Rewrite your Histories
You woke up slowly, the silk sheets tempting you to keep you eyes closed for just one more minute. You blinked the sleep from your eyes only to see you were alone in the bed, which wasn’t yours. You disentangled the sheet from around you legs, and slowly sat up pulling it over your exposed body.
The room was beautiful, the walls a dark wood carved with ornate spells and symbols, the arches into antechambers hung with gauzy drapes offering the illusion of privacy, books and scrolls littered the tables and shelves as if they might be needed at any moment as dictated by a mind that thought incredibly fast.
Loki lay reclined on a lounge chair in the corner, paging through a worn book. His dark hair was messy and you noticed little love bites over his neck, and scratches down his arms standing in contrast with his pristine pale skin. They made you blush, wondering if your skin was decorated and dotted under the sheet. You let yourself appreciate the loose robe, it’s black and gold threaded fabric sliding down his arms, the cord barely tied around his waist.
“Is the view to your liking pet?”
He spoke without looking up from his book. The brazen words sending a blush over our body, persuading you to pull the sheet under your chin.
“It leaves something to be desired,” you retorted playfully.
Loki closed the book and laughed upon seeing you, “really? Darling, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” For a second you contemplated throwing something at him- but elected instead to drop the sheet from around your neck, and slowly stand to stretch languidly. Loki audibly inhaled, and you felt his cool gaze tracing every swell and curve of your body- unable to look away. He swore, “woman you’re killing me.”
You laughed deeply, and winked at him, “please, you’d know if I was killing you.”
He stiffened, and nodded slowly, “I don’t doubt that.” Loki’s voice held a twinge of sobriety, one that moved him to toss you an old tunic of his.
You smiled at the soft scents of lavender and smoke that clung to the olive colored fabric. You tugged the tunic on and crossed to sit with him.
“I meant to thank you for the ritual,” your voice was soft and unsure, “the lavender is sacred to my family…I-“ your voice fades away into a weighted silence, wondering how exactly to thank his kindness when he’d shown you the depth behind it. In what words could you thank his adoration, his foresight and consideration?
“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” he glared at you, “what do I care for your rituals.” The words were hollow, lacking the desired venom. He did not know the words to say he had to- he didn’t know how to perfectly say that to neglect your ritual betrothal would be neglecting the possibility of your affections. The concepts were foreign to him, not one to be so quickly and fully smitten.
You felt the weight of all the things neither of you could conjure into words, and suddenly felt exposed as if your soul was laid bare in front of you for all to judge. But here in his room, it didn’t matter what he saw in your soul. Loki felt for you freely and without pretenses, completely at face value. He saw all your bloody desires, your immense power for what they were, and loved you for it.
Shakily you took his hand in yours, “can you teach me that spell…”
“Why?”
“Because, I don’t think you’d believe me any other way.”
Before he could ask what was beyond his belief you gently pressed your lips against his. For a second you both froze, before deepening the kiss. It was slow and thorough, the only way to hint your growing affections without magic.
The kiss caught Loki off guard, unsure of your reasons. He could understand your attraction, he could understand the leverage he would provide to your cause, yet your direct tenderness felt like a dirty trick- one too soon to really consider.
You felt his body freeze with tension and knew he was debating your intentions as you had the night before.
“Please, teach me so you can know how I see you.” You said softly, your mind lingering over how he puzzled you in a thousand different ways, each fascinating and equally as powerful and bloody as yours. You thought Loki was like the stars, thousands of conflicting and competing parts all stitched together in one delightful brocade within the dark night sky. He drew your attention as a magnet, demanding your desires and dreams since your arrival, the errant thoughts of his dark hair, and strong arms plaguing your desires. And yet he felt more like yourself than you did displaced from your heritage.
When he didn’t respond or meet your eyes you teased to try and lighten the mood, “What my lord— now you’ve got me to bed shall you refuse my affections?”
“How could I refuse you?” He said, voice breaking over the syllables. “I didn’t ask for this, I was fine with being hated- I resented my father’s idea that a wife would gain me favor. But I cannot suffer your presence any longer! Not when you shine so brightly it feels like the moon has taken residence behind my eyes.”
You almost berated him for placing his struggles on your shoulders as if you were responsible for his inner turmoil, yet as he met your eyes the thought died.
“Have you cursed me, my love?” He said eyes stormy and forlorn, “Tell me in what manner you’ve bewitched me and I’ll hold you here no more.” Loki was tempted to chew his lip nervously, anticipating some trick of fate. Always believing the world against him, Loki maintained his strength and the mentality he had wronged none, but was wronged by all.
Your heart ached with his implications. You knew the tales of his failed conquests in other realms, for the throne. You knew how he returned changed yet, here he sat so wounded by himself and those around him that nothing ever seemed quite real.
“I’ve cast no spell.”
“Then I haven’t the strength to refuse you any longer.”
In a moment he’d wrapped you back within his arms as if tangled together nothing in either of your worlds could interfere. You tried to think of those words, their implications of such deep and familiar anger and sorrow- but found yourself lost within a kiss. His hands softly roamed your body, ghosting over your skin agonizingly thorough in their reverent exploration. In that kiss you knew whether here or restored to your kingdom there would be lifetimes for you to puzzle through his mind. He pulled you onto his lap, clutching to you desperately as if a gust of wind might blow you away. You melted against him letting your fingers run through his hair, each kiss linking you both closer in body and soul.
Hours later you snuck back into your own chambers set on dressing up before returning to your lover. Your servants were all alight with your return and your disheveled appearance inspired the most irreverent gossip. Impatient with their prattling and constant observance you sent them away, even refusing Halla’s attempts at drawing your bath.
Your head ached divided over how to proceed without disgracing you’re mother’s legacy, surrendering your kingdom, or leaving your newfound companion. Finally alone you slipped into the large tub, the hot waters turning your skin pink while instantly soothing the tension in your shoulders. You ran your hands over your body, remembering every touch, committing every bruise and bite to memory glowing with pride knowing his body was similarly marked. Within the back of your mind you kneel how proudly he’d wear each purple bite, secure enough to project to whom he exactly belonged. You grinned unconsciously knowing you too would dress and relish every snippet of gossip that would be told of your marked skin, and how brazenly you’d been claimed.
As the waters cooled Halla returned to help you into a robe, her mind aghast at the various marks scattered across your body. Knowing the link between you, she grasped your hands in her’s— her mind begging you to cover up. She wisely still feared the power of gossip. She implored you to at least wear a shawl- they were just starting to associate you with your mother’s legacy. It would be unconscionable to lose that progress in light of your father’s new transgressions.
By the time she’d pulled your dress over your arms, and tied it’s laces, your silent conversation stood halted as you asked, “to what new transgressions are you referring?”
Halla’s eyes grew wide, unwilling to divulge anything from her own mind. Hesitantly she withdrew a letter from her apron. It’s seal was your Aunt’s. She had a daughter your age, and wouldn’t risk her life to support your claim while living under your father’s roof.
My niece,
I’ve received word from those still loyal to you- our rightful Queen.
Your father quickly works through servants, many of them are fortunate
and the guards get to them first…others are worked tirelessly until they collapse and the king no longer has use of them. Dozens of faithful servants to the crown have been executed for less in your absence, Without servants he’s started demanding tributes from each family: one child to replace a dozen workers. His army is composed of unskilled men, many who have fallen in battle against their own brothers. Those who refuse to fight each other, or offer up their children are unable to leave. He has men patrolling our borders, and has enforced a heavy tax on all thoroughfares.To survive many stay and obey- but with the rainy season approaching there aren’t enough people to harvest the fields. All will be destroyed, many will starve. If action isn’t taken you won’t have a kingdom to return to.
The blood in your veins boiled with each hastily scrawled word. You didn’t have your mother’s skill or power. Your only option was a rather simple protection spell, accompanied with prayer. The anger within you snarled and clawed for violence-reminding you of the power within your own blood. you were not a practitioner of blood magick but had read and seen the power that could manifest from it. That magick came with a price, one you might never understand. But what choice was there when your people were starved, beaten, and murdered?
Halla was called into one of the antechambers while you gathered supplies. You arranged three black candles around you for power, nettle to stick, and rue to leach away life. You placed the leaves in a ceramic dish and willed them to spark on fire. You felt your heart skip as you pricked your finger and let the tiny drops fall into the flame. You knelt silently among the now lit candles, resting your palms upwards on your knees. Silently you prayed and cast your spell.
Almost instantly your strength began to wan, and you felt the energy leave your body and into the spell. To finish the spell you slowly turned your palms over and laid them on the floor, extinguishing the candles. You swept the ashes from the dish into a vial and whispered for Halla to help you stand. She hesitated, frightened by your sudden pallor, before shakily helping you into bed.