you understand? I _enjoyed_ it! All those people—I killed them and I enjoyed it!"

He immediately released me and buried his head in his hands. Gone was the cold, calculating demeanor, the harshness. He was the boy he had been the day he broke the same wrist he had been grasping—heartbroken, cloven in two by grief.

I hadn't wanted to believe it, though I had felt his emotions as he did, the gushing gratification of the power he held over others as he stopped their hearts. I could still feel his exulatation at their lifesparks vanishing from their eyes at his hands. He had reveled in the killing, and nothing I ever said or did would change that.

"Oh gods, Loki," I said, not knowing what else to say.

He raised his eyes to me. I almost expected to see his eyes wet with tears, but none were present. He was past weeping, past the innocent tears of a wronged boy.

"How many?" I whispered.

"Hundreds," he said, eyes flat.

I closed my eyes, feeling my heart breaking again.

I sat there, eyes closed, for what seemed like hours. Swirl after swirl of emotion racked through me, sorrow, anger, fear, rage, determination. I did not know how I could continue with him. But I did not know how I could continue without him—I had done that, and it nearly destroyed me.

_But could I love a murderer?_

_No, no no no. _

Suddenly, I was transported to a memory of him. It was early after I had been promoted, and I did not know him well yet. It had happened on one of those days where he came in to the Garden Room, head hung with sorrow. I had learned already to leave him alone those days, but I watched him through a tomato plant I had been enchanting. Fearing what would happen if I were caught snooping, I hid as best I could behind the tomato's leafy largesse. Peering through the prickling greenery, I saw him on his knees, coaxing and imploring a small aubergine bush to live. He tried incantation after incantation, spell after spell, and I could hear him whispering, "Please, please," to the plant, caressing with glowing fingertips the weak stems. It was to no avail. The aubergine withered in Loki's hands, and, in a gesture that helped shape my later view of him, he gently pulled it from the ground and hugged it to his breast, tears streaming, begging the plant's forgiveness for not having been able to save it. He stayed there on his knees, rocking, singing the plant to whatever lies beyond the Asgardian life of plants. I had sat back on my knees, hands to my mouth. I loved all green things, but I had never mourned for one before, and it struck me. What tenderness lay within that breast if he was capable of such utter caring toward an aubergine?

* * *

I gasped again, back in the present, eyes opening. He looked up at me, alarmed at my reaction.

"This is the part where you leave, is it not?" he said, voice breaking.

I moved closer to him, and put a hand on his face. He shrunk back from my touch, turning his head away and raising a hand to block me, muttering, "No, Genevieve. No."

I persisted, and waited until finally looked at me once more.

"Loki," I said, softly so as not to scare him, to startle him again into his rage. "I love you. I will _always_ love you." He shifted, as if to defend himself from a blow. I continued, "I..I will not lie. I am horrified at what you have done," he winced, bracing. "But know this: I know you better than anyone alive. I know that this is not you, Loki. You battle another nature—I think you always have—, and it has won in you for now, but this doesn't have to be over. It never has to be, and it will never be with me. I swear it," I finished, chest heaving.

Eyes meeting mine, he moved forward. Knowing I didn't want him to but not being able to resist, I let him touch me. Hands that had ended countess lives caressed his betrothal necklace, eyes that had seen the snuffing out of so many beating hearts roved over me, heavy with desire and regret. He moved slowly, fingertips brushing my collarbone, then my breast.

"Genevieve," he whispered, "I cannot swear to you that I can be anything other than what I am now."

"I know," I murmured, as his hand slid down my dress, to my thigh, to my ankle, under the hem. "But I have sworn it. I will always be yours." As his hand slid up my calf, I shuddered with desire, twining my fingers in his hair. "Gods, Loki. Always yours."

His hand, cool on the skin of my thigh, made me shiver. He pulled me into him, caressing my breast, murmuring in my neck, kissing, nipping softly at my skin. He looked up at me, and we were once more servant and god in the Garden Room, nothing walling itself between us. His lips met mine, and all else around us vanished.

* * *

It was fortunate that my sorcery was powerful, for it was some time later that we lay in his bed, entwined limb and body. The guards had still not awoken from the spell, and I reposed, tracing a finger lightly through his hair. He lay quiet, eyes far away.

"Loki," I said, hoping he hadn't gone back to his awful memories. "What are you thinking about?"

He looked down at me, snapped out of his reverie. Smiling for the first time since I had laid eyes on him, he sighed, "Beloved, I will be leaving soon."

"What?" I sat upright, upsetting his arm on me. "What do you mean?"

"Thor came to me a few days ago," he said, ancient bitterness appearing in his voice. "It was the first time he had visited me since I was brought back. He wants to go after the Dark Elves—the ones who—"he stopped, biting his lip.

"Oh gods, Loki, I didn't even ask if you were all right," I gasped.

"No, I am not. But he wants me to come avenge her. It could be an opportunity for me to—redeem—myself somehow." He placed a light emphasis on the word, laughing hollowly, but his eyes told the real story.

I caressed his face, wishing I had known he was here at Frigga's death. And then, a shot of anger.

"They didn't let you come to the memorial," I seethed.

"No, they did not, beloved," he sighed, regret on his face. "However, I heard a certain Lady made it rain flowers that day." Another small smile with downcast eyes. "I thank you for that, Genevieve."

I settled back into him, holding him as tightly as I could. How I wished I could exorcise his every demon, heal his every hurt. "Are you going to go?"

"Yes. I think I need to. And who knows," he said shakily. "Perhaps if I do what Thor wants, they will let me out of here."

He moved his hand, in a pattern I recognized now for conjuring a flower. His fingertips glowed blue, but no flower appeared. He looked at me, eyes now filling with tears. "I'm sorry, Genevieve, I—"

I put a finger to his lips and he collapsed into me, finally sobbing. I held him for an hour, until he was spent, and I soothed and whispered love to him. My own eyes prickled as I mourned for the pure soul who was once able, but no longer, to conjure a rose.

* * *

I visited him every day for a fortnight, every opportunity I could get away. Thanks to my magic, no one was ever the wiser, and day after day I lay in his arms in his cell, trying to speak love and healing to him. I had toyed with the idea of getting him out, running away from all of this, starting over again as lovers and not a god and a Lady. I even mentioned it to him, but he refused, citing his growing need to atone. I tried to make the hours last, to prolong our time together—even tried to talk him out of going with his brother to the Dark Elves. I needed him, I needed more time with him. I knew now I could not save him—his salvation lay in his hands alone, but I could not help but think that if he remained I could help, at least. He had spent many hours in my arms, weeping for the lives he had ended, and I had held him as he screamed in his sleep. He admitted to me that it was he who had let go of the scepter when he was hanging over the abyss at the end of the Rainbow Bridge. Consumed by sorrow at his final, failed attempt to gain Odin's favor, he had not wanted to live.

The first few days were dangerous—he seemed to forget himself, and the coldness would enter his eyes again. These times I stayed quiet and still, conjuring a shield of protection around myself as he raged at me, bloodlust evident in his eyes. He would always come out of it, though, and weep at my feet, begging my forgiveness. Whatever was broken inside him, whatever it was that made him enjoy the killing, I hoped was working its way out, siphoned by a constant source of unconditional love from me.

* * *

One day before he was supposed to leave with Thor, I visited him a last time. When I arrived, he was sitting on the bed, looking nervous. I enchanted the guards and removed my glamour, stepping through the magicked glass.

Sitting next to him, I took his hand. "What is wrong, my love?" I said, smoothing back, as I always had, a lock of escaped hair.

"Genevieve, I need to talk to you about something."

Nervous now myself, I braced and said, "All right."

"I don't know how this—excursion—with Thor is going to end, beloved," he said, his hands now running through my hair.

"I know, my love," I murmured—we had discussed this at length. I knew there was nothing I could do, so I had tried to make the best of whatever time we did have and hope that it wasn't our last.

He bit his lip, and touched the necklace still glinting at my throat.

"Genevieve, I was once a king," he said, eyes downcast. I tucked a finger under his chin and brought it up. I laughed nervously.

"I know, beloved. But let us not speak of that. It does—"

He pressed a finger to my lips. "No, little mouse." I smiled at the name. He continued, "I do not mention it to cause sorrow. I say so only because it means that under Asgardian law, even though I am…restrained…I still have the authority to marry a couple." He smiled at me.

I dared not speak. My breath caught in my chest, and he laughed at the look on my face—it was a beautiful sound. _Gods, so beautiful._

"Genevieve, I should never have left you. Never. I shouldn't leave you now, and but for the hope that this journey may somehow result in my release I would never do it at all. But I will not leave you again without calling you wife."

My eyes wide, not trusting myself to speak for the lump that had formed in my throat, I nodded.

Loki began repeating the Asgardian binding ceremony. I was able to find my voice, and I swore to the promises to love and serve with soul and body. He did the same. He conjured a golden ring and placed it on my right hand.

We were wed.

Tears fell freely from my eyes. Knowing he could not, I waved a hand and thousands of white petals rained down to cover marriage-bed, and he lifted me gently onto it.

I stayed there the whole night, glamouring myself invisible when the guards changed and then enchanting the new ones. We talked, loved, kissed, held one another and wept. I did not want the dawn to come, but it did. Inexorable, it did.

I wept and kissed him over and over. He took me in his arms and held me. When the time came, he pushed me out slightly and looked me in the eyes. "Genevieve, I swear to you, if I can, I will return to you. I swear it with my life."

I placed my hands on both sides of his head, and brought his forehead down to mine.

"I know," I whispered.

* * *

Two hours later, I stood at the same balcony from which I had bewitched the flowers for Frigga. Freezing, I conjured a small warm wind to surround me as I watched the pinkening sky. It was the time of his departure, and this time I wanted to see him as he left me.

I heard the Palace doors open below me. Taking a deep, shaking breath, I watched as he walked down the courtyard path, shackled, accompanied by Thor, the warriors and a woman I didn't know. Despite the obvious mistrust with which he was being treated, he stood tall, head high and haughty.

The party moved down the path and out the gate, leaves swirling around their cloaks.

_Please turn, please turn. _

He did. For one shining, beautiful moment, he turned back to me. He lifted his hands, fingers touching his lips, and raised them to me. I repeated the gesture. He looked at me one heartbeat longer before Sif, peering at what he was looking at and not seeing my glamoured self, prodded him in the side with her sword. He turned, and continued on his way. I watched him until he was out of sight, praying with all I had that he would return to me—all of him. The sweet, playful soul he had once been, and the sorrowful man he had become. My heart in my throat, I blessed him, tearfully accepting that he hung in the chasm between damnation and redemption—_where he had always been_—where even my love could not help him. Though I would always belong to him, he would have to choose what path he would take now.

Brushing away a tear, I gave one last glance to where I saw him, and, fingering my ring, turned away.


End file.

Avengers, Angst, Romance