#princess of Asgard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 6 months

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Hi my dear !!

My req idea is a fluffy (spicy thoughts can be included) 'seeing each other for the first' time thing with Asgard!Prince!Loki and his betrothed princess yn 🍬💓

💖💖You got it! Thanks for the fun request, @fictive-sl0th! I hope you don't mind that I added a little twist to your idea! Please enjoy! 💖💖

“The Princess and the Stable Boy”

After a lifetime of preparation, you finally travel to Asgard for your wedding to Prince Loki, a mysterious man you’ve never met. After your cruel betrothed repeatedly abandons you during your wedding week, you find a special friend with an open ear to whom you bare your soul. But the situation becomes fraught when, on your wedding day, you find you want to give your heart to someone else.

Pairing: Prince!Loki x Princess!Reader Genre: Fluff, Angst, a little spice Content Warnings: forced marriage, hidden identities, some borderline-smutty thoughts Word Count: 4.5k

MASTERLIST

“And, tell me, what is the Prince’s excuse this time?” you asked, looking at the diminutive maid in your doorway, her plain white robes a stark contrast to the elaborate, guided threshold she filled.

“His father is holding court this evening, m’lady,” she replied, her head bowed, refusing to meet your eye.

Twisting your lip into a skeptical frown, you kept your disappointment inside for the sake of dignity. “Court is never held after sunset,” you answered. “He’s pissed off again.”

The maid didn’t reply. “He did send his regards--”

“--every cursed night for the past four days he’s ‘sent his regards’! We marry in another six and I have yet to see his face, nor he mine,” you growled, frustration rising in your voice as your anger obscured your manners.”Is he deformed?”

“No, m’lady. His handsomeness is unmatched.”

“Does his tastes fall to another sex?”

She denied. “M’lady, the Prince is open about his desires, and he does not discriminate between sexes.”

“Well, does this bastard wish to marry me or not??”

The maid looked helpless for an answer. You softened a little in sympathy. “I suppose you wouldn’t understand.”

She shook her head bashfully. “No, m’lady.”

“Then, just go,” you dismissed, not even bothering to wait in the room for her to leave before scurrying into your parlor and slamming the door, finally letting the scream out that had been building up inside you. It felt like a wonderful release, but it didn;t solve your problem.

You were getting married to a blank face in six days, uniting your realms, as was decreed on the day of your birth. You were raised getting to know your husband through correspondence, tutors, and finishing lessons. You only knew of his interests through quizzes and long hours of study. And for all your hard work, on the eve of the culmination of it all: he hadn;t even bothered to meet you.

It was enough of a humiliation when your entourage approached the palace at Asgard only to be greeted by your future brother-in-law, ready with an excuse that your fiance was ailing. The following day, you’d heard he was spotted hunting on the edge of the city.

The next day, Prince Loki missed your supper with the royal family. Queen Frigga had given you a sympathetic apology, insisting she would send him to greet you personally the following day, assuring you that Loki was eager to wed and merely taking care of some final pre-marital business.

He never appeared at your door, and you’d wasted the entire day waiting for him.

You were a strong princess, full of glorious purpose, ready to wed whether your heart wanted to or not. Prince Loki was making it very difficult for you to keep your resolve the more it became obvious that he was avoiding you. Every minute that passed solidified the fact in your mind that you were going to be nothing but a weight shackled to his ankle, occasionally bearing an heir and appearing publicly at his side. You were about to become an official Asgardian ornament.

What a sad fate for a princess, you bemoaned, throwing open your balcony doors and stepping out into the night air. You overlooked the inner courtyards and fields of the palace property, a tree line off against the indigo horizon. The twinkle of the city itself was off, beyond the north wall, the light pollution dousing the stars above your head. The rolling knolls were difficult to admire in the twilight.

Something caught your eye before you lost yourself in pitying thought: by the west wall appeared to be a stable, occupied with the royal steeds no doubt. You could have sworn you heard a whinny from that direction. Smiling, you decided that perhaps a horse’s ear was better than no ear at all (and you’d already scared away most of your maids).

Within a few minutes, you’d donned a black cape and simple dress so as not to attract attention. With all the free time you’d had not getting to know your future husband, you’d gotten to know the ins and outs of the palace corridors quickly, so it was no time before you were out in the open air and strutting toward the stable. You briefly looked up in the direction of the highest tower in the palace: the tower where the royals themselves bedded. Prince Loki was up there somewhere, not giving a damn about you or how lonely you felt.

“Don’t worry, Loki,” you whispered bitterly before turning away from the palace again, “I won’t say one voluntary word to you for the duration of our lives.”

The stables were clean and impeccably-kept, and the lights you’d seen were still on when you arrived. You stepped inside to find that only one of the stables was occupied, by a tall, sturdy, black stallion. He was contentedly munching on something in a metal bucket hanging off of the side of the cubicle.

Someone watched the horse, leaning with his back against the opposite stall door. His ankles were crossed, as well as his arms, and he looked deep in thought. His raven hair hung in his face, unruly and thick. His gray shirt was unfastened, hanging open at his sides, barely holding onto his shoulders. His tight green leggings were tucked into shin-high leather riding boots. He had a tattoo of an ouroboros winding about his chest, just below his razor-sharp clavicle. You swore it was moving very slowly, slithering about the man’s chest in an infinity loop.

There was a quality to his profile that immediately stopped you in your path. It was intimidating, but also attractive, as if he was posing for a painting but trying to look candid at once. Upon hearing the shuffling of your boots on the hay-lined floor, the young man lifted his gaze to meet yours, and his blue eyes lit up.

Looking upon his face only added to the haunting, yet rustic beauty of the man. His jaw was angular, his lips perfectly plump and distorted into an amused smile at seeing your face.

“Princess,” he mumbled, his voice low and casual. “You’re a long way from your chambers.”

You rolled your eyes. “How do you know me? We’ve never met.”

He scoffed in reaction. “Everyone in the palace knows of the lovely future Princess of Asgard. I may be just another peasant among the ranks, but I’m not as dim as most of them.”

“You certainly have the arrogance of the Prince,” you sneered back. “I did not mean to suggest that you’re simple.”

The mysterious stranger raised his eyebrow and pushed off from the wall with his shoulder. “You’ve met him?”

Shaking your head, you looked to the side sheepishly. “No.”

“Still?” chuckled the boy, taking another step toward you, but planting himself there. “And you have not tried seeking him out?”

“It isn’t protocol for me to summon him,” you sighed. “It would be considered stepping out of line.”

“Well, from my experience,” said the peasant, “Stepping out of line is the quickest way to get what you want.”

You looked at him again. “I suppose being judged so harshly without having the chance to even please my betrothed isn’t the best motivator.”

Your conversational partner shrugged. “Maybe he is simply nervous himself? Perhaps he feels those scrutinous eyes fall on him as well, and he isn’t sure how to--?”

“--I should have known, you’d never understand,” you mumbled bitterly, turning your back to him. You had no interest in listening to this apologist make excuses for whatever mental game your fiance was playing without your consent. You chose to disengage quickly, not having the energy to stand up for yourself. “My mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you, stable boy.”

You began to walk away. “My name is Arik,” the boy called after you, his voice heightened.

You stopped. He sounded instantly contrite.

“It sounds as if I’ve thrown a switch I shouldn’t have,” he continued. “Please forgive me, Princess. I didn't mean to further distress you. I was only seeking to console with you a possible explanation as to the Prince’s rude welcome.”

Turning back, you allowed yourself a small smile. It hurt your cheeks to do so after several days of doing very little with your jaw other than bemoaning your annoying situation.

“Arik,” you repeated.

He nodded and clicked his heels, standing at attention like a general, and bowing at the waist. “At your humble service, my Lady.”

You stepped in further, gaining a closer look at the stable boy. Indeed, the tattoo moved on his chest. “I’ve never seen art like this,” you said breathlessly. The details in the ink were beautiful and delicate. Arik seemed to like you moving in and focusing your gaze on his pectorals.

“My br--Prince Thor has a similar one,” he said quietly. “It is a large bolt of lightning shooting down his back from between his shoulder blades.”

“How do you know this? Do the Princes walk about the palace nude?” you laughed.

Arik’s smile widened at your laugh. “No, Princess. I served with the Princes during our mandatory conscription. Close quarters and all.”

You sighed. “Which means the blasted stable boy knows my husband more than I!” you lamented.

He laughed with you. “Perhaps it is time The Prince conquered his bashfulness,” he agreed. “From where I stand, he is the one missing out by delaying his meeting with you.”

You felt a burning blush crawl up your cheek at the compliment. “Arik…” you paused before continuing. “...if you do know the Princes so well…could you tell me about them? If I cannot learn of my husband from himself--”

Arik took your hand in his, bringing it gently to his lips. “--if you are asking me to familiarize you with our sovereigns in their pathetic absence, I would be most happy to oblige you, Princess.”

Your heart fluttered against your ribs, and you began to feel giddy.

“Sadly,” he went on, your optimism instantly dropping off, “my services are required elsewhere in just a few moments.”

You sighed. “Oh.”

“However, if you wished to meet me here tomorrow evening,” Arik suggested, “It would be my honor to take you for a ride through the knolls.”

As much as you wanted to say yes, you knew that you had to turn him down. “The masque is tomorrow night.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.”

There was no way Prince Loki would be able to abandon you at the masque ball set for tomorrow. It was in honor of your impending marriage. Even if you weren’t going to see his face, you would absolutely be expected to dance with him in front of the mobility of Asgard.

“If only I could leave him alone in the middle of the floor for once,” you muttered bitterly. “I’m sure he regrets our appointment tomorrow night more than I.”

Arik smiled. “I admire your passion. Perhaps, though, it would be prudent to wait until you meet the Prince, to pass your own judgment.”

“He doesn’t deserve you as a loyal servant,” you remarked.

Arik shrugged. “If you do find yourself in need of more flattering company, I have a small trundle here. As long as the nights are warm, I spend them out here. Come find me at any hour, and I will be your humble ally.”

“Thank you,” you said tenderly. “I needed a friend to find me tonight.”

“As did I, Princess,” he said, holding out a hand, brushing a small piece of hay from your hair that had settled. That tiny, intimate touch from another person was enough to make your nerves tingle. You’d gone for such a long time without any comforting physical contact.

“Then, Arik, I will leave you to your duties,” you said, pulling away before anything even more wonderful could happen. Awkwardly not knowing how to address the strapping young peasant as you left his sight, you smiled and backed out of the stable.

Arik called out after you. “Sweet dreams, Princess.”

He was all that you thought of as you went through the motions the following day in preparation for the ball. You were fitted for your gown, a rich, golden fabric draped loosely over your body and held to you with green and black ribbon. Your mask was green with gold feathers. Your hair was swept up into a complicated braid and laden with emeralds. Yet even more jewels were fastened to your ears and throat, all submitting to the green and gold palate.

Just as the palace was beginning to saturate with the odor of roasting meats and breathing bowls of wine, you were ready and escorted to the Great Hall, where the festivities were already in full swing.

Even as the room stopped to acknowledge your entrance at the top of the grand staircase, your thoughts were with the stable boy who’d been the first in Asgard to treat you like a creature with a soul, with needs and fears. No one in this room knew a thing about you even as they praised you as their new princess.

The crowd parted as you descended the staircase, revealing a tall figure dressed in green finery and Asgardian military insignia standing precisely in the center of the room. His hair was slicked back and tucked under a golden diadem, his high-necked jacket fastened from jaw to hip, a lacy black mask curling down his face so that nearly his entire visage was obscured to you.

Great, even looking right at him, I can’t see, you complained inside even as you bowed cordially, reaching Prince Loki for your first meeting. You immediately got the scent of wintergreen and pine from him when you reached proximity.

“Princess,” said a deep, restrained baritone from underneath the mask you faced. Prince Loki clicked his heels and bowed formally at the waist, which only made you long for your secret stable boy more. He shared the Prince’s posture, but that had to be from their shared military days.

“Your Highness,” you barely mustered. “At last we meet.”

“You sound disappointed,” the Prince suggested.

“Only at the bitter reception from Your Highness,” you boldly answered. “What Prince treats his betrothed as such garbage as I have been?”

Loki didn’t twitch, blink, or acknowledge your cheek. He simply took the first position of a groom about to dance with his bride with all the restricted grace of a automaton.

You went to take your position at Loki’s front for the dance. You only did so out of obligation. However, before you could touch his arm, you found yourself stepping back again in spite of yourself.

“No,” you said.

Gasps echoed about the room.

“Princess?” Loki asked, sounding insecure for the first time.

“You’ve been treating me worse than a scullery maid since the day I arrived. I’ve wanted nothing but to please you and please your subjects, but after being held in this palace like a prisoner in a cage of glass and gold, I’ve come to realize this: you don't deserve my hand. However, seeing as I am being forced to give it to you regardless, I am choosing to retain a mote of my own autonomy tonight by refusing this dance.”

No one had seen this coming from you, let alone Loki.

You sucked in your breath bravely. “If you permit me to leave this annoyance of a party right now, I will consider it our wedding present.”

Committing to the offense, you spun on your heels and quickly walked back up the staircase as the murmurs and gasps grew to a louder hum.

“Princess!” Loki was pursuing you, calling to you as you retreated.

“So NOW you seek me out, now that I humiliate you in front of the assembly?” you hissed as soon as you turned the corner. “I won’t be anyone’s ornament! May you be damned!”

He eventually gave up and remained behind. You found yourself stomping about the corridors alone, making a beeline for the stables.

Tonight, the air was even warmer. Your gown fluttered in the breeze behind you as you made your way to the stables, where no one seemed to be home.

“Arik?” you called, going inside to find no one, not even the horse, around. “Arik? Are you here?”

After a few moments of you pacing up and down the row, and you heard the sound of shuffling feet outside. You rushed back into the open night, and sure enough, Arik was returning, the black stallion bridled and tethered to his side. The horse was already wearing a saddle built for two.

“My Lady?” Arik called, slightly out of breath.

“Did I find you at a bad time? You look disheveled,” you remarked, taking in how Arik looked like he’d thrown himself at a pile of laundry and decided whatever garments stuck to his body would create his wardrobe for the evening: a white peasant shirt loosely tied at the neck, and black pants.

Arik shook his head. “Alvis was startled by a serpent. Reining him in proved a challenge.”

“Then, perhaps he wouldn’t be amenable to the possibility of a ride this evening?” you asked, batting your eyelashes.

Smiling, Arik raked a hand through his hair. “I think he can be persuaded, but…shouldn’t you be at the gala, Princess?”

You scoffed, taking the ribbon tying your braid together and unfurling your hair, shaking it loose until every gem fell to the grass. “If His Highness wished to dance with me, he would have thought of this before casting me off like an old glove.”

He snickered. “It didn’t go well, I take it?”

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t even stay for supper.”

“Well, that won’t do, Princess. This has already been a trying week for you. You need sustenance.” He indicated the double-seated saddle on the back of Alvis. “I’m sure the horse is well now, my Lady. I can take you to a place I know of on the edge of the kingdom, where we can remedy that.”

Nodding enthusiastically at his offer, you stepped up to the horse, suddenly realizing that you’d never ridden before. Arik seemed to be able to read your mind, scooping you up into his arms and placing you on Alvis before quickly mounting the horse himself.

You got the briefest hint of wintergreen and pine as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Arik took you through the knolls and orchards south of the city proper as the sun descended and night returned. The shadows of trees along the path fell across your faces as you rode through the lawns and groves, away from everyone else and off into a better place. Arik showed you how to stretch your arms out to pick apples and pears off the fruit trees you brushed past along the way. You laughed as you made a game out of who could nick more treats before being caught and chased along a few meters by an irate farmer who happened to be walking offside.

You were brought to a waterfall on the edge of the kingdom, where you and the handsome stable boy sat on a boulder, close enough to the falls to feel the chilly mist. As you feasted on your ill-gotten fruit, Arik told you about your intended, and answered every question you had.

He was beautiful in the soft moonglow. A perfect specimen, healthy and strong, but also brooding and sweet. Ridiculous as it seemed (it had taken less than a day), you were completely in love with Arik. He was more of a god in his humble rags as he sat before you now than Prince Loki could ever be while arrayed in his furs and finery.

Something bothered you while he spoke: Arik spoke very fondly of the Prince in spite of your criticisms, almost as if he was trying to sell him to you. It was as if Arik could sense your growing feelings for him, and he was perhaps trying to protect you by throwing you off of his trail.

“Tell me, Arik,” you implored, “Do you think Prince Loki even has the ability to love?”

“Princess, do you expect love to come from your arranged marriage?”

You shrugged. “I was hoping for some.”

Arik smiled tenderly and took your hand. “If I know Prince Loki, he will take care of you and your children for your whole lives.”

Shaking your head, you pulled your hand away. “That isn’t what I want! I want love!”

“But--”

“--I can’t ever love Prince Loki,” you said decidedly.

Arik’s shoulders dropped, and his smile disappeared. “That is very sad to hear, My Lady, That notion will only lead to a woeful match. If I know him, he wishes only for your happiness. But why do you sound so certain of this?”

“Because without trust, there can be no love…and how can I trust someone whose face I’ve never seen?” you explained, breaking down in tears at last, leaning against Arik’s broad shoulder.

He gripped you tightly, and you felt safe in his arms, wishing you could be there forever. “Let’s run away.”

He didn’t respond. You found yourself doubling down. “I mean it, Arik. I could live a thousand years with you starting tonight.”

He pulled away from you far enough to make eye contact. His face was once of concern, of seriousness. “You can’t mean this. We barely know one another.”

“I do! I do!” you said quickly. “Arik, you see me as not a Princess, but a woman, someone who wants to make the best of a fraught situation. You understand my soul,” you wept.

Arik looked touched. He pursed his lips as he thought of what to say next. “My Lady, I don’t know what to say…”

“Take me away with you. Let’s go tonight,” you proposed.

“No, Princess,” he insisted, pushing you away, standing straight. “You are engaged.”

“So, you won’t have me, and he doesn’t want me…no one wants me,” you whispered.

Arik’s heart broke for you, and he returned you to his embrace. “Eloping would be instant death for us both, my Lady,” he said quietly. “If it weren’t this way…”

“Oh, Arik, I wish you were the Prince!” you cried, laying your lips against his and putting your palm against his cheek. He kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your whole body tightly.

“Will I see you again after tonight?” you asked softly once your lips parted.

He sighed. “It may not be a good idea,” he mused, breaking your heart. “Even this beautiful kiss we’ve just shared is enough to condemn us.”

You nodded. “I would never wish to cause your death, Arik.”

“Then, let’s stay out tonight,” he suggested. “With the promise that we won’t ever address the notion of running away ever again.”

“I agree.”

He returned you just before dawn, to the door of your chambers, giving you one final kiss before leaving. Just before he turned the corner to return to the stables, he stopped to give you one more piece of advice.

“I really do know the Prince intimately, Princess,” he insisted. “And if I know him, I know that if you give him your hand next week, he will give you his heart.”

You felt a hot tear sting your eye. “I trust you,” you said with a small nod.

Arik smiled. “Then, perhaps, there can be love here after all.”

It took all of your strength to be reserved as you closed your door to the last hope of ever having a happy life with Arik the stable boy.

As promised, Arik had disappeared, removing any temptation you’d had to seek him out and go back on your own word to bind yourself to Prince Loki. You let the depression settle over you, painting you in a numbing glaze of complacency in your own imprisonment. You were meant to be a shackle on the Prince’s ankle, as promised by virtue of your birth. You would have to resign yourself to that, and be content with that.

Five days later, at dusk, you were escorted down the long hall leading to Asgard’s throne room. You wore a grand gown in peacock-blue, your hair down and loose about your shoulders, a golden circlet draped across your forehead, your face obscured by a veil so thick you needed a bridesmaid to guide you to your palace at the groom’s side for the ceremony.

Goddamnit, even now I don't know what he looks like, you admitted the defeat bitterly. Your face was stone. You’d mentally prepared yourself for this, but it required a stiff upper lip to endure.

The ceremony was grand, but brief. A cauldron of eternal fire received your written vows to one another, and as the smoke formed the great tree Yggdrasil above your heads, you braced yourself for the moment where Loki would lift your veil and look upon your face.

You closed your eyes as the Allfather gave Loki permission to greet his new bride with a first kiss. The ambient light increased behind your lids as the veil lifted. You waited in silence for several moments for the kiss.

Instead, you heard a familiar voice say “Open your eyes, my Lady.”

Obeying, you didn’t expect the kind blue eyes that belonged to your beloved stable boy to be looking down at you from the face of your husband. Confused, you raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Arik? But…Loki?”

He shook his head and said softly, “We are one and the same, my dear.”

“No,” you mumbled. “It can’t be!”

The deceitful Prince took your hand and quickly kissed it. “I came into this match with the same fears as you, my love, and I had to know that you could love me for who I was, and not what my title was.”

“But…you were so mean to me…”

The Prince shook his head. “Please accept the grave mistake I made in choosing to avoid you. I thought that you’d already resented me due to our reluctant arrangement.”

“I wanted to meet you, to know you!”

“And so you have,” Loki said with a tender smile. “I assure you that Arik is in my heart. He was the real mask I wore, in order to have the courage to meet you for myself.”

You couldn’t believe it. “So, now we’re going to go forward and build an entire life off of a charade?”

“You said you trusted me,” Loki added. “Perhaps we can begin there, and with a kiss.”

The line was pure Arik. You were sold.

“It IS you!” you smiled happily, a warm wave of affection making your head spin.

As the Prince leaned down to give you your bridal kiss, Arik’s lips met yours and removed the last doubts you would ever have.

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shadeysprings · 1 year

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The Princess of Asgard

—Loki x F!Reader

Summary: Your supposed vacation on Asgard takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: kidnapping, non-consensual arranged marriage, betrayal & violence.

A/N: Written for @lokisgoodgirl as they've been wanting some Dark!Loki recently. Ngl, I do miss writing him. Un-beta so may be meh.

Your feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support Content Creators! And I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

The tears continue streaming down your face as you stare at your reflection in the vast mirror hanging on the wall. The emerald gown you were forced to wear shimmers beautifully against the light of your chambers and you wish you could appreciate such a delicate garment, to bask at the regality being laid upon your feet.

But you can’t, not even a shred of happiness can be found within, for such gifts have come with a price, one you know deep down you cannot pay.

You blame your naivety, for it’s what brought you into your situation in the first place. The excitement burst from you when Thor and his brother, Loki, invited you to see their home. The stories of Asgard have held a vice on you since you were young, mesmerized at how beautiful the images scholars painted of a place they’ve never seen before. And being given that opportunity, to witness what no one else on earth has, was too irresistible not to take.

“What are you wearing?” Loki asks upon seeing you when you open the door, his eyes trailing down your body before stopping at your face.

“Oh, am I underdressed?” You ask, looking down at the graphic tee and canvas shorts you put on that morning. “I just thought of dressing light since it’s summer here.”

“Not at all, darling.” He smiles before ushering himself into your room along with a stout middle-aged woman with stacks of fabric nestled in her arms. “But I was thinking you would dress like an Asgardian during your stay here.”

The woman, who Loki introduces as Thyra, lays the assortment of fabric on the foot of your bed, dresses of silk and satin, looking delicate to the touch. You look up at Loki, eyes wide in disbelief and awe.

“Take your pick.” He instructs but nears the emerald dress all the same and runs his fingers against its skirts. “But I personally think you would look good in this.”

You scan the garments, the gold and beige sitting idly on the mattress, both in the same cut and style. Only the emerald dress stands out from the bunch, looking regal and elegant. But regardless of his suggestion, your eyes still land on the beige, hand reaching over to caress the silk before taking it.

“But this would look more in season, don’t you think?” You tell him, a smile playing on your lips. He smiles back but you can’t help but notice how it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Though after that morning, the dresses presented to you were all of the same color, emerald fabrics dancing against the lights of your room, leaving you no choice but to wear the green thrust upon you.

Your first week on Asgard was spent touring the palace and the outer grounds, Loki always at your side, arm intertwined with yours as he introduced you to his friends, along with the other lords and ladies in Thor’s court. A feast was even thrown in your honor, and even if you found the extravagant event fun and entertaining, the way you were regarded by royals and commoners alike threw you off guard.

But it didn’t stop there. Even after the feast, people bowed at your wake and called you princess, the title off-putting considering you were not close to such status, a mere civilian and average citizen on earth.

You thought they were doing so to show respect to the king and the prince’s visitor, but that one-morning exchange with Thyra, when she entered your room without your permission and started laying out a dress on the top of your bed, told you otherwise.

“It’s unheard of in all the realms for a princess to dress herself.” Thyra says in disbelief when you try to dismiss her. “I would not want the prince to scold me for not doing my work accordingly.”

“Oh—but I’m not a princess.” You tell her with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Not yet.” She simply responds before bending low and turning to leave.

And that chance encounters with Lord Fandral as you walked through the corridors of the palace alone.

“Are you lost, princess?” He asks.

You don’t understand why you’re being addressed as such. Is it customary to give visitors of the royals such titles?

With your brain too muddled with errant thoughts, you choose to brush it off and ask Loki later why they are treating you as such, you give the golden lord a smile and ask him where you can find the kitchen.

“I’d be happy to escort you, princess.” Lord Fandral says with a smile as he offers his hand for you to take.

As the days turn into weeks, the once magnificent palace felt all too suffocating; with Thyra’s constant insistence to serve you, the whispers you heard from the servants as you walked past them, and most of all, Loki’s indifference each time you asked him why you are being treated in such a weird way.

Until that day, all the answers were finally laid at your feet.

“Darling, Thyra has told me that—what are you doing?”

You don’t spare Loki a glance, irritation filling your senses as you pack all your things. “I’m leaving. I thought visiting Asgard would be great but things here are just fucking weird.” You spit, shoving your clothes in your duffel but stopping when Loki places a hand over your bag.

“You will do no such thing.” He says and you scowl up at him, but your anger shifts into curiosity, and your spine shivers when you see the seriousness in his emerald eyes. “You’re not to leave Asgard until I say so.”

“Why?!” You push his hand away and try to grab your bag but he latches onto the strap, pulling it completely from your grasp, and throws it on the ground. “What the fuck?! You can’t keep me here, Loki! I’m telling Thor and you won’t be welcomed back to the compound!”

“Go on then. He’s in the throne room right now.” He says, moving away and gesturing to the door. But the tone of his voice, calm and resolute, has fear crawling up your skin.

Yet still, you push on and walk past him, marching yourself through the halls as you try to navigate your way. You sense Loki following behind, but give him no mind, though once you find yourself lost, his chuckle resounds in your ear and you stiffen when his hand rests at the small of your back and whispers, “Just through here, darling.”

He leads you through a set of double doors and you look ahead to see Thor sitting on the throne, Mjolnir laying inanimate at his feet while addressing the people surrounding him.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles, dismissing his subjects when you march up to him. But the friendly smile fades when you stomp up the steps, a frown playing on his lips. “My lady, you seem to be in distress.”

“Hell yeah, I am.” You almost shout, pointing an accusing finger at Loki who stops at the foot of the steps. “Your brother is being an asshole. He said I can’t leave Asgard without his permission.”

Thor looks startled at your words, eyes shifting to his brother and then to you. “But why would you leave Asgard when you’re to be wed?”

You stiffen at the word. Wed? What does he mean? Your eyes dart to Loki who casually stands by the steps before climbing up toward you. He reaches for your hand but you quickly pull away, your eyes focused on him before looking at Thor who stands from his seat.

“Have you not told her, brother?” Thor asks, but his eyes remain on you.

“Told me what?!” You respond in a rush, panic rolling through your veins.

“I was supposed to while we ate breakfast but she banished her handmaiden and I caught her packing her things.”

Thor sighs but chuckles after. “Loki, you know midgardians are more unrefined in these situations than us.”

“I took your word into account, brother. Thought I would break it to her gen—”

“What the fuck are you both talking about?!” You shout, anger and fear mixing within you. “What the hell is happening?! What are you not telling me?!”

“Do you want to tell her or should I?” Thor asks his brother and Loki simply grins, giving a solemn bow to his brother. Thor faces you, blue eyes serious yet full of mirth. “You’ve accepted my brother’s gifts, have you not?”

“Gifts?”

“The dress.” He waves a hand in your direction and you look down at the green silk hanging from your shoulders. “You wear his colors, you’ve accepted his invitation to come home with him. Your chambers, adjacent to the prince’s, and a handmaiden for you to use as you please. Each one deserving of a princess.”

“But—” You stammer and shake your head. They can’t be gifts, you never even thought them to be; simply thinking that everything was part of Asgardian culture and you were not one to question their way of life. “I didn’t know they were gifts. I thought they—”

“I thought you were a smart girl but you’ve proved me wrong, little one.” Thor laughs and waves to his brother. “Enlighten her with the situation, we can’t have a scene played before the court on the day of the wedding.”

“But what if I decline?” Your voice trembles as you speak, body shaking as everything starts to make sense; why everyone calls you princess, Loki’s looming presence, and Thyra forcing you to wear the dresses instead of putting on the ones you brought with you. “I should get to decide, shouldn’t I?”

“But the decision has already been made,” Loki rebuts and you take a step back when he steps closer. “And it is seen as treason and punishable by death to go against the will of the royal family.”

You blink slowly, the air leaving your lungs as you try to process all the information that has just been said. You can’t get married, Loki may be handsome but you have no feelings for him. You feel betrayed, played with, and the pain feels too overwhelming as you saw the brothers to be your friends.

Why would they trick you? What have you done to merit such devious intent?

“It will be easier once you’ve had some food in you, darling.” Your eyes meet Loki’s when he stands close to you, his hand wrapping around your arm, thumb gently caressing your skin. “And realize that being my wife would be the best thing that has ever happened to you.”

You don’t want to agree. What the hell do they know about what’s best for you and what’s not? But you don’t fight back, instead, you nod and allow Loki to take your hand, bowing your head to Thor before following his brother out of the vast throne room.

But as soon as you pass by the doors, the guards closing them at your wake, you stomp down on Loki’s foot and clench your fists before thrusting it towards his neck, making the god stumble back while he chokes.

You don’t waste any more time and run as fast as you can, sprinting through the halls and staggering down the stairs. Several servants squeal in shock at your wake but you give them no mind, set on finding your way out of the palace and towards the bridge that you once crossed when you arrived.

Several footsteps stomp behind you and you push further, urging yourself to run faster. You can hide in the forest once you leave the palace and plan from there. All you want now and all you can do is get away from Loki and his brother and hope that you can find someone to help you and take you back home.

But you grunt when something solid catches your waist, your back pressing hard against a surface that you soon realize is someone’s chest. You try to pull away, clawing on the arm that restrains you to set yourself free, but you whimper when you feel the edge of a blade pressing against your neck, tilting your head back to avoid being cut.

“I will not be insulted by your insolence, darling.” Loki drawls against your ear. “I have been very patient with you, I have been kind. You do not want to test these waters only to end up drowning.”

“Please, Loki.” You cry and hiss when he breaks the skin, the metallic tang of your blood wafting in the air. “Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends.”

He chuckles and you let out a breath when the blade leaves your neck. But such reprieve is lost when his fingers wrap around your throat, his nose trailing down your temple and to your cheek then pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Well, darling,” He breathes, feeling rather than seeing his grin. “You thought wrong.”

Quickly, you wipe your tears away when you hear the door of your room open. You keep still, hearing soft footsteps pad through the open room and into the bedchamber, your body going stiff when you see Loki’s reflection in the mirror and resting his hands on your shoulder.

“I hope those are happy tears, darling.” He says as he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. “Today is a joyous day and I expect nothing but.”

You stay silent, unsure how to respond for you feel the opposite of happy. You’re trapped, kidnapped, into a foreign land, and betrayed by the people you’ve spent years who you trusted, and depended on to keep you safe.

Your eyes then shift to the side when Loki holds up a necklace with an emerald crystal hanging by the chain. He takes the liberty of clasping the chain around your neck, whimpers leaving your lips when his hand grazes the tops of your breasts, his finger caressing the jewel that sits on your cleavage.

“A beautiful present for my bride.” He whispers, the words stabbing your chest and you can’t help the tears from spilling once again. His brow furrows, turning you from the mirror to face him and you look down when he cups your cheek. “What’s the matter, darling? Do you not like it?” He asks. “I can get you another one, a bigger one if that’s what you want.”

“I want to go home.” You blurt out and cover your face as you sob against your palms. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

Loki then pinches your chin, making you wince and you drop your hands to your sides when he lifts your head and forces you to face him. A breath catches in your throat as you’re once more filled with fear, seeing his green eyes glow dangerously and the mischievous smirk forming on his lips.

“But darling,” He breathes, “You are home.”