No one in the halls of Asgard noticed one of Doctor Foster’s attendants slip out of the Great Hall where the betrothal banquet was being held; least of all Doctor Foster herself, struck as she was by Eros’s arrow. No, the Doctor had only eyes for the crown Prince, her soon-to-be husband Thor.
Darcy thought them an odd pair; her intelligent and shrewd mistress and the brash and battle-ready Thor. Like chalk and cheese; really. She hurried through the corridors of the All Father’s palace in her satin slippers, looking for an entrance to the gardens. Girls weeping about their forbidden love always did so in beautiful palace gardens, or on romantic balconies, and Darcy was going to start crying any moment now, so she needed a garden.
She found a library instead and decided that being surrounded by books instead of being in a scene found in a book was good enough, and gingerly sat down on a stunning emerald velvet chaise in one of the alcoves.
Doctor Foster – her darling Jane – had never really been one for epic romances. Darcy had known this even before she’d found herself within Eros’s cruel grasp. “There is nothing nobler, nor more important in this life, than the pursuit of knowledge.” Darcy disagreed; in that she enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge just fine, but believed that true passion and joy were found in the company of loved ones.
And Darcy found it. And so had Jane.
Darcy allowed herself, finally, after a week of travel and months of wedding preparations, to sob.
How could the world be so cruel, how could the winged god have tricked her so spitefully? There was nothing like what Darcy felt now, the physical pain of watching Jane smile up at Thor dreamily as if the blond giant of a man had hung Jane’s beloved stars just for her.
Darcy had tried, just once, to tell Doctor Foster how she felt. It had been late and only the two of them were left in the Doctor’s expansive laboratory alone. They had been laughing about something, but Darcy can never remember what it was. What she does remember is the rush of hope, and the hot flare of her love for Jane, and the way she pressed her hand to the Doctor’s, softly, like a lover’s caress.
She remembers opening her mouth to speak, to finally speak the words that have started wars and ended lives.
She remembers seeing the exact moment Jane realized what Darcy was about to do, the comprehension dawning in her honey eyes. She remembers the quick withdrawal of Jane’s hand, and she remembers the softly spoken request for her notes, and the forcefully pleasant and pointed discussion about how important science is to the future of the human race, and Jane’s farewell that night, whispered in the dark like a secret, like a lie. “I’m so glad to have as good an attendant and friend as you, Darcy. To know that you feel the same about science as I do lifts a great burden from my shoulders.”
“What in the nine realms would possess someone to weep like that in a library?”
Darcy lifted her flushed face from her hands and met the eyes of a man. She recognized him for who he was, the Second Prince of Asgard; Loki, brother of Thor.
“Apologies your highness. I did not mean to-”
“I do not care what you didn’t mean to do, I care about what you are doing,” he sneered.
“I – I am mourning.” Darcy didn’t know what to make of Loki. The man leaned casually against a golden staff of some kind, as if bored and seeking entertainment.
“Is that so?” His lips quirked with amusement. “And what is it that you mourn, daughter of the moon, here in my library?” At Darcy’s gasp of surprise, he grinned – like a snake with a prize, Darcy thought.
“That’s right, huntress. I see you for who you are.”
“Not anymore.” Darcy didn’t know how an Asgardian had seen what Jane had never noticed, but perhaps Jane had never really looked.
“No? So you’re not disguised as a handmaiden for some plot against my father?” Now he sounded disappointed, and Darcy wished desperately that she had found a garden instead of this library.
“No! I really am a handmaiden,” She defended.
The Second Prince’s face softened. “Then you’re in love with someone, and you weep because they don’t love you back.” Darcy watched the expressions on his face shift from empathetic, to thoughtful to realization. “You’re in love with my brother.” His face now hard, and his tone mocking, Loki looked less like a prince and more like a twisted villain. The kind who would corner a heroine and mock her in her darkest hour (Darcy had always loved stories, even as her sisters had scoffed and jeered at them). “Tell me, little girl, did you think he would notice you, with your mousy dress and sad eyes, and make you his queen instead of the lovely Doctor Foster?”
Darcy, eyes red from crying and heartbroken, rolled her eyes at the Second Prince – which, admittedly, was not a particularly intelligent thing to do, but men really did all think the same.
“Of course not,” she scoffed. If I wanted a blond, battle-crazed husband I’d have never joined The Hunt.”
It was not really fair to speak of Steven that way. Steven, the knight her parents had promised her to when she came of age. He’d been a good man, but even she’d been able to see his true affections lay elsewhere.
“I see,” Loki nodded in understanding. His form shimmered like an illusion of golden light, and then Loki stood before her a woman, in and a deep green gown of beautiful silk, with soft curves where previously she had had hard lines, her now full lips pulled into a teasing smile, “you prefer the company of women,”
“It doesn’t really matter the sex,” Darcy more shocked that she was telling The Second – Princess of Asgard that than by the transformation. Loki was rumored to be a powerful user of seidr.
“So, Doctor Foster then.” Loki seated herself next to Darcy, seemingly having decided to play at sympathy rather than mock the sobbing former huntress. Darcy stiffened, drew her shoulders back, and set her jaw.
“Your highness, I have no desire to burden you with my woes, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to retire.”
“But of course, who am I to keep a maiden from her sorrows. Although…” Loki trailed off, and drew her slender hand up the column Darcy’s neck, “if you’d like, misery does love company, and I’d be happy to retire with you.”
Darcy had never been approached so boldly. She supposed that someone of royal birth like Loki would be used to just asking (demanding) what they want, though. She drew in a breath and counted all the reasons letting Loki take her to bed was a bad idea.
It suddenly struck her, that in another life, she’d have been Lady Rogers, and would never have to face this dilemma now presented to her.
“Your highness-” she started to protest, but Loki moved from caressing to cradling Darcy’s neck, and her other hand settled itself on her waist. “I’m so terribly in love with Doctor Foster,” Darcy whispered, a needlepoint through the heady satin haze of Loki’s bold seduction. Undeterred, Loki leaned closer. “And yet, here you sit, weeping alone in the dark, and your Doctor Foster hasn’t even noticed you’ve left her party,” Darcy felt Loki’s hot breath against her ear. “I see what she doesn’t. Let her have my oaf of a brother, I can show you more wonders than you’ve ever imagined, little huntress.”
Darcy shuddered. She hadn’t wanted like this in so long. She leaned further into Loki and let the sorceress kiss her slowly, deeply, and Darcy, frightened, her core tightening with anticipation, kissed Loki back with all the emotion she had buried since the betrothal.