Ears
That edge didn’t dull as the days passed. Loki was normally an absolute menace, jumping out at Sigyn from around corners and pulling her hair, but lately he had simply been watching. Waiting. Sigyn continued accompanying her mother to the Queen’s chambers. She continued doing small tasks and reading and playing while her mother worked. Everything was normal, except Loki never once tricked her. He was still there, lurking in the corner of her vision. Playing with his friends and his brother, leaving her in peace. She was not fool enough to believe her sudden disrespect had encouraged him to be kind. No, he was planning something, and she was terrified. He had recited the phrase, “Where there are a wolf’s ears, a wolf’s teeth are near.” It meant be aware of your surroundings, but Sigyn couldn’t help but feel like Loki was listening, and she was nervously awaiting his fangs.
She tensed whenever he entered a room, froze whenever he smiled at her. The wicked gleam never left his eyes.
“Do I make you nervous, Sigyn?” he asked one day, voice sickeningly sweet.
“No, my Lord” she replied defiantly, even as she tracked his every move.
He only smiled at her. He saw right through the lie and he was enjoying it, “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I just like watching you squirm?”
“You wouldn’t be satisfied with such an anticlimactic end.”
The prince shrugged. A knife materialized in his hands and he twirled it as he walked away, smirking at her flinch. He was a royal jerk. She wished she could twirl a knife like that.
Sigyn tried to force herself to relax, there was no way she’d be ready, no matter what she did to prepare. He was unpredictable in the most predictable way. Despite her best efforts she could still feel the massive release of tension from her shoulders every time she returned home. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“What’s bothering you?” Her mother asked one day. The queen had asked Ljot- that was her mother’s name- to fetch her new dresses from the seamstress in the city center. Sigyn trailed behind her on the cobblestone. Her whole world was inside the palace, never had she set foot outside the walls. Never had she needed to. The city was both exciting and scary. Kids played in the green spaces, people mingled on sidewalks and brushed past each other on their way to and from the many shops and stores that lined the streets. She could hear bits and pieces of conversations, a loud peal of laughter, an angry shout, somewhere music was playing. The air smelled of horses, fuel, people, and the pastries featured in bakery windows.
Sigyn pulled her eyes from a golden sculpture that decorated the square, “It’s Prince Loki-” she started to answer.
Her mother cut her off there with a hand to her chin, lifting her eyes, “What are the rules, Sigyn? Tell me the rules.”
Sigyn rattled them off dutifully, “Respect the princes, tell no one I have-”
“Exactly. Good girl. I know those boys can be a handful, My Lady talks about their antics all the time, but I need you to stay strong and do not retaliate.” her mother released her chin.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Thank you. I just want to keep you safe.”
“I know, Mama.”
She was pulled into a hug, “Let’s get these dresses, and maybe we can find you something too.”
“I want more paint.”
The hug stalled. Her mom swallowed and then smiled down at her, but it looked sad, “We’ll see,” she said, but Sigyn knew it meant no. Her mother didn’t paint her stories anymore. She missed seeing the colors dried in her mother’s curls and remembering the story that had put it there. She missed the faded blue dress her mother always wore to paint because it was old and fraying and stained with a million years of fairy tales. She never looked prettier, in Sigyn’s mind, than when she wore it with a brush in hand and a smear of orange on her cheek. She was happy when she painted. She was happy when she spun legends and myths from the air. Why had she stopped?
The two continued down the road to a small little shop. Inside were rows and rows of bolts of fabric in any color or texture imaginable.
“Don’t touch,” her mother warned.
Sigyn nodded. She let her mother continue up to the counter and the small woman who sat there. She wandered the stacks letting her eyes drink in the colors. She found herself admiring a bolt of pink fabric, light and faintly shimmery. She didn’t touch it, but she imagined herself doing so. She imagined having it made into a beautiful gown fit for a princess and wearing it to a ball. Maybe she would find her knight in shining armor to take her away from her life of servitude and tricks and constant fear. Maybe in a large party she could punch Loki the way he deserved without anyone knowing. It would be a masquerade ball so that not even he would know and therefore couldn’t get her into trouble. In her daydream she was the one with the fancy knife tricks and magic illusions.
She lifted a finger and dared a single stroke. It was soft and light and perfect for twirling around on a dance floor.
“Sigyn,” her mother called.
Sigyn jumped back, hastily pulling away from the fabric and looking around fearfully to make sure no one had seen.
“It’s time to go.”
“Coming Mama,” Sigyn called and hurried away, telling herself to forget the fabric and the daydream. It would never come true. Well she supposed she could hit Loki, but none of the other stuff would happen. Especially the part about not getting in trouble.
They returned to the palace, dresses in tow. Sigyn was left once again in the sitting room as her mother disappeared into the queen’s chambers with the new gowns.
Loki materialized by her side and pulled hard on her hair, eliciting a gasp. This was the first real attention he had given her in weeks, “I missed you today,” he said, but his tone said quite the opposite. Something was different in his smile, something that scared her more than all the other ones. Something had changed.
“I don’t think you did,” she whispered fearfully.
He only grinned, “watch your back,” he warned, and left her alone again, her sense of terror renewed.