Chapter 3
“Me? Loki, you can’t just have me. I’m married to Thor.”
I watch as she says this, her voice unexpectedly full of passion. I will never understand why she is so defensive at my brother’s expense.
“I was not aware, I wonder what I just sat through,” my response is laced with sarcasm as I speak.
“Loki, I don’t have time for this.” Y/n stands abruptly in her seat and I watch as she walks toward the doors.
Before I can think, I reach out to grab her wrist and stop her from leaving me in this room. It is almost as though I move on instinct and I scare myself by how swiftly I have gone to having her wrist in my hand.
She looks back at me, her gaze softening upon seeing my face. Perhaps the expression looks as frantic as I feel and she can see it painted on my face, which scares me even further.
“Don’t,” I hesitate, “Don’t leave. Not like this.”
Y/n looks down at where my hand and her wrist make contact before her eyes make their way back towards mine, “Fine, I won’t leave.”
I slowly peel my fingers from her skin and take a step back, “I did not realize you would have this reaction. I thought you didn’t care about my brother.”
“I don’t, Loki. I would much rather choose who I marry, but I can’t just let you have me. I belong to Thor.”
I find myself grimacing slightly from the way she words her statement, but I do not fight her on this. Instead, I stand there for a moment, unsure where to go from here.
“If you could, would you?”
The look on her face turns from surprise to an expression as though she is thinking, rolling the question around in her mind. The eye contact we make is long as she stares deep into my eyes, leaving me to wonder, for just a moment, if she can hear my thoughts.
“I would.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Thor bursts through the door loudly and obviously drunk. I roll my eyes as she turns to him and smiles, still the same falsities I have begun to grow tired of. I curse him in my head for interrupting.
“There you two are! Good to see someone can get along with my brother!” His laugh is like clapping thunder and he steals Y/n’s hand, leading her out of the room.
I sigh and follow after them, the interaction between Y/n and I running through my mind over and over. She would be mine if she could. The thought alone brings a smirk to my face because there is still a sliver of hope.
As I walk into the room, I am instantly stolen away by mother and she looks at me with a look of reprimand, which has become familiar to me.
“What are you thinking whisking Y/n away from this celebration?”
“She said she needed air. Who am I to deny the queen of such a thing?”
Mother furrows her thin brows and nods, “Fine, but do not do it again.”
I chuckle softly, “You have my word.”
I walk deeper into the room and finally make contact with other family members who have wanted to speak with me since I denied them the first time. I go along with their shallow conversations, stealing glances her way and making eye contact with her multiple times.
I don’t pay attention to many of the conversations I have had tonight, my thoughts filled with thoughts of her and her words. Now that she is aware of my intentions, there are things I cannot do unless she allows them. Pondering these things gives me a headache and I excuse myself to my quarters, tired of the festivities. If I had to listen to my brother laugh as loud as he could one more time, I would have become violent.
I sit at the edge of my bed and put my hands to my face, falling backwards onto the plush mattress while my legs stay in their place over the edge. Ever since she has arrived, she has been the only thing running laps through my mind. I am barely able to focus on anything else and perhaps watching you marry my brother and deny me is what I deserve.
Groaning, I remove my hands from my face and let them fall to either side of me. However, I am interrupted by soft knocking at my door. Assuming it’s mother, I sigh and sit up from the position on my bed.
“You may enter.”
I am surprised to see Y/n standing in the doorway, so much so that I forget to respond at all. I merely stare at her and she shuffles awkwardly on her feet. As I get to know her, I notice her small quirks and the false image she displays begins to crumble away.
“What is it?” I question, curiosity laced in my tone.
“I was thinking about what you said before.”
I smirk softly, “And which part is that?”
“About how you want me. You barely know me.”
“Do you know my brother and does he know you? I would say I know more about you than he does. Does he know that you don’t want to be married to him, or that you would rather choose, or perhaps that you are more awkward than you let on, or how you fiddle with anything you can when you’re nervous?” As I say this, I glance down at her hands.
Y/n looks down as well and becomes aware that she has been rubbing the fabric of her dress in between her fingers nervously. However, as she comes to this realization, she stops.
“Fine, maybe that was hypocritical, but still.”
I stand from my position on the bed and move closer to her, “Then let me get to know you.”
Y/n’s hesitation is obvious in the way that she stares up at me, confusion swimming in her eyes.
“I want to,” I add.
“Fine, you can get to know me, but I still cannot be with you.”
Without letting me get a word out, she spins on her heel and leaves my quarters rather quickly. It’s almost as though the longer she spent here with me, the more likely she would have given into me. Perhaps I am closer than I thought to cracking her.