His answer was not what she expected, though in truth she was unsure what she had expected at all. Perhaps a rebuke, as her husband before had given so often, or perhaps nothing but a singular answer, an understated order, a structure for her to follow so that she did not misstep. She did not expect choice, even as a singular instant, let alone a proposed way of life.
Perhaps for the Kree, she had thought, and not once had she considered herself. Loki had been conditioned to never consider herself.
The confusion was only slight in her expression, if present at all, as she followed the guiding of his hand, and looked up at him, such a height to which she must gaze. No, she did not wish to attend the feast. If anything, she yearned for home, though she had no home, but she would take what solace was offered. “I wish to retire,” Loki said at length, and she removed herself from his grasp, unsure of his touch.
To retire with him had its meaning, to be certain; but she would rather that, than be put on display for the Kree people with such immediacy. At the very least she could be forthcoming, and they could put a necessity out of the way, have it done with no matter how much it daunted, even frightened her.
“It is my understanding that if we are to retire, then it should be your wish to seek the consummation of our union.” She had to look away from the hard amethyst of his eyes; she could not face this as boldly as she pretended. Loki strangely half-wanted him to take her hand again, if only so she might have something to measure herself against. Alone she was cold, hollow, her stomach dropping. “As your bride it is not only my duty but also my honor to submit to your will in this.”
The answer he received was not a surprising one, not when he could see how tired the lady was. He supposed all this could be overwhelming for non-Kree; they were grandiose demanders who expected the very best in all that they did and only then was respect gained. Unsure to which esteem Asgardians or Inhumans held their royalty, but they held little value here; Loki was on Hala soil now.
Nodding, Ro-Nan turned to one of the viziers that remained behind and relayed the message in his native tongue; a quick conversation met with a subservient bow as they back away from the Emperor and his new Empress. As they exited, so too did Ro-Nan turn on heel, intent to lead Loki to their shared quarters. He came up short, however, when she spoke confusing words to him.
'Commsumation of our union?'
Ro-Nan didn't comprehend. "You must be mistaken, Lady Loki," he replied slowly as if talking to an infant. "Our marriage has been consummated through ceremony. We are already wed. There is no more that need be done to finalize our unity." Strange for her to think other procedures were necessary. Attilan marriages must have dragged on well beyond tedium.
With a laconic command for Loki to follow, Ro-Nan wasted little time directing them out of the hall, his strides eating up the floor with his impossibly long legs. She would have to hurry to keep up with him; it was clear Ro-Nan did not change his pace for anyone, not even his wife. While they passed down corridors fitted in metals and rich minerals, glinting on every light source, servants and guards saluted their sovereigns respectfully, some even murmured longlasting blessings toward their marriage. All of which the Emperor merely acknowledge with polite, though terse, nods when he stalked by.
Two large, heavy doors were pushed open by the guardsmen at the entrance of the royal quarters. It was a huge, luxurious space with many connecting rooms. Any comforts Loki would desire laid within from lounge sofas to a kitchenette to a recreational room with a large screen for broadcasting channels. Their chambers alone could serve as a residence for a small family of five. Yet the bedrooms themselves were separated by a sitting room, doors on either ends that housed resting quarters for the Emperor and Empress respectively.
Four attendants waited inside, pausing their tidying to greet the Kree rulers. Again Ro-Nan ordered them in Kreon and no sooner had he finished did two come forward to assist removal of his attire. He glanced to Loki, the other attendants, then Loki again. "They speak the common tongue of this galaxy should you need to address them. If you would like to converse in your own language, we can arrange for servants who are familiar with it."
Soon Ro-Nan stood in his underclothes, a type of sleeveless dark fleece that brushes his ankles and beneath that were thin black leggings. His face was still decorated with ceremonial paint around his eyes, cheeks, throat, and down the posterior of his skull to the too of his spine. One of the attendants brought Ro-Nan a handheld basin and a cloth, which he took with him to a vanity table, watching himself in the mirror as he scrubbed clean.
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