Chapter Text
The stiff satiny material of the fine gown chafed at the tender skin of your throat, your neck, your collarbones. It itched, it tore, it pricked, all for the sake of being attractive. The absurdity of it irritated you just as much as the starched bodice locking you in. It was a far cry from the comfortable cotton clothes and soft sweaters you'd wear to work in the archives each day...your beloved sanctuary of books and dark wood shelves. You already missed the sweet, musky smell of pages and wood polish embracing you as you cataloged and discovered...every day you discovered, learned, waltzed with beautiful words on illuminated manuscripts and lovingly preserved them. But not anymore. Those joyful days were apparently behind you.
You swallowed at the boulder of sorrow in your throat, but failed to erode it. A chilly draft swept through the cavernous, gilded hallway; grazed over your generous amount of exposed skin; a horrible, unwanted, vulnerability. Yet, even as you shivered you could feel nervous sweat blossoming. Your hands shook.
You'd heard stories...everyone had. Stories about the pleasure slaves the older prince surrounded himself with; the beautiful young women he subjected to his whims like play-things, and he was notoriously rough with his toys, like a spoiled brat. The thought made you shudder. Still, a quiet hope fizzled in your chest saying, maybe he's not like his brother. Everyone certainly says he isn't.
Each flickering torch sat fast in its sconce along the expanse at perfect intervals, each clicking footstep marked the uniform persistence of every second, measuring your progress towards his chambers like the tick of a clock.
As you faced the threshold to his chambers, Loki watched the last of grains of sand settle at the base of an hourglass on his desk. You clapped the heavy doorknocker and it rang like the deep chime of an hourly bell. It had the same grim finality. Time's up, it said.
“Enter,” ordered a silky, baritone voice from the other side.
At least the girl is punctual, Loki mused as he set a ribbon between the pages and closed his book.
You braced yourself, struggling to remember the precise instructions. You tried to look regal as you opened the heavy door, tried to sound confident, unwavering, but you knew your voice would falter...you hands would shake.
You knelt, averting your eyes so you could only mark his tall form gliding closer in your periphery, an elegant dark line interrupting the golden glow around him.
“Your Majesty, I come to serve.”
You twitch as long, cool fingers coax your chin upwards. His eyes meet yours, staring down through long dark lashes. Two aquamarine searchlights; unnervingly placid and frigid like a winter sea, and every bit as deadly and beautiful...every bit as likely to drown you in his undertow.
“Hmm. You are so so frightened, aren't you darling?”
“Uh...no...Sire...I just...”
He smirks...a singular, humorless curl at the corner of his thin lips. “Now, now. No lying. I can always tell.”
His long hand cages your cheek, moves in a serpentine arc to comb into your hair, then grip firmly. It's a sharp gesture, like fangs snapping shut. It stings, but if feels so alarmingly good that it punches the air out of your lungs in a helpless little gasp.
He smiles with teeth now as he watches your lips part; a gentle expression but unmistakably carnivorous. Blood wouldn't look out of place in a mouth like that, you think, and he's going to eat me alive.
You finally dare to look fully. He's all jet black hair, sharp angles, and tightly woven garments; precise and lethal and calculated. Fear boils up, hot and insistent, but with something alien simmering beneath it...something pleasurable, and you could swear he knows. He sees it. You wouldn't be surprised if his sharp ears could even hear your pulse quicken, maybe even hear you thoughts. The old saying volleyed around your memory.
Where there are wolf's ears, wolf's teeth are near.
The bone-color fingers release and glide over your cheek, your supple lips, down the path of your chin, and the valley of your throat. Two fingers travel at a leisurely pace over the cusps of your breasts, a ghost of a touch over your plump, corset-tightened flesh, quickly retracted.
He clears his throat, then takes your hand carefully and guides you to stand. Those bright eyes stab even deeper from such a close distance, like a good dagger. But you're chocked when his expression turns soft, the lines around his eyes creasing as his tight-lipped smile turns genuine...real.
“Come. It will be a long night, and we have so much to learn,” he purrs out as he guides you further into his world.