Chapter 39
We reached the ballroom and took our seats at the table. It felt strangely empty without Sif and the Warriors Three. The Elven nobles sat on Frigga’s side, leaving just me, Thor, and Loki. Still, I was grateful. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to Lord Evindal again.
We ate in near silence and listened to stories throughout the dinner. In honor of Muriel, Elven dishes were served, and a few Elven dances were performed.
I danced several times with Loki and even shared a dance with King Merinor. While we moved across the floor, I noticed Lady Faelyn had managed to snare Loki into a dance. I couldn’t help but grin when I felt his unease and boredom radiating through our bond.
“What is it that amuses you?” Merinor asked as he lifted me gently before placing me back on the ground.
I grinned. “It’s Loki and Lady Faelyn,” I said, motioning subtly to the pair. “She looks very pleased with herself, but Loki looks like he can’t wait for the music to end.”
Merinor laughed. “Ah, yes. I remember my own time as a prince. The duties of the title can be rather tedious, especially when you are forced to entertain someone with whom you share no spark. Did you face such responsibilities at your father’s court?”
I was a little surprised—my life on Midgard was rarely a topic of conversation here.
“Luckily, no,” I said. “My father was quite protective of me and shielded me from those kinds of duties. I had a relatively peaceful and normal life. Coming to Asgard was a massive culture shock. But I’ve had time to learn, and the Asgardian royal family has helped me more than I could have ever asked for. I’m still fortunate enough to choose my own partners.” I gave him a playful smile.
Merinor smiled in return. “Something tells me you would have done so regardless. I sense a stubborn streak in you. I do not think you would easily allow others to dictate your actions.”
I laughed. “I think I’m going to act like the proper princess now and not comment on that.”
He laughed with me, and as the music faded, he escorted me back to the table.
“Thank you for taking my mind off my grief for a while,” he said quietly. “I truly appreciate it. I wanted you to know—I found the gifts you returned to my son. He brought them back with him to Asgard. I think… he had already begun looking for a way to return them to you. I have changed the circlet personally and had them sent to your room. They’ll be waiting for you when you return tonight.”
He paused, then added softly, “It was heartwarming to see the effort he put into copying that ancestral book. The level of dedication—he must have cared for you deeply.”
He lifted my hand and placed a gentle kiss on it. “Aurora, for now, I will bid you farewell. I leave for Alfheim at dawn. There are matters at home that need settling after the loss of the crown prince.”
I hesitated, uncertain whether to ask, but the question was already forming in my expression.
“There are some among my people,” he said, reading me easily, “who believe Asgard bears some responsibility for Muriel’s death. They demand I hold your realm accountable.”
“Do you agree with them?” I asked quietly.
He looked into the distance before answering. “No. I believe Muriel’s death was the result of his investigation—his pursuit of the truth behind the murders in Alfheim. I believe the perpetrator is Elvish, or someone working with them. I regret deeply that Muriel’s protection may have been compromised by the tensions between our families. To appease my people, I’ll cut my visit to Asgard short. The burial will be held in Alfheim, and Odin and I have agreed that no Asgardian representatives will be sent.”
I nodded, saddened but understanding the political necessity.
“This performance, we hope, will calm my people and prevent unrest,” he continued. “But you, Aurora—you are Midgardian. You would be welcome to attend the funeral, should you wish.”
I could feel his sincerity. He wasn’t trying to use me or make a statement. He was simply offering me the chance to say goodbye.
I glanced across the ballroom. Loki was still dancing, although thankfully free of Lady Faelyn’s clutches now. I wanted to say goodbye to Muriel. Truly. But the idea of going to Alfheim without Loki sent a chill down my spine.
Merinor chuckled gently. “I swear, your face is like an open book. You want to go, but the idea of being without your friends frightens you.”
“Am I that obvious?” I asked, blushing.
“Yes, you are, my dear.” His tone had shifted, almost fatherly, and I could feel that warmth radiate from him.
“I think it’s best that you remain in Asgard,” he said. “With the precautions you and Loki have put in place, this is where you are safest. I would never forgive myself if you were harmed—not when you meant so much to Muriel. I will do everything in my power to find his killer and bring them to justice.”
He looked at me, his voice low. “I will calm my people. I will see to it that peace with Asgard is restored. And I hope that, when this is over, you might honor me with a visit. Bring your friends if you like. I would like a second chance to speak with you again, to remember my son together.”
I offered him a soft smile. “Thank you. I’ll remain here, and do everything I can to aid the investigation from this side. Whoever did this… they need to pay. And when all of it is settled—I’d like that visit.”
“Then it’s a promise,” he said. “Just make sure you do not get yourself into trouble, hm? Help, yes—but keep yourself safe.”
He gave me a deep bow, then turned and left.
I turned toward the table and found Loki already seated again. He was watching me, worry etched into his expression.
I touched the bond.
He’s leaving at dawn. Some of his people blame Asgard. He says the funeral will be held privately, without Asgardian representatives—but he invited me to attend, if I want.
I hesitated, then added, I declined. I won’t go back there without you. You’re my guardian.
I felt it before he even answered—warmth, blooming through the bond like sunlight breaking through mist. Relief, deep and quiet, tinged with something gentler still.
He didn’t say it, but I felt it all the same.
The thought of me leaving without him would’ve hurt him more than he’d ever admit.
Acknowledging him as my guardian, choosing to stay... it mattered. More than words could say.
“It seems this tragedy has softened him,” Loki said. “Mother and Father will be relieved to know he truly does not intend to escalate matters. I am aware of the plan, but it is always a risk when dealing with another king. Once he returns to Alfheim, he is free to act as he sees fit.”
I glanced across the ballroom at Merinor, now speaking with the other Elven nobles.
“It’s a shame,” I murmured. “Muriel didn’t get to see his father like this. I think… maybe they could’ve reconciled, if he had.”
“As do I,” Loki replied softly through the bond. “It is a cruel irony that this version of Merinor only emerged because of what happened to Muriel. A tragic paradox—that his son’s death may have been the only thing capable of bringing them back together.”
Just then, a servant approached the table and bowed low. “My prince, the Allfather and Prince Thor request your presence in the meeting room.”
Loki let out a sigh and stood. “Father must be troubled by Merinor’s early departure. Shall I tell them what he said to you?”
I nodded. “Yes—please do. If it helps put them at ease.”
Loki stood, then paused and turned back to me, his voice low and earnest.
"I will return the moment this meeting is concluded, to escort you safely back to the royal wing. Will you wait for me?”
“I will,” I said with a tired grin. “I do hope your father won’t keep you long though. Otherwise, you’ll find me sleeping right here and you’ll have to carry me back.”
He chuckled softly, and with one last glance, turned and strode from the room, his presence lingering in the quiet space he left behind.
I sat and spoke briefly with some nobles I didn’t know by name. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, magically. After everything—the grief, the rune placements, the wards, the unrelenting tension of the past few days—I could feel the toll catching up to me. My thoughts were starting to drift, my focus slipping in and out. My Seiðr felt hazy, a low hum in the back of my mind rather than the sharp clarity I was used to.
There was still power in reserve. Loki hadn’t drained me during the warding—we’d managed the balance well. But my senses were shot and my head felt foggy. I blamed the fatigue. The palace lighting felt too warm. The background noise of the hall too loud. Even the soft emotions brushing against my gift—curiosity, grief, mild amusement—seemed harder to sort through. I tried to push through it, reminding myself that the evening was nearly over.
Still, I was beyond relieved to see Loki appear at the far side of the ballroom. So when I saw Loki appear on the far side of the ballroom, I didn’t hesitate. I made my way straight toward him.
I just wanted to get back to our rooms, crawl into bed, curl up beside him, and finally—finally—sleep through the night without anything shattering the peace.
“Did your talk with Odin and Thor go well?” I asked as I reached him. “I hope they were relieved to hear what King Merinor told me?”
He blinked, clearly surprised by my sudden appearance, but quickly smiled. “Yes. All went well.”
“Well then,” I said, returning the smile. “I think I’m ready for you to escort me back to my room like you promised.”
He offered his arm, and I took it gladly. We said a few polite goodbyes, though I couldn’t spot Thor, Frigga, or Odin anywhere. I had assumed that since Loki was back, they would be too—but apparently not. I was far too tired to wait for them.
“Where is everyone?” I asked as we moved into the corridor. I could feel through the bond that Loki was calm—relieved, even—so I knew the meeting must have gone well.
“They are still discussing a few final details,” he said smoothly. “But I wanted to return early. I had a promise to keep.”
I gave his arm a light squeeze. We walked in companionable silence for a while, and I noticed he’d taken a route I didn’t recognize. The hallway was long, lined with stone columns and lit by the warm glow of braziers. Ornate tapestries hung between the arches—lush, detailed depictions of Asgardian legends.
“I don’t think I’ve ever walked this hallway before,” I said, admiring the tapestries. “I’m so tired, I probably would've taken the short way—but I’m glad you brought us this way. These are beautiful.”
“I might have had an ulterior motive,” he said with a glint in his eye.
“Oh?” I arched a brow. “And what might that be?”
He cast a glance over his shoulder, as though checking for onlookers. Then, gently but purposefully, he steered me toward one of the tapestries and lifted the edge.
Before I could say anything, he guided me behind it.
There was a narrow space between the wall and the thick fabric, dimly lit by the warm light seeping through. I turned to face him—just as he stepped in after me, letting the tapestry fall back into place.
“I thought you would not mind a little privacy,” he murmured, voice low and rich. Seductive.
My heart skipped several beats.
He closed the last sliver of distance between us, pressing me back gently but firmly against the stone wall. His hands came to rest on either side of my head, bracing against the wall, holding me in place. His body leaned into mine. His pupils were wide. His smile… hungry.
Then, slowly, he lowered his head.
I barely had time to inhale before his lips were on mine.
My brain exploded.
His mouth moved over mine, soft and hungry and claiming. His body pressed tight against me, and I melted into him instinctively, my arms sliding around his neck, fingers curling into his hair. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in it.
I should’ve been ecstatic—except something felt… off.
Even through the growing heat, I sensed something wrong.
I focused, drawing in a breath. Beneath his desire, there was something else—a seething undercurrent. Rage. Hidden, but there. Coiled and waiting.
Rage?
My heart stuttered. Why hadn’t I noticed it sooner? Was I that tired—so fogged from the long days, the grief, the wards, the runes, the banquet? My mind felt hazy, my Seiðr sluggish. No… that wasn’t fair. I should’ve sensed it. I always sensed him clearly.
But this… this didn’t feel right.
I broke the kiss, breathless and confused. Before I could speak, he kissed me again—harder this time, his grip tightening. I squirmed, pushing lightly at his chest.
Something was wrong.
I reached out, opening our bond.
“Loki, what the hell are you doing?” I sent the thought, doing my best to keep my emotions muted not to hurt his feelings.
His reply came almost instantly—and from far away.
We are nearly done with the talk. Father has one last thing to discuss with me and Thor. It will not take long, I promise. Please wait a few minutes, and I shall come collect you and walk you back to your room.
My stomach dropped.
His voice in my mind was steady, calm. His emotions were centered, exactly where I’d expected them to be.
But this Loki—this thing—was here. Holding me against the wall. Kissing me.
A jolt of horror coursed through me.
“Fuck,” I gasped. I shoved at his chest, panic surging. “Loki!” I called through the bond. “You just came back into the ballroom and offered to walk me to my room. We’re in a hallway—columns, tapestries. He pulled me behind one. He’s got me pinned. Help!”
He didn’t budge.
I struggled harder, but he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head. My fear escalated into raw terror.
“I am coming, hold on—defend yourself if you can! Hurt him, slow him down—I am almost there!” Loki’s voice cracked through the bond, raw with fear and fury. “You are not alone—I am with you, I swear it.”
“Aurora, stay still,” other Loki growled, his voice warped—low and venomous, nothing like the man I knew.
He leaned in again, teeth bared in a twisted smile, and crushed his mouth to mine with bruising force. The kiss was all heat and malice. I could feel the fury in it now—the way his lips moved not in passion, but in domination. My stomach turned.
I did the only thing I could think of—I sank my teeth into his lip as hard as I could, tasting blood.
“Bitch!” he snarled, jerking back with a snarl of pain.
His grip slackened just enough. My instincts kicked in. I tore my hands free and shoved against his chest with everything I had. He barely stumbled—but it gave me the inch I needed.
I drove my knee up—hard—straight into his groin.
His breath left him in a strangled, animal sound. He doubled over, face contorted in agony.
I spun to run—but he roared and lunged. His hand fisted in my hair and yanked me back with brutal force. My head cracked against the stone behind the tapestry with a sickening thud. A burst of white pain exploded behind my eyes.
The world tilted. My legs buckled. I collapsed, limbs trembling, and fought to stay conscious as my vision swam with blinding stars.
Through the haze, I looked up and saw him looming over me, eyes wild, lip bleeding, face twisted with rage.
“You little bitch,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
He seized my arms in a bruising grip and yanked me upright. I lashed out again, but he caught my wrist mid-swing and drove me back against the wall with bone-rattling force.
Crack.
Pain bloomed—sharp and searing—across my skull, so loud I swore I could hear the crack reverberate through my entire body. My ears rang, the world spun, and the stone wall at my back felt impossibly cold and unforgiving. My knees buckled beneath me, but he held me up like a ragdoll, his grip bruising, merciless.
I gasped, my lungs dragging in a ragged breath. The world pitched sideways. My limbs were going numb.
Don’t black out.
Don’t you dare black out.
He’s coming. Loki’s coming. Just hold on.
The copper tang of blood filled my mouth. My head throbbed. My fingers twitched at my sides.
Just a little longer.
I struggled against his grip, my breath coming in panicked gasps. He released my arms, only to clamp a hand around my throat. His fingers tightened until I couldn’t breathe, and then he lifted me off the ground by my neck. My feet dangled uselessly, scraping the air.
"You are so pathetically weak," he sneered. His beautiful face twisted into something unrecognizable, filled with pure disgust and disdain. It was Loki’s face—but so terribly wrong.
I choked, tears blurring my vision. My hands clawed at his wrist, but it did nothing. I was suffocating. Panic surged through me—then something deeper: rage.
A flash of memory hit me—the fight with Muriel, the fear, the fury. I gritted my teeth and shoved my Seiðr into my hands. His eyes widened a fraction of a second before the blast hit.
Light exploded between us. The force of the magic flung him backward. He crashed into the pillar across the hall, the tapestry between us torn down in the blast. My vision wavered as I slumped against the wall, struggling to stay conscious. Screams echoed down the corridor. Someone was calling my name, but the pain in my head roared louder than anything else.
And then he was there again—Loki. Reaching for me, grabbing my arms.
Panic surged anew, tearing through me like fire.
Had he teleported? How had he crossed the hall so fast? Had the blast not worked?
“No!” I shrieked, thrashing against his touch. My limbs flailed, my nails raked at his hands. His voice was calling my name—but I didn’t trust it. I couldn’t.
“Get away from me!” I screamed, kicking at him, wild with fear.
Suddenly, a massive shape loomed behind him—and in a blur of movement, Loki was torn away from me. A pair of strong arms wrapped around my trembling body.
Thor.
I let out a sob of relief as he lifted me like I weighed nothing, his broad chest warm and solid beneath my cheek.
“Aurora,” his voice boomed, rough with panic and fury. “Are you hurt?”
I tried to answer, but my throat was raw. I reached for the back of my head. My fingers came away slick and red.
“By the Norns,” Thor muttered, his voice nearly a growl. “You’re bleeding. Hold on—I’m getting you to the healers.”
He bolted down the corridor, cradling me like something fragile. The motion jostled my skull, pain blooming all over again. I whimpered, tried to speak—to beg him to stop—but everything tilted. The light, the sound, even Thor’s heartbeat beneath me faded into darkness.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the soul forge. Light stabbed down from above. Voices circled around me. Lady Eir moved into view. Frigga. Thor. I turned my head—and then I heard it.
Footsteps. Rushed. Familiar.
Loki.
"No!" I screamed, bolting upright on the soul forge. Pain exploded through my skull, and I nearly toppled off the edge. Nurses rushed to hold me down, but I fought them, heart pounding in raw, instinctive terror.
My eyes found him—Loki. Striding into the room.
Terror seized my chest like a vice.
"Please, stop him!" I cried, struggling harder. "Thor, get him away from me!"
Loki froze mid-step, staring at me as if I’d struck him. His face—so familiar, so pained—twisted with heartbreak.
"Aurora?" he said hoarsely, his voice cracking on my name.
But I couldn’t hear it without feeling sick.
Thor moved fast, stepping between us just as Loki surged forward. They collided in a clash of limbs and shouted words. I sobbed harder, twisting in the nurses’ grip.
“Please help Thor!” I gasped, reaching for someone—anyone—desperate for safety.
Then Frigga was beside me, hands gentle, her voice sharp.
“Loki, get the hell out of here!” she shouted. “You are harming her—can you not see that?”
And then his voice was in my head.
Aurora, please—
It was too much.
His grief. His desperation. His confusion. The bond pulsed wide open between us, and everything he felt poured into me in a flood. My senses couldn’t separate his emotions from my own. I was drowning in it—his panic, my fear, his pain, my trauma—one storm, too big to contain.
I let out a choked sob, clutching at my head as the room spun violently.
"Make him go… please, make him go…"
The light. The voices. The bond.
It was all too much.
And then everything faded—pain, sound, magic—swallowed by blackness as I slipped under.
The next time I woke, I was in my own bed.
Frigga sat beside me, tension etched into every line of her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed but alert.
"Hi," I croaked.
"Hello, my dear," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"
I blinked slowly. There was no pain—but my thoughts felt thick and sluggish, like my mind was wading through syrup.
"I’m not in pain," I said, voice a little clearer. "But I feel like my brain’s full of glue."
She nodded. "You are heavily medicated. It will pass."
A pause. Then gently, "Do you remember what happened?"
I frowned, trying to sort through the muddled images in my mind. "I was attacked?"
"Yes," Frigga confirmed. "Do you remember who attacked you?"
A sudden flash—Loki’s face twisted in rage, his hands around my throat. I flinched, and Frigga visibly tensed beside me, bracing for what might come next.
I took a breath, steadying myself. More fragments slipped into place.
"It was Loki. But not the real Loki," I said slowly, watching her reaction.
Relief washed over her features. "Yes. Your attacker looked like him, but it was not. The illusion was powerful—well beyond what most could maintain, and crafted with intent to deceive. Under normal circumstances, you might have sensed something wrong. But you were exhausted, physically and emotionally, and your Seiðr was strained. That vulnerability is exactly what the attacker relied on. You were targeted at your weakest, Aurora—this was not your fault."
I just nodded. I didn’t have the energy to argue or absorb more.
Frigga picked up a small vial and handed it to me. "Drink this. It will help the medication leave your system more quickly. You will begin to feel like yourself again."
I drank it without question. The taste was bitter, but sleep came quickly after.
The second time I woke, the fog had lifted.
"Yara?" I whispered.
The door opened immediately. Yara stepped inside, followed by Thor and Frigga. All three of them looked relieved, but the tension in their faces hadn’t gone away.
“Sister,” Thor said, surprisingly gentle as he crossed the room and took my hand. He lifted it and kissed it. “I am glad to see you are much better.”
Frigga placed a hand on his arm, and he stepped back to let her take his place beside the bed.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked gently.
I nodded and pushed myself upright, grimacing a little at the stiffness. She helped me adjust the pillows until I could sit comfortably.
“Did they catch him?” I asked immediately, voice sharper than I meant. “The fake Loki?”
Thor winced. Frigga’s gaze dropped before she spoke.
“I assume you remember what happened?”
“Yes.” The word was quiet, but steady.
Frigga gave a small nod. “Thor and Loki arrived just in time to see you blast the imposter across the hallway. Loki rushed to you, while Thor went after the other man.”
The sounds, the shouting—I remembered those. But not Loki. Not his face.
“The Loki in the healing room…” I began, heart already sinking. “That was him. The real him?”
Frigga’s face tightened. “Yes. That was my son.”
A sick, twisting guilt rose in my chest. I buried my face in my hands, mortified.
“Oh gods,” I whispered. “I attacked him. I thought he was—” I broke off, breath hitching. “I didn’t know. But I fought him. I screamed. I…”
She gave me a moment, then continued softly. “When Thor saw you struggling in the corridor, he had to pull Loki away. Loki tried to explain, but Thor insisted he would handle it. Once he saw your head injury, he carried you straight to the healing ward. In the confusion… the imposter teleported away.”
“So… he got away,” I said, voice hollow. The words tasted bitter.
Both Frigga and Thor nodded, their expressions grim.
“We were able to confirm,” Frigga added, “that the magical trace left behind matches the one found in Muriel’s room.”
I looked at her, and the shame hit me like a wave. Tears welled up before I could stop them, and Frigga was immediately at my side on the bed.
“Please, my child,” she said gently, wrapping an arm around me. “Do not upset yourself like this. You need to stay calm. We do not want you to relapse. We know you did not mean to hurt anyone. It was a result of extreme stress—and the trauma to your head. Lady Eir confirmed as much.”
I swallowed a few times, trying to steady myself.
“It did not help that my son would not leave your side,” Frigga added softly. “I do not know what came over him. It was as if he could not accept that you needed space after the attack. He even fought Thor in desperation, trying to stay close to you.”
My heart clenched painfully. I could picture it—Loki, frantic and confused, refusing to let go.
“Odin had no choice,” she said. “He had Loki confined to his chambers, sealed in with a magical lock.”
I blinked, but I could feel it—there was more. Something she wasn’t saying.
“Frigga,” I said carefully. “You’re holding something back. I can feel it.”
Her face tightened with worry.
“Loki tried to break out—multiple times. The first two days, he fought tooth and nail against the wards, especially after hearing that your condition had not improved. When he realized you were not getting better… he stopped trying. Completely. He just… gave up.”
She paused. “I’ve visited him often. At first, he just sat there, silent and withdrawn. But this morning… he warded the room from the inside. I cannot get in. He is not answering me. Not responding to any form of contact—not even through our old spells. I could break the barrier by force, but I know my son. That would only make things worse.”
I tried to leap out of bed, heart pounding—but Frigga’s hand pressed firmly to my shoulder, holding me down.
“No,” she said, more sharply now. “You are not ready to leave this bed.”
I hesitated, struggling against the frustration bubbling up.
“Heis physically fine,” she continued, softening again. “That much, I can sense. But emotionally? He is angry. Lost. Guilt has a powerful grip on him right now—and we need to let him breathe.”
I let out a shaky breath. Just knowing he was okay, at least physically, eased some of the pressure in my chest.
“Can I at least try?” I asked quietly. “Just to see if he’ll open the door for me?”
Frigga’s expression softened, but her answer didn’t change.
“No, Aurora. Not tonight. You need to rest. Tomorrow, we will see. But for now, I need you to focus on healing.”
“I understand,” I murmured, sinking back into the pillows. “Sorry. I know I’m being difficult.”
Thor let out a short laugh. “Little sister, my mother raised both me and Loki. Believe me—this does not even register as difficult.”
Frigga smiled. “He is quite right. Compared to their adolescent years, you are delightfully tame.”
I glanced at the clock and noticed how late it had gotten.
“Now,” she said, rising to her feet. “Thor and I will leave you. Yara is just outside if you need anything. There is also a guard stationed at your door—and since I raised a god of mischief, I know better than to leave things to chance. I am locking the door. Only Yara or I will be permitted through, so please, Aurora… rest.”
She leaned down to kiss my forehead and walked to the door with Thor.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.
I sank back into the bed and pulled the blankets around me, easing one of the pillows out from behind to settle in more comfortably. I knew Frigga—or Yara—would be back soon to check on me. There wasn’t anything I could do in the short time before that. All I could do now was rest. Just for a little while.