Tani Is Mean: The Writing Side

So, his mother wrote the letter.

Loki’s mother had to have written it shortly after a breakup. At least, that’s what it sounded like.

In an odd way, it was comforting to know that the letter had been about something so human. That had to mean that Loki had a soul, right?

A nosy part of you wondered how long ago it was written, how long ago the letter was written. There didn’t seem to be a date written on it, nor any indication of how old Loki was at the time.

Was the pain still fresh? Or had it been stewing just below the surface for a while?

Frankly, you weren’t sure which was worse.

Finishing the letter answered a couple of questions, but it also gave you a few more.

Still, you weren’t sure if you were ready to outright ask him any of those questions.

The next day, Loki arrived at the same time as before, dragging that polished tea service behind him once again.

Just like he said he would.

He sweetened your tea just like before. You still weren’t sure how he knew about that, but you also weren’t sure if you even wanted to know at all.

Lucky guess… right?

You shuddered.

Loki handed the teacup to you on its delicate saucer, giving a should-have-known chuckle when you set both down on the table.

“Naturally,” he muttered, pouring himself a cup and sweetening it the same way he had yours. “Bottoms up.”

You blinked. A silent cue for him to repeat the process.

With a sigh, he obeyed the unspoken command.

Three more cups.

“I certainly hope you weren’t hoping for a second cup,” he said flatly. “It seems you’ll only have one.”

“That’s fine.” Your voice was so quiet you weren’t even sure if you’d said it out loud.

Time passed in silence. Maybe an hour. Two, perhaps? For all you knew, it might have been merely twenty minutes.

By now, you barely gave a crap. As long as you and your husband were hostage, nothing really interested you that much.

Sure, you were curious about the letter you found. But if you were forced to choose between the two, you would rather get home safely with your husband than ever find out anything about the letter.

It wasn’t until Loki sighed that you realized you hadn’t even looked up at him since he made that remark about you not having a second cup.

Not that it bothered you. You could have lived your entire life never seeing or meeting this man, and you would have lost no sleep over it.

Hey, you probably would have slept better if you hadn’t.

Ahem.

You ignored him. Instead, you simply stared at your teacup and the intricate mural that Loki had somewhat explained to you the previous day.

Let’s see. He said this was the Bifrost, and that’s… Oh, geez. How’s his name pronounced again? Then those are the Warriors Three, and the couple over there is… Um…? The man was, like, the king or something. So, she must be the queen, right?

The gears turned slowly in your head.

Hang on…

Wasn’t she the same woman who…?

“She’s pretty… Who is she?”

Well, since Loki was right there, what better time than now?

“The woman in this painting. Right here, in the gold dress.” You pointed to her. “Who is she?”

Loki’s posture stiffened, his shoulders giving a faint twitch. “She’s…” He cleared his throat. “Her name is Frigga.”

His voice came just a tad softer than you expected. Granted, you weren’t sure what exactly you expected in the first place. For him to be short with you? To give you an attitude?

Not only was he decent enough to answer your question, but he even did so gently.

That had to be a win, right?

“Do you know her? Like, personally? Have you met her?”

Loki looked at you as if you had just asked him if he could walk on the ceiling.

He gaped at you for a moment before schooling his expression.

“You could say that,” he muttered.

That’s a yes.

“How do you know her?”

You never did figure out why you asked that.

Loki’s eyebrows pinched together for a moment before he sighed. “Your tea is getting cold,” he finally said.

Well, fine, then.

He was right, though. Your tea had cooled off more than you would have liked. It was less a soothing cup of coziness now and more like a cool cup of what’s-wrong-with-this-water.

“I, um… I’m good. Thanks.” You set your cup and saucer down on the table.

Even though you still weren’t sure where the table kept coming from. It only showed up when Loki did with the tea, and vanished when he left.

Unless you were just losing your mind.

“How long have you been an Avenger, anyway?”

~*~*~*~

Loki did a double take. Did you…? Were you really asking him that?

Were you, perhaps… taking an interest?

“About… two and a half years, give or take.” He took a sip of his tea, forcing himself not to prattle on, forcing himself to calm down. “It took some convincing, sure, but there is truly something to be said about second chances. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

You made a face as if he had just asked if you would like a plate of skunk intestines.

Loki sighed. “As I’m sure you can imagine, Stark was less interested in my apologies and more interested in drastic behavioral changes. Repentance, if you will.”

“Uh-huh…”

Silence trickled on like a stream. Only much quieter, of course. Were the room any quieter, Loki was sure you would have heard his pulse.

Mm… That does sound delightful, though.

He cleared his throat. “Why stroganoff?”

~*~*~*~

“Huh?”

Stroganoff?

Why was he going back to stroganoff?

“You made stroganoff for your husband,” Loki stated. “Several months ago. He asked for stroganoff specifically, and you made it for him for the first time. You packed the leftovers for him to have for lunch the next day.” He set his teacup beside yours. “But your ever so intelligent husband forgot it. He left his lunch at home. So, you, the dutiful heroine you are, brought it to him. Disregarding security, disregarding the meeting in session, disregarding the potential wrath of Director Fury himself. All to ensure that your beloved had lunch that day.”

You gaped at him for a moment. “How… How did you know that?”

Loki snorted. “I was there. I sat across from your husband when you came into the room. It was the first time I ever saw you. The first time I ever heard your voice. ‘Enjoy your stroganoff,’ you said.”

“No, no. I mean…” You took a shaky breath. “How did you know that he asked for it? Or that it was the first time I’d made stroganoff for him?”

“We spoke,” Loki answered simply. “And rest assured, love. He enjoyed his stroganoff. Although, he didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as the first time he tried it.”

The…?

“I’m sorry?”

Loki blinked innocently. “For what?”

You let out a huffy exhale. Part exasperation at having to fight for a straight answer out of this man. Part amusement at yourself for still fighting to get a straight answer out of this man. “I just-- It reheats just fine. I assume, anyway. I thought.”

Another few blinks, as though he were buffering. “Reheats? Oh, no.” He chuckled lightly. “No, no. The first time anyone made stroganoff for him. He thoroughly enjoyed it. It made him want it again. That’s why he asked you for it, (Name).”

“Oh…”

So, your husband had been comparing your cooking to someone else’s? It seemed like a trivial thing to get offended by, but here you were. After all, you were always “the chef” in your family. Every dish you’d ever made before absolutely rocked. Besides, you’d made some serious effort and you were proud of that stroganoff.

Guess it wasn’t good enough for him.

Sure, Loki said he’d enjoyed it, but… someone else’s was better.

“Well,” you muttered, “it’s not like every dish a wife makes can always compete with her mother-in-law’s cooking.”

“Hm?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know. The trope. The stereotype. The running joke since forever. A guy grows up thinking his mother’s the best cook in the world, so when he gets married, he hopes his wife’s cooking will be as good or better. Just about every sitcom plays on it at least once.”

“His…?” Loki’s expression took on another flavor of confusion.

Was he seriously that ignorant, or was he just screwing with you?

You couldn’t tell. You barely cared.

“Ah.” His lip twitched, as if he wanted to offer a gentle smile, but changed his mind at the last minute. “You think he was comparing your cooking to his mother’s.”

You shrugged. “I mean… I guess? ‘M not sure who else’s.”

Loki sighed. “(Name), dear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He put his hands up in a mock surrender. “Just consider something, if you please.”

You frowned. “I’m not making stroganoff for you.”

Loki chuckled briefly, as if suddenly realizing you were by no means joking. “Nothing of the sorts. I promise. I only mean to ask one question.”

You already knew what his question would be.

Darling, do you love me?

“Who do you trust?”

“Uh--?”

Loki looked at you as if he had just issued the world’s most entertaining dare of all time. “You heard me. Who do you trust? Of everyone you have ever met, everyone whose path has crossed yours in any capacity, everyone you could ever deem close to you, who do you fully believe you could trust the most?”

Everyone?

“Who would you trust with your life? Your very heart and soul?”

“My… my husband, of course.”

You barely gave it a thought. Yes, of course, you trusted your husband.

Loki stared.

Oh, I just pissed him off.

The corners of his mouth pulled up just enough to notice, but his smile looked a bit sarcastic. Not quite a cruel rictus, but rather like he had just heard a prime example of stupidity and wasn’t sure whether to laugh about it or to make a cynical joke about how dumb you were.

“Him? Of all your inner circle, you still choose your husband?”

You gave him a duh look. “If I didn’t trust him, I couldn’t marry him. It’s a prerequisite. Everybody knows that. Don’t…? Don’t people trust there spouses here in… what-you-called-it?”

Loki’s dark eyebrows hopped once. “They should, generally,” he answered. “Tragedies do happen, though. And such a breach of trust is, truly, the greatest tragedy love could see. The most gruesome end to what should be beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree, (Name)?”

You swallowed hard. Something about this conversation was making you probably the least comfortable you had ever been in your entire life.

Why was he so obsessed with stroganoff and trust? Wouldn’t a “prince” have more interesting hobbies? Or, at the very least, more pressing matters than bothering you with it?

“(Name).”

The abrupt change in his tone startled you, but you forced yourself not to look at him.

Loki stood to his feet. “I believe you and I have much more to discuss.”

You strongly disagreed, but whatever.

Curiosity struck here and there. Who’s this? What’s that? What’s an “Allfather?” Why does that horse have eight legs?

Half of your questions went unasked.

Half of the questions you asked went unanswered.

One question in particular seemed to agitate him.

“Who’s he?” You pointed to the part of the design depicting a blond man with a red cape holding a hammer.

“Drink your tea,” came the sharp reply.

Well, then.

Overall, he seemed informative, as long as you were asking about the history of… whatever he called this place.

As far as who’s-who, he was a bit vaguer, focusing on downfalls and where prior leaders had fallen short or otherwise screwed up.

Loki’s tone began to soften, seemingly out of nowhere.

You looked at him.

Even his eyes held a new tenderness.

Why? It seemed odd, after everything.

You followed his gaze back to the miniature mural in your hand.

He reached for the teacup, his fingers sort of stroking the outline of a woman’s hair.

“She’s pretty,” you murmured.

Loki jumped, drawing his hand back as if the paint was caustic.

“Who is she?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Or at all, for that matter.

He stared for a few moments before he cleared his throat and gave a rapid series of blinks.

“Enough of that,” he finally said, as if something unforgivable had happened. He exhaled, letting all his breath out in one short huff. “Tell me. What do you think of your new lady-in-waiting?”

“U-Um…” You stammered. Think of her? You couldn’t even think of the poor girl’s name. “She, she seems fine.”

Loki poured himself another cup. “Fine? Her instructions weren’t to stop at ‘fine,’ my dear. I made it very clear that only the very best will do. ‘Fine’ simply isn’t good enough.”

You scrambled. “Oh, n-n-n-no, no! I don’t want her to get in trouble! She’s great, really. No real complaints. It’s just… I’m not used to, you know… having someone, uh… wait on me like that.”

He narrowed his eyes over his cup. “I see. But I’m sure you will get used to it quickly.”

What did he think you were, some kind of spoiled brat?

“Well…” You sputtered. “See, I’ve always been, um, I guess you could say I’m more of the independent type. I’m not that kind, where I expect someone to do things for me.”

Loki barely hid his snicker into his teacup. “Not even your husband?”

“Excuse me?”

He set his cup and saucer down with an eerie grace. “You heard me. Does he do things for you, or do you not expect it from anyone at all?”

A beat.

It had to be a setup. He’d use it against you either way. Either you were used to it from your husband, and you could learn to expect it from someone else, or your husband did nothing, and Loki could one-up him.

Talk about a loaded question.

You took a calm breath. “He does, but I don’t expect it of him. It’s just… something he does himself.”

“Like dinner?”

“Huh?”

“Or does preparing his stroganoff on demand fall onto your shoulders?”

The furrow in your eyebrows only deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Loki’s smile wasn’t menacing, per se, but there was a certain unsettling undertone, like a poker player holding crappy cards and still knowing he could bluff his opponents into thinking he held a full house.

“Isn’t that customary in your realm?” Something about his tone didn’t sit right with you. “For a husband to demand his wife to—”

“Wait just a minute,” you interrupted. “He doesn’t demand anything from me. Not meals, not a clean house, not laundry, not…”

You trailed off. There was something about finishing that rant that gave you the creeps.

Loki gave you a knowing look, as if he understood exactly what you were going to say next.

“Of course not,” he purred. “It’s all of your own accord, yes? Otherwise, it would be slavery, rather than a marriage.”

“Y-Yeah,” you answered. “Something like that.”

He finished his cup, never breaking eye contact, and set the entire tea service back on the brazen cart. “He demands nothing, you offer everything…”

You flinched.

“And you trust him.”

There was something in Loki’s smile that made you feel sick.

As if he either was planning something, which was likely, or knew something which was…

Unlikely, right?

If anything, he could maybe make a lucky guess about whether or not you sweetened your coffee or some such.

But otherwise, he had no way of knowing anything.

Which left planning.

Loki finished gathering the pieces from the tea service. “Same time tomorrow? What do you say, my dear?”

The screams of two thoughts echoed in your mind.

No way! Get your husband and get out!

Say yes! Butter him up!

“S-Sure…”

What are you thinking?!

His smile melted into something oddly boyish. “Perfect,” he breathed. “I shall count the minutes.”

With that, he took his tea service and saw himself out.

Idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot! What were you thinking, you moron?!

All you could think of now was the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry.

You locked the door behind Loki as soon as he left, but somehow it didn’t seem like enough.

Already fighting tears and a phantom nausea, you stumbled into your powder room and locked that door, too.

Hopefully, you wouldn’t actually throw up. You could just cry and the feeling would go away, just like it usually did.

You slumped against the wall and dragged yourself to the floor, sobbing on the way down.

What had you done? Agreeing to tea with your captor? How stupid could you possibly be?!

As long as that was the dumbest thing you did, and didn’t do anything worse, maybe this could all still work out…

Maybe.

Hopefully.

You just couldn’t screw this up. Your husband’s life depended on it.

Well, maybe Loki wasn’t quite that heartless.

But what if he was?

Oh, you were in trouble.

All it would take was one false move, and everything could just—

Why had no one fixed that tile?!

Granted, it’s not like you had mentioned it to anyone, but it was a freaking palace. Why would a palace have a broken tile? Not just for the cosmetic factor, but wouldn’t royalty be worried about… oh, say, bugs or critters of literally any other kind finding their way into the palace through that?

Whatever. It could be a project for you. All you needed was glue, or some other adhesive, and maybe you could just fix it yourself.

As long as you could stop fiddling with it, of course.

Your tears slowly paused at the distraction.

For however long you had been in Asgard, that stupid tile had become your own personal fidget toy.

Somehow, it drove you nuts to see it loose, and yet you couldn’t stop playing with it.

In an odd way, you knew you would miss it once it did get fixed.

Assuming it did ever get fixed, of course.

Plink.

The tile went flying halfway across the room, landing in front of the massive bathtub.

Ohh, crap.

You had just gone from maybe fixing it to actively breaking it even further.

Nice going.

But… why did it look like a hidden compartment where the tile was?

Because you had watched too many spy movies in your day, of course.

Then again, what kind of palace wouldn’t have secret spaces tucked away? You had always envisioned castles and palaces having trap doors, secret passageways, and perhaps the occasional secret compartment.

So, why shouldn’t a palace have that?

You debated reaching in. What if there were mice or spiders or something in it?

Eh, you figured you didn’t have to reach far. It didn’t look terribly deep, and there was already something that looked like it was close to your reach.

With a small bite of your lip and a breath to steady your nerves, you reached your fingers into the compartment, wiggling around until your fingertips brushed what felt like paper. Paper, parchment, something like that.

A few pieces of paper, at that.

The jewelry box.

What if it was the rest of that letter from the jewelry box?

Well, you certainly couldn’t leave it alone now.

You reached further to fish out each of the pieces of paper from the compartment. You even counted the pieces, arranged the edges together, and poked your fingers back into the secret compartment to make sure you hadn’t missed any.

The handwriting was just as dainty and loopy as on the other pieces.

How much you… give anything… out there…

You assembled the pieces and set them on the vanity.

Your hands shook as you carefully pulled the other pieces back from the hiding place you’d found days ago and gingerly pieced the letter back together as best you could.

They definitely belonged together. One person had written it, and it was all undeniably part of the same letter.

Your breath hitched as you read the letter.

Loki,

It breaks my heart to hear about Sigyn. I know how much you loved her, and how much you longed to spend the rest of your life with her. I would give anything to take this pain from you. Though it hardly seems likely now, please remember that you will love again. You will be happy again. Please, my son, don’t let this harden your heart. Don’t ever give up on love. Sigyn was not your destiny, but someone is. The right woman, your destiny, is out there somewhere, and you will find her. I promise.

Love,

You jumped at the sudden knock on your door.

This was really getting old.

What could Loki possibly want now? You finally broke down and ate a sandwich.

Granted, it was one of those teensy-tiny sandwiches like really fancy people might eat with their afternoon tea, and you only ate half of it… which was, like, maybe one bite.

But still. You ate something.

So, what was his problem? Wasn’t his beef just that you weren’t eating?

You sat in the armchair, glaring at the door. He didn’t get a chipper “come on in” like he was likely expecting.

No, he just got a chilly serving of silence.

And that was all you intended to ever give him.

Loki was clearly in a more patient mood today. Instead of unlocking your door from the outside and letting himself in – which, frankly, unnerved the crap out of you – he waited outside.

He knocked again.

“(Name)? Darling?”

If he called you darling one more freaking time…

“May I come in?”

It wasn’t as if you had put a sign on the door that read, “Now holding office hours! Make yourself at home!”

Still, you wondered if accommodating one request for a visit could soften him a tad.

Or it could hit the fan.

Whatever.

“Sure…” In honesty, you weren’t even sure if he heard you at first. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most audible sound you’d ever made.

But he clearly had heard you after all.

“Then you’ll have to let me in, dear.”

Well, that was new. He hadn’t waited for you to answer the door for him before.

Irritating though it was, it also held a dark comfort for you. As if he was finally sprouting some semblance of respect for boundaries.

When you opened the door, Loki gave a polite bow. “May I?”

You shrugged, rather than actually replying or even giving him the universal “come on in” gesture.

Loki was all too happy to accept your pseudo-invitation. He wasted no time entering the room, dragging a shiny tea service with him.

The sight made you flinch.

Loki gleefully poured a cup for each of you as you watched hesitantly from the door jamb.

“Come, join me.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

But you were determined to make the most of it.

Even though you were certain that cedar table had not been there a few minutes ago. Nor the elaborate green-and-gold tablecloth, nor the two cozy chairs beside it…

Make the most of it, you reminded yourself.

“Join me,” he repeated gently.

With a gulp, you did.

As you sat down, Loki was already sweetening your cup.

“Um, actually—”

You noticed it was the exact sweetener you used at home. It was even the exact same amount.

A lucky guess?

It had to be.

But it would have to be a very lucky guess. And you weren’t sure how many people were that lucky.

Loki handed you the cup on a saucer with a tender smile. “Enjoy.” The word was barely audible.

You looked back and forth between the cup in his hand and his eyes.

He looked like he was peering into your soul, or at least like he expected you to invite him to do so. His gaze wasn’t inherently menacing, but it certainly gave off an I dare you to run, but you can never hide sort of feel. Or perhaps an if you run, I couldn’t take it sort of feel.

Either way, it was hard to look anywhere else but at him.

You took a breath. “You first.”

That seemed to surprise him. “Fair,” he conceded.

Loki set your cup down and took a few sips from his own.

“Finish it,” you said. “Drink it all.”

He smiled. Not a devious smile, as if he were plotting something horrible. A sheepish smile, as if his mother had caught him elbow-deep in a cookie jar.

Still, he complied.

“Satisfied?” He showed you the inside of his empty cup.

You shook your head. “Have another cup.”

You had to be sure.

Loki’s face looked like he had just gotten his rear handed to him at Uno. Somewhere between defeat and determination.

Nevertheless, he poured himself another cup and drained it.

“Now a third.”

He made a sound like he was trying to hide frustration behind a fake laugh.

“There. Three cups,” he muttered. “Now are you happy?”

Your gaze drifted to the sweetener. “No. Pour another cup, put that in it, and then drink it all.”

Loki stared into your eyes before giving a resigned click of his tongue. He poured a fourth cup for himself, took the same sweetener that he had put into your cup, and added it to his own with a melodramatic flourish.

Under better circumstances, you might have chanted, “Chug! Chug!” But he had hardly earned your humor.

~*~*~*~

It hurt to know you trusted him so little. Then again, Loki understood why. He didn’t exactly conduct himself in a trustworthy manner at Stark’s party.

Besides, few trusted him anyway.

He had hoped that you would be different. That you would at least give him one brief chance.

In time, he told himself.

Loki thought back to what you had told him before about your husband.

“If I didn’t trust him, I couldn’t marry him.”

Something in your eyes stung his heart. You didn’t look angry, per se, but there was something sharp about the way you looked at him. Sharp and cold.

Frustration? Annoyance?

Oh, please, don’t let that look be hatred.

The mere thought crushed him. If you hated him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Not in the least.

There had to be a way.

Loki blinked, his thoughts returning to the situation at hand. He gave you a small nod and downed the tea in his cup, turning it upside down afterward to show you that it was indeed empty.

You only stared.

He exhaled.

What else could it take?

The sweetener. You had an odd look on your face when you saw the sweetener.

He took another enormous helping of sweetener and dumped it into the palm of his hand, giving a rather unceremonious lick to gather it all up.

Yes, very princely. Dignified. King-like.

But you were worth it.

“Now?” He still stared into his palm, connected to his face by a string of saliva.

His heart sank with each passing moment of silence.

Clink.

~*~*~*~

Green tea.

Of course, it was green tea. What else did you expect? Dude was clearly obsessed with all things green or even greenish.

“It’s, um… It’s good,” you murmured.

Loki looked up at you, as if terrified that you would throw something at him just for daring to be in the same room as you.

The cup was teeny, even for your own hands. A pearly white backdrop, with gold trim here and there. The longer you looked at it, the more you noticed just how colorful it truly was, with the little mini-mural.

In honesty, you were mildly surprised that it was anything but solid green.

“This painting, on the cup…” you began, “I’m guessing it’s about the history of the palace?”

Loki clearly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He gave you a cautious-looking smile through the saliva still clinging to his chin.

“Y-Yes. Yes, it is.”

You examined the cup a bit more, only occasionally sipping the tea in it. Its matching saucer sat gingerly on your knees, neatly pressed together.

He waited until he thought you weren’t watching, but you noticed him scrambling in your peripheral vision to wipe his face.

“You see, this, by the handle, is the palace, where we are now. Then over here, you see the Allfather riding his horse across the Bifrost…”

It wasn’t even that you cared about the history. As far as you were concerned, it was just a pretty picture.

Besides, there was something comforting about Loki being there talking, as opposed to plotting something horrible.

Still, you hated yourself for it.

You hated yourself for letting Loki into the room. You hated yourself for agreeing to tea. You hated yourself for trying the tea. You hated yourself for asking about the stupid design on the stupid teacup.

You had been there, what? Close to a week? This was the first pleasant – or, at least, not-unpleasant – conversation you’d had with Loki.

In fact, it was also the longest conversation you’d had with anyone since you arrived.

But after what Loki had done to you and your husband, he didn’t deserve pleasant conversation with you.

He deserved your fingernails reaching into his eye sockets. He deserved to hear you call him every name in the book. He deserved to have that whole pot of steaming hot tea dumped into his lap, or down his shirt, or even on his head. He deserved a kick where it counted.

You hated him.

It took a few days, but you realized your resistant approach wasn’t getting you anywhere fast.

You decided to try something different. The lady-in-waiting was eager to teach you the ways of the land – or, rather, of the palace.

Some of the customs seemed simple enough. Others were a tad… archaic.

Basic etiquette was, of course, obvious.

Perhaps this would be the way to suck up to Loki, get on his good side.

His good side was definitely a more favorable place to be.

Loki’s treatment of you certainly carried a perpetual romantic overtone, but at least he was being nice to you… right?

Granted, his “being nice” was often less kindness and more like flirting. Aggressive flirting, at that.

Sure, he seemed disappointed to learn that you didn’t like the dresses he had provided for you, but in his obsession, he would have walked through fire to please you. The dresses were promptly replaced with softer fabrics and more modest designs, at your request.

There was, however, one thing you still hadn’t budged on.

“Thank you. I’m not hungry.”

Your stomach growled, outing you and your lie.

Loki sighed. Obviously, he wasn’t buying it.

“My dear, you must eat. Is there another dish you would rather eat? Would you prefer smaller portions, perhaps?” Poor Loki was clearly willing to try just about anything.

A small part of you considered telling him you would rather have a scoop of chocolate ice cream, just to see if he’d actually do it.

But he would likely be more than happy to call your bluff.

What other options did you have?

“Well…”

Loki’s eyes lit up as he awaited your request. “Yes, my love?”

“Could I perhaps share it with my husband?”

He frowned. No, more like glowered. “We’ve discussed this.”

“Right. I know it’s not supposed to be taken to the dungeons, and I know it’s been taken to the dungeons before. But maybe… he could… eat up here with me?”

Loki looked like the poster child for “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me.”

“Absolutely not, (Name)! Prisoners are not to be brought to the main palace!”

“But…”

“(Name)…” He didn’t say your name. He groaned it, like he was in agony.

You gave a short exhale through your nose. “Can you guarantee he’s eating, even if he doesn’t get this?”

Loki’s face twitched so quickly you couldn’t be sure it happened. “He’ll be fed.”

Not well, and you knew it.

An idea crossed your mind. A silly idea, but an idea nonetheless.

It nauseated you, but you looked into Loki’s calculating eyes, gave a saccharine smile, and softly blinked a few times.

Your husband never could resist that look. He always sighed, gave in, and muttered about how he “would really be in trouble” if the two of you ever had a daughter.

Loki sputtered a few times. “(N-Name).” This time, he tried to force a laugh. “(Name), darling, be reasonable.”

He likely knew what you were doing. He knew, and would fight it tooth and nail.

“Or…” You swayed for a moment, hoping to up the “cute” factor. “You could just let us go, and we’ll call it even.”

This time, you were certain you saw a twitch.

“You know I can’t allow that.” Loki sounded like he was suppressing a fiery rage, threatening to take him over completely.

“Then I won’t eat.”

Your stomach growled again in protest.

“You will.”

His words were so quiet that you could have sworn you were only hearing a brief gust of wind outside.

Loki reached to take the platter of food out of the room.

There was nothing too spectacular about his hands, but something made you watch more closely. Curiosity, perhaps?

The backs of his hands, one more than the other, seemed somewhat callused. The fair skin of his knuckles, in particular, appeared to have… split in places. Not evenly, as if from a deliberate, mechanical injury. No, more like an incidental tearing. Ripping, even.

You couldn’t help but stare. What would cause something like that?

It couldn’t be anything strenuous. The surroundings didn’t exactly seem to belong to a man of physical labor. He was presumably keeping you in a palace, drenched in gold and gemstones.

Where did the calluses come from?

Only one hypothesis came to mind. You didn’t like it in the least, but you couldn’t think of any other explanation.

~*~*~*~

Loki had conceded. Technically. The least you could have done was just eat one meal.

He slammed the door to his chambers and locked it behind him before letting out a groan.

What next? You were killing him with your stubbornness.

Loki groaned again. How could you not see it? How could you not understand that he was doing all this out of love?

If you rejected his affections after he had gone to all this trouble, after he had put forth all this effort… he paused, frowning in sympathy.

Had you once rejected the advances of the man you now called your husband? What grand gestures had he shown that had initially caused you to turn up your nose?

Loki began to feel sorry for your husband. Well, almost.

What could that mortal man possibly offer you that Loki couldn’t? Sure, he had been working alongside the Avengers, but they had accepted Loki, too… however begrudgingly. It’s not like that made your husband better than him.

Right?

Everything about this whole situation grated on Loki’s nerves. He wasn’t sure what exactly he needed.

Actually, he knew precisely what needed to happen. The only problem was that there didn’t seem to be much opening for that to happen without causing a whole scandal to sweep through Asgard.

If you left your husband for Loki, the queen would be a divorcee. That would certainly get people talking, and not for the most proper of reasons.

Widowing, ironically, seemed to be the graceful option. But it wouldn’t take long for the whole realm to connect the dots, and connect the death to Loki. Then the rumor mill would jump on Loki being a murderer.

Again.

Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that you would never forgive him for it.

Even if you did, the chances were high that you would certainly take your sweet time at it.

Loki sighed. What he needed was a nice, warm cup of…

Wait.

His focus shifted to the polished service on a nearby table.

Of course! How had he not thought of that before?

Perhaps there was hope for the two of you yet.

You picked up the jewelry box and turned it upside down. A couple more pearl strands, another pair of earrings, and a handful of loose gems dumped out onto the vanity.

But no paper. Nothing to indicate the rest of that letter.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but you were no cat.

You opened drawers in the vanity and nightstand, even picking the locks of a few with a glitzy hairpin.

All empty.

Hours passed. You had checked underneath the mattress, looked for loose floorboards, and even peeked behind a painting.

Nothing.

Was it deliberately hidden? Whoever hid it did an incredible job.

But who would have hidden the letter? And why?

The obvious answer would be that Loki hid it.

You had no idea why he would hide a letter, though.

Perhaps just as great of a question was why the letter was torn. Had Loki ripped the letter? It was, after all, addressed to him.

Maybe he hid it for the same reason he tore it.

Still, you didn’t know what that reason was.

The tears looked rather… angry. If Loki tore the letter, he must have been pretty pissed off.

You reached up to scratch your clavicle, where the neckline of your dress sat. The fabric was getting itchy. Or maybe it was the embroidery.

Either way, you were ready to be rid of the dress.

Forget the letter. The clothes you had been wearing at the party (and when you were brought to the palace) weren’t where you had left them.

Odd.

Maybe you hung them up in the armoire and just… forgot.

Yeah, that was it.

So, why weren’t they in the armoire?

You closed the armoire and opened it back up a few times, as if expecting your clothes to materialize.

They never did.

Weird.

And suspicious.

A woman who appeared to be about your age came to the suite, likely to inform you of when you could expect dinner.

You didn’t want to hear it.

“Hi. Listen. Do you know what happened to my clothes?”

She looked at you as if she didn’t understand.

Maybe she spoke a different language? You fumbled around in your brain, trying to think of how to say it in any other language.

Too bad your foreign language skills consisted of “I would like some wine,” and “Where is the bathroom?” in maybe two other languages.

“Um…” You pointed to yourself, then gestured down to the dress. “My… clothes?” You made a shrugging motion. “Where?”

“His majesty has ordered that you wear a new dress each day,” she said with a nod. “There should be more in the armoire.”

Great, but that didn’t answer your question.

“No,” you said after a pause. “The clothes I had on earlier. Do you know where they are?”

She curtseyed, then turned to leave.

“Wait—!”

You bit your lip. That didn’t go as planned.

Sometime later, she returned with a box in hand.

Green, of course.

Maybe your own clothes were in the box?

You looked up to ask the woman, but she had already left.

This place was just getting weirder and weirder.

Whatever. At least now you would have something comfortable to wear.

You opened the box.

At a first glance, it appeared to contain the clothes you wore at Stark’s party.

But then you pulled them out of the box.

Rather, you attempted to pull them out of the box.

Your heart sank.

The garments had been slashed to ribbons.

They couldn’t have just been… accidentally torn.

No, this was deliberate. Loki did this on purpose.

It seemed you would be wearing the itchy green dress a little longer.

~*~*~*~

Loki paced his own chambers for what felt like a century. In truth, it may have been about fifteen minutes.

According to the lady-in-waiting he had provided for you, you were still refusing to eat. You even insisted that she drink some of the water before you even had a sip.

The sips of water finally became drinking it all yourself.

He was willing to accept that as a small victory. At least you wouldn’t perish from dehydration.

Still, at this rate, you would become severely malnourished soon.

You had stated your terms. You refused to eat a bite until you and your husband were released.

Would he agree to it?

Of course not.

It would be worth it in the end. You would come to your senses, and Loki would… “get the girl,” as they say.

Not that it would be easy.

But that’s precisely what would make the victory so much sweeter.

He couldn’t wait to taste that victory.

And he would make sure to rub it in, too!

~*~*~*~

The lady-in-waiting, whose name you still weren’t sure how to pronounce, looked increasingly worried with each passing (refused) meal.

You weren’t sure if she was worried about your health, or if she was worried of what Loki would say.

Or perhaps of what Loki would do.

At least you had a new dress on, and this one was a bit more comfortable. The fabric was softer, lighter in weight, and there wasn’t as much embroidery.

The lady-in-waiting must have passed along the message to Loki that you hated that first dress and preferred something less itchy and suffocating.

After all, Loki had to have been the one to pick some of the dresses out; several of them were a bit lower-cut than you were comfortable with.

Someone knocked on your door. Whether it was Loki or the lady-in-waiting, you didn’t care; you just wanted them to leave.

You ignored them. Whoever they were.

Another knock.

Still nothing.

“Lady (Name)? Are you hungry? I have your—.”

“No, thank you.” You didn’t give the poor girl a chance to finish her sentence.

It didn’t matter, though.

You still weren’t home. You still wouldn’t eat.

Silence.

You could just barely hear her whisper to a second person, “She is still refusing to eat, your Majesty.”

Loki must have been with her.

He sighed, a ragged, frustrated sound. “I’ll take this. Thank you.”

A third round of knocks, this time clearly by a larger, stronger hand.

“(Name), dear. It’s me.”

Yeah, you knew exactly who it was.

“May I come in?”

Why did he bother asking? He was already opening the door.

You darted into the ensuite powder room and slammed the door, locking it behind you. Sure, it may have come across a bit rude, but etiquette was hardly your top priority right now.

“I understand you are still on your… hunger strike.”

Bleh. You weren’t exactly doing it for fun. You pressed your back to the door, just in case Loki got some cute idea about unlocking the door and coming in.

You heard him sigh again. This time, it sounded like he was trying to compose himself.

“If you don’t eat soon, you will become ill. A mortal’s body wasn’t intended to go without sustenance for long, you know.”

Mortal? Geez, he was sure full of himself.

Maybe he would leave soon.

In the meantime, you found yourself fascinated by a certain tile in the wall, by the bathtub. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why; it just sort of… caught your attention.

“Darling… I know this is a difficult situation, but you mustn’t starve yourself. That’s not the proper way to handle this.”

No answer. You were in no mood to entertain him.

Instead, you just scooted over and picked at the tile, still unsure why. You saw nothing noteworthy about it. It was just a tile.

Still, you played with the tile. Pushed at it. Pulled against the edge.

Why was the tile so loose? Did the palace not have… maintenance or something?

You heard Loki wander around the suite a bit longer, rummaging around. He set what you guessed something (maybe your dinner on that obscenely expensive-looking platter or a glass of water) down, presumably on the nightstand. It sounded like he was looking under the bed.

For what? For you?

What did he think you were, five?

The moron.

“I am sure you will be hungry soon. Until then, I am sure you are already thirsty. Drink the water. Please. For me.”

Pfft.

You may very well drink the water, but it would by no means be for Loki’s sake.

Loki stayed in the room a bit longer, probably in case you decided to reappear.

As if that was going to happen.

“Darling, you can’t hide forever.”

It didn’t sound like a threat, thankfully. But it did sound a bit…

… Like a plea.

You refused lunch.

Loki returned to point out that you had refused lunch.

As if you somehow had no idea.

“Darling, you still haven’t had a bite.”

“I know,” you bit back. “I was there.”

He scowled for a moment. “I noticed you had your lunch sent to his cell again.”

You simply nodded.

He came closer, not breaking eye contact. “To what purpose, my dear?”

Did he seriously not know? Was he that stupid? What part of all this was he not getting?

“Just let us go, and I’ll eat.”

It was the same line over and over.

Loki brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “Does he even love you?”

You sputtered. “W… Wh-What kind of question is that?! Of course, he does!”

He chuckled. “Ah, yes. He gave you a piece of metal, so he obviously loves you. Come on, (Name). Does he really love you?”

You glared, unsure what exactly he wanted to hear. “He married me. We decided to grow old together. I don’t know how much more he could love me.”

“Is he honest?”

Honest?

The way Loki asked the question was so… simple. As if asking, “Is it going to rain today?”

“I mean… yeah? If he wasn’t honest, I couldn’t trust him. If I couldn’t trust him, I couldn’t marry him.”

Loki’s eyebrows jumped up for a moment. “So, you trust him?”

You nodded your head. “Yes.”

His mouth twitched like he just thought of a silly joke. He shook his head. “Forgive me. It’s just that you mortals have such strange logic.”

Your nose scrunched. He had strange logic, if he thought that was appropriate to say.

Loki sighed. “No breakfast, no lunch. Surely, you’ll be starving by tonight.”

The door closed much more gently behind him this time.

You let out a deep breath that you had no idea you had even been holding. Maybe something in the suite would be of interest.

With a place this extravagant, it had to have something you could use. Perhaps to pick a lock, to defend yourself from Looney Loki, to… hey, maybe to send a distress signal to someone outside.

If nothing else, you could even distract yourself with the jewelry box on the vanity. Play dress-up a bit.

Besides, when was the last time you wore something so pretty?

Your stomach was ready to digest itself, but you opened the ornate box, nestled amongst the beautifully crafted glass bottles of perfumes and beauty treatments, and rummaged through it.

Brooches, necklaces, bracelets, even hair pins.

Everything in the box was so beautiful. Most of it was gold with diamonds, pearls, the occasional topaz, a few other gems… and emeralds.

Lots and lots of emeralds.

Interestingly, many of the pieces looked antique. Well cared-for and in excellent condition, but antiques, nonetheless. Were they heirlooms, perhaps?

You took a bracelet from the box, a solid gold cuff adorned with blinding diamonds, and put it on your wrist. The sight made you smile a bit, despite yourself.

What else was there? You dug through the box some more, and found more sparkly things.

Barely aware of what you were doing anymore, you had donned a necklace loaded with precious stones, stuck a couple of golden pins into your hair, and even poked a pair of dangly pearl earrings into your earlobes.

Still, the box seemed full. How much jewelry did one person need?

Especially considering that Loki was a bachelor. Something told you he wasn’t exactly wearing this stuff himself, either.

Where did the jewelry come from? Was it all for you?

There was one piece that seemed to have its own place, outside the jewelry box. A place you somehow didn’t even notice before.

A golden tiara, complete with more jewels than you had seen in one place.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if you were supposed to go messing around with the jewelry. To say nothing of this extravagant tiara.

Still, you couldn’t resist.

You took the tiara, and placed it on your own head.

The woman in the mirror looked much less like a captive, and much more like… like a queen.

Or perhaps a bit like…

~*~*~*~

“Ahh! You look so beautiful! Can you believe today’s finally the big day?”

You giggled at your best friend as she gushed. “Oh, stop! My hair’s still in rollers, and I haven’t finished putting on my makeup yet.”

She swiped on a top coat of clear nail polish and retorted, “But still! Maybe it’s the ‘blushing bride’ thing. You know, being beautiful because you’re happy and all that?”

“Maybe,” you mused as you blotted your lipstick. “I just hope I don’t cry.”

Your friend gave a cheeky grin. “I just hope I catch your bouquet!”

The two of you giggled some more before you applied the finishing touches of your makeup.

“Well? How do I look?”

She squinted at you, pretending to think. “You look like your hair is still in rollers.”

Another giggle as she freed the strands, then arranged them into an elegant updo.

“Now the veil…”

You held your breath. You weren’t sure why; maybe excitement? Nerves? All of the above?

“And you do have your ring, right?”

You hesitated. “Um…”

“(Name)!”

“I’m kidding! Geez, relax! I’m kinda tense right now; if I don’t crack a dumb joke about something, I might just…”

“Snap like a rubber band?”

You smirked. “Yeah, something like that. But I have my ring on.”

She chuckled. “Silly! You’re not supposed to wear your wedding ring yet! He’s supposed to put the ring on your hand, remember? While he’s saying his vows?”

“I knooooow, I know. I’ll just hand it to him before.”

“Nooo!” Your friend acted exasperated, but you knew it was all in jest. “Look. Give me your ring, and I’ll give it to his best man, and then he can give it to your soon-to-be-hubby.”

“Fine, fine.” You gave the ring a small twist and handed it to her. “Take care of it.”

She grinned. “Of course! I would be a crappy maid of honor if I didn’t.”

As she left, you took a moment to yourself. You put on the necklace your grandmother had loaned you.

Something borrowed.

You couldn’t help but stare in awe at your own reflection. Your maid of honor had been right; you did look like a beautiful blushing bride.

~*~*~*~

You blinked, unsure when the tears started to form.

Once upon a time, dressing up like a princess was harmless fun. That’s all you meant for it to be, even now. But it felt like an assault on your own sentimentalism.

You cleared your throat, just to break the silence. White noise would have been welcomed with open arms. Even the sound of, say, a fan or a ventilation system.

Instead, a certain quiet heaviness yawned within the room, as if threatening to swallow you into a black hole if you didn’t shut up.

You had to admit, your wedding band did look somewhat… bland, compared to the luxuries you found in the box.

But you didn’t care. That ring meant everything to you. It meant love, a life built with your husband.

For all you cared, Loki could pry it off your cold, dead finger. And even then, you would still fight for it!

Fighting for your ring meant fighting for love. Fighting for your husband.

Fighting for your marriage.

There were pieces of aged paper tucked away at the bottom of the jewelry box. You fished one out and carefully unfolded it.

Clearly, it had been ripped into shreds. Likely in rage, if you had to wager a guess.

The paper had been written on, but one torn bit didn’t exactly hold a myriad of clues.

You picked up the rest of the pieces of paper, hoping they all went to the same document, and gingerly ironed them out with your palm.

What you found were pieces of the same paper, but some were clearly missing.

An elegant script neatly wrote out a letter addressed to Loki. Something about the penmanship seemed feminine.

Who wrote it?

Maybe reading it would help you figure that out.

Or, rather, reading what was left of it.

Loki... It breaks my heart… spend the rest of your life with her… take this pain… it hardly seems likely now… will love… don’t let this… Don’t ever give up… The right woman, your destiny…  find her.

You read it over and over, your heart beating just a bit faster each time. You reminded yourself that pieces of the letter were missing; you didn’t have the full context of the message.

No need to jump to conclusions, right?

Right…

Still, something about the letter unsettled you a bit.

Maybe it wasn’t like it sounded. Maybe you could find the rest of the letter, and it would be completely innocent.

You almost asked what would happen if you refused. Somehow, you had the feeling you already knew.

“Oh, and while we happen to be on the subject…” Loki took your hand once more and bent your wrist backward just ever-so-slightly. “You have waved this ring in my face enough already. I don’t want to see it again.”

Certainly not. There was no way he was telling you not to wear your wedding ring.

No, you wanted to snap at him. But something in your gut warned you that you had no idea what this guy was capable of.

Maybe deliberately pissing him off wouldn’t be the smartest idea.

Still, the thought of taking off your wedding ring, especially at another man’s request, felt… wrong.

You opened your mouth to speak. All that came out was a frightened vocal fry. You clutched your left hand close to your chest, as if to guard it.

It almost took an entire war for you to leave the dungeons.

As Loki dragged you backwards, you reached out toward your husband’s cell, reading his lips as he beat against the glass and screamed the only three words that could have provided any solace.

“I love you!”

Tears burned your eyes. Under normal circumstances, hearing those words from your husband would have warmed your very soul.

But nothing about this situation was normal.

You longed for normal again. You longed for laundry day, leftovers, and fussing at your husband for hogging the covers.

Normal seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Instead, you were in some place you had barely even heard of, ogled by someone who saw fit to drug you and your husband and put him in a freaking dungeon.

Something occurred to you. If Loki was at the party, that would mean he worked alongside your husband.

And if Loki worked alongside your husband… you should have been able to trust him.

You mentally chewed Tony Stark out for allowing it, for not vetting his “Avengers” better.

“I believe, my dear,” Loki began as he approached your suite, “that a more extravagant ring would suit you much better, hm?”

Apparently, he was still on about that.

He opened the door and led you in. “Perhaps a diamond the size of your palm? Or even… an emerald?” His face seemed a bit too giddy at the thought.

You reflexively brought your left hand to your heart, as if to guard it, and forced yourself to look into Loki’s eyes. “N-No… It’s my wedding ring. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Loki’s lip twitched in a half-snarl. He took a breath, and composed himself once more. “Well, I’m sure you are famished. I’ll have breakfast brought to you shortly.”

You weren’t sure if “shortly” was too soon or couldn’t come soon enough.

Maybe it was just your empty stomach talking, but the food smelled incredible.

Still, the thought of consuming anything else Loki might give you seemed… unwise.

Besides, something told you your husband wasn’t being given such rich food. Or maybe anything to eat at all.

It gave you an idea, a means of resistance.

“N… No, thank you.” Your mouth went dry as the words stumbled out.

Loki gave you a curious look. “No? Why not?”

You gulped, then forced yourself to stay strong. “I’m not going to eat it. I won’t eat anything unless and until you let us go.”

~*.*.*.*~

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

Loki quirked a brow. “A hunger strike? But, my dear, you will become ill.”

“Then… Then you should just let us go, and I won’t get sick.” Loki could hear a faint tremor in your voice as you spoke.

What did you expect? That he would just… get over it? “Oh, well, in that case, the door’s that way. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Of course not!

“(Name). Darling…” Loki forced a monosyllabic chuckling sound, as if trying to remain some semblance of calm. “Please. Just one bite, at least.”

“Mm-mm,” you shook your head, like a stubborn child. “Release us, and I’ll eat everything on the plate.”

Loki narrowed his eyes and let out a half-sigh-half-groan sound. “You know I can’t do that.”

You glared up at him, then put on a polite expression. “I’ll tell you what. Take this to my husband.”

What?!

Loki could feel his brow furrow and his jaw drop at least a meter.

“You can’t be serious, (Name). Such dishes are specifically prepared for royals and dignitaries. They’re not intended to be taken to the dungeons, to be given to prisoners!”

Your face softened still, your voice barely audible as you responded, “Please?”

He growled at the thought of indulging your request.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you no.

“Fine.”

Loki slammed the cloche back over the platter of food, startling you with its clatter, and left with the covered dish in hand.

The door banged shut behind him as he left, barely drowning out the sound of his grumbling.

Once Loki made his way into the dungeons, the smell of the food you had rejected wafted through the air. Naturally, all the other prisoners wanted to know who was getting special treatment.

Loki let himself into your husband’s cell. “Room service,” he drawled.

The man looked up from his seated position, glancing back and forth between Loki’s flat expression and the covered platter in his hands. “What’s that?”

“Your wife’s breakfast. She is refusing to eat, and insisted it be brought to you instead.”

“R… Refusing to eat? Why?”

Loki didn’t answer. He dropped the platter onto the nearest flat surface. “Stark offered you a flat of sorts within the compound, did he not? When you first joined the Avengers?”

The prisoner quirked a brow. “Who cares?”

“You declined.”

“So?”

“You’re speaking to a king.” Loki shot a booted foot into the man’s shin. “I thought you had to be daft to decline. In what abode could a mortal man possibly live that he would refuse to let Stark purchase a home for him?”

The man glared in silence.

“But then…” Loki crouched down to meet the man’s gaze. “Then a conference was called. They said it would take all day. And you forgot your lunch that day, you dunce.”

Now the gears began to turn. Realization was gradually dawning.

Loki’s expression melted into a sentimental smile. “She brought your forgotten lunch. Our beautiful (Name). I doubt she noticed me, but I was immediately captivated. One glimpse, friend; that’s all it took.”

~*.*.*.*~

“So, the next time this happens, it won’t happen!” Fury bellowed at the room. The recent mission had hit the fan at top speed, and nobody was leaving the meeting without getting dressed down in some form or fashion.

“Hi! Oh, sorry.”

Loki’s head turned, as if of its own accord.

A beautiful young woman had walked into the conference room with a solid dark blue lunch bag in hand, and made her way to the man sitting across from Loki.

“Honey, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find your office.”

“That’s fine, babe.”

Several people in the room had looked over, clearly wondering who you thought you were and what was so important that you saw fit to interrupt a SHIELD meeting.

“Enjoy the stroganoff.” You gave your husband a light kiss on his lips. “I love you.”

He chuckled innocently. “Love you, too.”

Loki stared, wishing he was the one getting that kiss. That sentimental, “I love you.”

~*.*.*.*~

Even as the memory faded back into reality, the dumb look on Loki’s face remained.

“Dude, I’ve got some bad news for you. She’s married.”

Did Loki even ask this man for his input?

“To me.” He grinned, unashamed of the attitude he was giving to the king of Asgard.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, a gritty blend of smugness and resentment.

Given the current circumstances, the smugness seemed especially out of place. Was this man possibly too stupid to understand where he was? Or why he was there?

“Did you?”

“Huh?”

Loki backhanded him. “Need I remind you to whom you are speaking? Show some respect!”

A spectacular shade of purple was already blooming.

“Did you enjoy the stroganoff?”

The man nodded.

“She must have worked very hard on it.”

Another nod.

“Tell me… How many times has she made stroganoff for you?”

It was clearly not a question the prisoner expected. He likely anticipated something to the effect of your favorite color or how you met.

“… Once. Just that one time. I asked her if she could, so she did.”

Loki quirked a brow. “Imagine, giving (Name) orders like a common servant.” He paused, imagining you as queen, beside him with your hand in his as he sat on his throne.

          Midgard was such an odd place. From its technology to the strange euphemisms people used, it was truly peculiar.

Oh, but you belonged in Asgard. Loki just needed to convince you of that. To show you.

You belonged wherever he was; you just didn’t understand that yet.

 But you would, in time.

Loki made another round through the library, still not focusing on any of the tomes before him. His mind was elsewhere.

Light shone in through a window, as if welcoming him to select a book and read it by the mid-morning sun.

Who can resist a window so full of sunshine?

The window overlooked the massive courtyard, as did many of the royals’ chambers, as well as a few chambers reserved for diplomats. Hospitality, or some such.

One window across the way was guarded by a delicate curtain. Loki had expected to see the curtain swaying gently in the breeze. Instead, it simply hung in place.

His guest must not have awakened yet to open the window. How long did mortals sleep for, anyway?

Or perhaps…?

No, it was certainly no fault of his.

You would wake when you were ready. You would throw open the window, take in the beautiful sights of Asgard, and thank him for bringing you to your new home.

He could hardly wait to hear you say that you no longer wanted any part of Earth. Midgard, you would call it with a wrinkled nose. You would scoff at the idea of returning, at the idea of anything it had to offer.

Anyone it had to offer.

Loki frowned for a moment, then shook his head. No, you would surely choose him.

~*~*~*~

This was certainly no hotel you had ever been to. You had never seen anything nearly as luxurious as this place.

When did you get here? How did you get here?

You had some vague recollection of a party the previous evening, and mingling with your husband’s new coworkers. You had only met them once, maybe twice, before the party.

They seemed nice enough, and not as intimidating as you expected from a gaggle of supers. Sure, you had initially been a little insecure about him being around Natasha, but you seemed to hit it off with her and soon forgot all about it.

Let’s see. Who else was there? As you took a mental head count of who you remembered seeing, you notice everyone had been there. The whole Avengers squad.

Oh, and you vaguely remembered seeing this one tall guy with dark hair, but you weren’t completely sure who he was. You may have seen him at a previous gathering, too, but you certainly didn’t remember being introduced.

Maybe your husband couldn’t think of his name, either.

Your roll call did little to jog your memory, so you decided to look around the room. Nothing specific stuck out to you. The room was decked out in more gold than you had ever seen in one place, but that hardly seemed suspicious. Surprising, sure, but not quite suspicious.

There was nothing of yours in the room, save for your purse. The little bag sat neatly on the gilded vanity beside the window.

It was your own purse. Still, you absently rifled through it, knowing it would hardly contain any clues.

Identification, keys, broken cell phone, a pack of chewing gum, sunglasses… Nothing out of the ordinary.

You stopped, trying to think of when you broke your phone. Oh, well. You had always been a bit clumsy. Maybe you dropped it while you were at the party last night.

Just… from high enough that it wouldn’t turn back on.

Lovely.

An icy chill slithered down your spine, eliciting a shudder. Not that the room was cold, but something… just was not right.

It was a lot like that feeling you had been getting at home on certain nights, when you and your husband had been making love.

Where were you, anyway?

You pulled back the curtain, but nothing about the scenery looked remotely familiar. The courtyard was pretty, but you simply did not recognize anything you saw.

Or anyone you saw, for that matter. The few people in your field of vision were certainly not any you remembered meeting before.

With a shrug, you stepped away from the window. Had the armoire been open, or did that just happen since you got up?

No matter. Curiosity beckoned you forth, like a magnet.

When you looked inside the armoire, you gasped.  It was filled with beautiful, luxurious ballgowns.

Someone must have already been staying in this room!

And she clearly had a favorite color.

Every dress was made from deep, saturated shades of green with emeralds embedded amongst the gold embroidery.

Whoever’s room this was sure had expensive taste.

None of your questions were getting answered. If anything, you were only coming up with more and more questions.

Where were you? How did you get to wherever this place was? How long had you been here?

And where in the world was your husband?

Knock, knock.

You could have jumped out of your skin at the sudden sound. After a quick glance down to confirm that, yes, you were decent, you went to answer the door.

As if it had been your own door to answer all along.

~*~*~*~

Loki greeted you with a canty smile, oblivious to your whirlwind of questions, as he entered the room. “(Name). How did you sleep, darling?”

Your brows furrowed and your face crinkled as if you had just smelled something dead.

Hardly the response he had expected from you.

Certainly, you at least recognized him… right?

You had to.

Ah, you just needed a moment. Perhaps you still needed to get your bearings from sleeping so well the previous night.

His smile never faltered as he repeated his question.

Still, you stared at him in silence. Like a mouse meeting the gaze of a pit viper.

And you looked about as brave, too.

~*~*~*~

The man looked at you – spoke to you – as if he knew you personally. As if you were supposed to know him, too.

Did you? Had you seen him somewhere before?

What was his name?

“Sir?” Your voice squeaked. “Where am I?”

He gave a forced-sounding laugh, like he was trying to mask something else behind it. “Asgard,” he said, as if the answer had been obvious.

Asgard? Didn’t your husband have a coworker from there?

The longer you waited, the more certain you were that one of his green eyes was developing a twitch.

After a sigh, he continued. “You will like it here. I am sure of it.”

“H-How did I get here?” A part of you wondered if maybe you should have started by asking his name, but that was a newer question.

The man’s smile softened, as if he felt sorry for you. Why? “Oh, my dear. Don’t you remember?”

You shook your head.

Everything within you screamed to back away from this stranger when he reached for you. But… you stood still.

~*~*~*~

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m married.” You hoped you didn’t come across as rude, but you had no interest in dancing with strange men.

Natasha gave a tipsy giggle when the guy left. “You know, your husband is over there playing darts. Besides, he’s not gonna care if you just dance.”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but I just don’t feel right about it.”

“I get that.” Natasha hopped off her barstool and informed you that she would be back.

“Do you need me to go with you?” You had no idea how many shots she had thrown back.

She waved you off as she made her way to the powder room.

The bartender set down a glass and tapped his fingers against the wood of the bar.

“Hm?” You turned around and saw a cocktail, much like the one you had just finished. “Um… Sorry, I-I, uh… I didn’t order this.”

He nodded to a man at the other side of the bar. “No, but he did.”

You met the man’s emerald gaze, and he briefly raised his own drink in your direction with an almost-too-friendly smile.

Had nobody been listening to you?

You shook your head and pointed to your wedding ring.

“Do you always reject gifts?” The bartender furrowed one brow.

All you could muster out was a wordless stammer.

The glass groaned against the bar as it was pushed farther in your direction.

“Hey, look at you!” Natasha seemed a little too chipper when she returned. “Got somebody buying you a drink?”

“Yeah, but…” You sigh. “I’m not exactly fishing for a date here.”

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “It’s a drink that you don’t have to pay for. Come on! What’s the worst that could happen?”

Maybe she and the bartender were right. Maybe it was just a simple drink.

You accept the drink with a shrug. “Thanks.”

“Ooh!” Nat squealed when she saw him grinning at you. “So, Loki bought you a drink? Lucky, lucky girl.”

Funny. You could have sworn her eyes were blue earlier.

Through the noise of the party, you just barely hear her giggling as you take a sip.

~*~*~*~

The air quivers in your lungs.

“Th-That… That was you? You bought me that drink?”

He never did break eye contact as he nodded. “Did you enjoy it?”

“O-Okay, listen. I don’t usually have more than one drink, and I have never accepted a drink from a-a stranger before, and I definitely wasn’t, like, trying to… Um… I’m married.”

His smile fell in an instant. “I know.”

Something about the whole situation felt wrong.

“Did we ever actually meet? I mean, you know my name.”

“Good question.” He gave a soft, wistful laugh. “But it’s certainly hard to believe we haven’t known each other since the beginning of time.”

Wherever this Asgard place was, you doubted they understood the meaning of the word “married.”

“W-Well… Um, I should be getting back home. My husband is probably wondering where I am.”

His hand fell from your temple to your shoulder blade. “Why rush? Stay.”

“I mean… Thank you for, you know, not making me drive, but I didn’t make it home last night. I’m sure he’s worried.”

Come to think of it, why did he bring you here? Your husband was at the party, too, so you had a way to get home. Even if he had been drinking, too, what would have kept this guy from driving the both of you home?

Nothing about this made sense.

“He didn’t drive, either.”

You felt an eyebrow twitch. How could he have known what you were thinking?

The whole day was getting weirder by the minute, and you had barely been awake for an hour.

You took a half-step backward as he offered his hand.

~*~*~*~

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your expression. Oh, you still had much to learn if you were to be queen.

“Loki.”

You stared at his hand as if he were holding out a dead rat.

“Don’t be shy, pet. You were not sure that we had met. Now, we have.”

Still, you hesitated.

No matter. He was willing to wait all day if he had to.

Although, that was by no means his preference.

“I’m sure you shake hands on Midgard, no?”

Your lips formed a thin line as you shook his hand. Clearly wary, but you accepted.

He could feel his own heart fluttering in his chest at the contact.

Maybe yours wasn’t just yet… At least, not for the same reasons.

All in time.

“I… I guess you already know my name.”

Another chuckle.

“B-But, how do you know my name?”

Oh, you still had so much to learn.

~*~*~*~

At least you knew his name now.

“And… Why am I here? Instead of… home?”

His laugh sounded innocent, but something about it unsettled you. “My dear, you are home.”

“No, I mean my home.”

Loki gestured to the room around you, as if to say, “Duh.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he thought this was funny, or if he was stupid, or… something else.

“I don’t live here, you know. And you still haven’t told me how you know my name.”

“The entire compound knows your name. That husband of yours made sure of that.”

The way he spat the word put a knot in your stomach. Why the bile?

“But, speaking of demanding answers, I have asked you two questions, and you have yet to answer either. Come, sit.” He made his way to a divan at the opposite end of the room.

“Um…” You plopped awkwardly onto a nearby ottoman instead.

“How did you sleep? I must say, I went to a bit of trouble getting this room prepared for you.”

Your saliva felt like a rock in your throat. “F-Fine, thanks.”             

He had to let you leave eventually…

… Right?

The look on his face inspired zero confidence in that.

“And did you enjoy your drink? I’m sure that helped you rest.”

Another rock in your throat.

“It… it was fine.”

A grin spread from one ear to the other. “I am so glad to hear that. I made it myself, after all.”

“I-I… I thought you bought the drink?”

He gave you a wink that came across more menacing than flirty.

But if he made the drink…

Oh, no.

“Now, tell me. Do your dresses fit?”

“Um…”

You followed his gaze to the armoire. Dresses…?

“They were designed specifically for you, darling.”

You could feel the blood dripping out of your face. “Um…”

Why couldn’t you think of something else to say? Something coherent?

“Have you not tried them on yet?”

Nothing made sense.

“I, uh, I thought they were someone else’s.”

Loki chuckled lightly before standing. “Choose one, and try it on. Then I have something for you.”

At least he was finally leaving.

As he closed the door behind him, you clumsily stood up to look through the armoire again.

You deliberately chose the dress with the most coverage. The longest sleeves. The highest neckline.

No way were you giving this guy anything to look at.

But… the dress fit.

Great. Now you didn’t even have an excuse to just wear what you had on before.

Loki seemed pleased to see you in the dress. It had not been his favorite of the bunch, but it pleased him nonetheless.

You didn’t recall letting him back into the room. Maybe it was best not to think about that too much.

He kissed your hand, then narrowed his eyes at your ring. His glare turned to you for a moment before softening slightly. “Come with me.”

Your feet were too confused to obey, and you stumbled on the way out of the room.

As Loki dragged you through corridor after corridor, you looked around. There had to be a way out, right? Any place with an entrance should have an exit.

Palace or not.

Your surroundings started to become darker. More ominous.

“W-Where… Where are you taking me?”

His pace never wavered or stopped as he looked over his shoulder at you. “Don’t you want a grand tour?”

There was something pernicious hiding in his white smile.

You just knew it.

Loki led you through the palace, pointing out various rooms and explaining what the artwork represented.

“But…” He hesitated for dramatic effect, like a deranged showman. “Perhaps the grimmest of intrigues lies in… the dungeons.”

It was every bit as eerie as you had expected, and only seemed to get worse the farther into the dungeons you progressed.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He sighed. “My dear, we’ve been over this.”

“No, no. I mean, why did you bring me to a dungeon?”

“It’s not ‘a dungeon,’ (Name). The dungeons.”

You swallowed yet another rock of saliva and waited for his answer.

An answer that never came.

At the back of the dungeons sat an anxious-looking man in his cell.

You shrieked with… excitement to see him? That he was alive? Fear of what may have happened?

Had you been blindfolded, you still would have recognized him.

“Enjoy this. It will hardly be the joyous reunion you hoped for, but a reunion nonetheless.”

With that, Loki shoved you to the ground in front of your husband’s cell.

The glass was clearly soundproofed from one side, but you could see the anxiety, the relief on your husband’s face when he saw you. You could even read his lips as he called out to you and asked, “Are you okay?!”

You each pressed your palms to the glass, wishing it wasn’t there. Wishing you weren’t there.

“I told you he didn’t drive. But you’re quite careless with your beverages on Midgard.”

He snickered, giving his words a moment to sink in.

You turned to look up at Loki, unsure whether to be horrified or incensed. “So, you really did roofie us.”

“Would you have come here otherwise?” He clearly already knew the answer. “I may have bought your drink, but I was your bartender, as well.”

Despite the soundproofing, you knew your husband was beating against the glass and calling Loki every name in the book.

“And don’t forget your friend.” With a flick of his wrist, a ghostly image of Natasha appeared, her eyes that taunting shade of green you had seen before. “You did need a little encouragement, after all.”

You could have vomited at any moment.

“But it was all worth it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You glared up at him.

Loki scoffed at your silence and waved away the illusion of Natasha. “What does Earth have that you could not find here, hm? What makes it so special?”

Your expression softened when you turned back to look at your caged husband. It broke your heart to see him like that.

~*~*~*~

Loki snorted at the sight.

“Just because of him? Is he the only reason you are so attached to your planet?”

You didn’t answer him.

“Oh, but just think: elsewhere, you could be queen. Right here, in fact.”

He saw you freeze in place, and lowered himself to look into your eyes.

“Ah, yes. Loyal subjects, every luxury you could imagine, and if all that could somehow not be enough for you…”

You shuddered as Loki leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“… You would hold the king’s heart in your hands.”

He heard you gulp.

With a deep breath to calm your nerves, you turn toward Loki. Your nerves drowning beneath a cracked mask of stoicism.

“This is a beautiful palace, but if you don’t mind, we would both like to go home. Please.”

One brow quirked up. “Go home? If that is what you wanted, why did you put on a traditional dress?”

~*~*~*~

“I-I, um…”

You had no solid answer, and he knew it.

He had tricked you.

No matter how you did it, leaving would be no easy task.

But you certainly couldn’t stay.

Especially since Loki clearly had some twisted fantasy of convincing you to stay for-freaking-ever.

The sight of his approaching hand didn’t even register until you felt his cool fingers against your temple, gently dragging a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It would mean the world to me if you stayed.” His voice sounded soft. As if he was pleading with you not to leave him.

“Would you please let us go home?” You hoped your tone was as sweet as his was. “We don’t belong here, really.”

“Oh, but you do! Well…” Loki turned to scowl at your husband before returning his piercing gaze to you. “You do. You belong at the king’s side, with your hand in mine. Stay, and I will show you a love the realms have never seen.”

All you could do was shake your head. This was getting too weird.

“Darling,” he ignored you. “Do you love me?”

You never did eat breakfast that morning, but something within tried to heave up the emptiness.

Loki pretended to pout for a moment. “Consider it, then. The two of you will stay in Asgard until you reach a decision. I will wait for as long as I must, my dear (Name), but I certainly suggest that you do not dawdle.”

He certainly was not going to make any of this easy.