warnings: This is a Dark/ Yandere work that contains dead dove do not eat, stalking, violence, non-con dry humping, talks of/ implies forced future marriage, threatened/ implied future Non-con
I obviously do not support nor encourage any of this behaviour nor these actions, this is simply a fictional work.
PLEASE DO NOT READ if any of this triggers you. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: when a new knight comes to the tourney of your homelands, you make the mistake of giving him your favour, not realising he sees it as something more serious than you
word count: 1287
A/N: OKAY, so I know this isn’t AKOTSK, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s inspired by GoT and AKOTSK and the whole jousting-system, but the character itself is just a random OC that came to my mind.
It’s extremely short and rushed, and I’m lowkey hating it, but I’m considering maybe writing a full story of it sometime when I have more time. I am currently working on Part2 for “a family man” and hope to have it out this week, or early next week!!
Feedback is appreciated :)
~~~
The joust was unlike any you had ever attended. The lists were packed with knights, high born and peasant born alike, all competing for the glory of a win. The air was thick with anxiety, sweaty horses and the pure adrenaline of knights awaiting wins.
His name was called, and he rode forth. His stallion shuffling underneath him as calm as any day, simply trotting up to take his place. As he rode by the stands where you were sitting, he looked your way, and you swore he was smiling underneath his helm. Smiling at you.
You had given him your favour. How stupid could you have been, you gave him your favour. That was before, when eyes had still been warm and kind. He had been so soft as he pointed his lance at you, gingerly asking for your luck in the tourney. You had blushed and giggled as you accepted, tying your ribbon around his lance before sitting down, still smiling like a fool. You didn’t know then just how much of a fool you were.
His opponent today was a skilled knight. An older gentleman, his shield bearing up a lifting swan as his Personal Arm. In shame you hoped, prayed, that the knight would knock yours out of the saddle, to forcibly put him out of the joust and loose the win. It was a feeble, desperate dream.
The winner of each tilt won the opponents horse and armour, and the looser would have to ransom it back. Your own knight had won all his tilts thus far and won a small fortune selling everything back. If he won the whole tourney, he would win so much money as to consider him slightly rich.
Rich enough to ask for the hand of a minor noble lady like yourself.
You dreaded the idea, the sick feeling returning stronger as you watched them stand on opposite sides of the tourney field. The older knight looked calm, he had done this plenty times before. Your knight also looked calm, too calm. Calculating and cruel in his shining armour.
As the trumpets blew, both knights pushed the spurs into the side of their horses and raced towards each other, landed already tilting down.
Mud flew around the hooves, and the roar of the people were deafening. You were quiet, too absorbed in the match, to eager to see one win and one loose. In seconds, they would meet and one would emerge victorious.
1, 2, 3…
All you could see in front of you was his face, those kind brown eyes now muddled into some distorted version. That once sweet smile that had haunted your dreams, nightmares. What once seemed to shy, now a distant memory.
4, 5, 6…
His face, covered in blood. Dripping from his cheeks and fists.
The poor stableboy had done nothing wrong, not really, apart from speaking with you. You had searched him up, a foolish non important romance, if it could even be called that. You liked him and liked spending time with Derek, and he liked you. It would never be more than that, but you were young, and a secret romance had always seemed to sweet.
Your knight didn’t seem to agree.
You didn’t even know he was watching, nor that he had followed you there. Derek had stepped closer, to put a flower behind your ear. A sweet mistake.
Your knight pulled poor Derek off you and before anyone could explain, a fist had met his face and he did not stop punching. Not when you screamed, cried, tried your best to pull him off. Not when Derek passed out, lying in a pool of his own blood, barley breathing.
It wasn’t until he felt done and ready, he had released Derek and turned to you, smiling a wide smile, the smile of a predator. His hair flew loose around his face, the soft curls blowing in the wind. He had stepped closer, his eyes now dark and dangerous.
“He didn’t hurt me!” You cried. “I wanted to meet him”
“I know” he had simply answerd “but you are mine. You gifted me your favour, that meant something, right?”
You shook in shock and fear, completely bewildered by his words. You thought he had forgotten you, that the favour in the tourney was nothing more than luck and a bit of harmless fun. But the way he was advancing on you now left you feeling wrong.
Everything was wrong.
The soft grass underneath you were a stark contrast to the ferociously with which you fought. He had pushed you down, falling on top of you and trapping you underneath him. You hit and scratched and kicked at him, anything your panic-driven mind could think of.
It didn’t help, and your knight (despite not wearing armour, only his tunic with the coat of arms on) was heavy. He took every slap and kick with a laugh, and slowly his hand inched up your thigh, pushing your dress up.
When you cried, he almost looked offended.
“I won’t rape you. I would never subject you to the shame of being soiled before the wedding. I will wait until we are husband and wife. It doesn’t mean we can’t do other things”
He licked the tears off your face, and you turned away in disgust. He merely chucked, before burning his face in your neck and licking stripes there instead. It was wet, and you shivered in panic. There was no way out.
7, 8…
His hips jerked against you in abandon, his clothed erection hard agains you. You still cried, but it didn’t stop him as he rutted into you. One of his hands hold a firm grasp on your thigh, so hard it will bruise, forcing you open. His other hand has a firm grasp on your neck, holding you down. He has a fast, steady pace, and his breath his hot on the side of your face.
Your back slides against the wet grass underneath with you the force of his thrusts, and your hand curl into fists as you hold onto his tunic.
He came without warning, at least you think he did. He let out a groan in your ear, and you shuddered in horror. His tongue was wet on your neck and you couldn’t decided what had traumatised you worst tonight.
Afterwards, he was different. He helped you up and fixed your dress as if nothing had happened. He pulled your hair to the side, checking to see if you were presentable, before he hocked your arm in his and quietly escorted you right back to your tent.
A short kiss on the forehead and he was gone. But his touch remains, and you felt dirty. You hadn’t stopped feeling dirty.
9…10… CRASH.
The lances hit the shields at the same time with such force they both shatter into tiny wooden sticks. The horses scream and the clanking of metal is loud. Both riders loose balance and fall backwards, desperate to stay on. You lean forward in your seat and pray, oh how you pray. But luck is not on your side.
It never is.
He recovers quickly, faster than his opponent and he turns his horse around so fast you cant keep up. With a new lance in hand, he once more pushes the spurs into the horse and they fly away. His opponent has just regained control over his animal, but the fight is already decided.
It’s something unnatural about the way he moves. So swift and fast, almost one with the animal. It’s like he is a fae, moving with grace and elegance, and something so dangerous about him.
Like he didn’t, for even a second, consider he wouldn’t win.
This time, when the lance hit the shield, the other rider has no chance of staying on. He flies off and dumps into the mud with a splash. The audience scream and cheer, everyone overjoyed. He is starting to become a local favourite, and with heavy wages on his name every small-folk and peasant see him as one of them.
Somehow, his gaze finds yours in the crowd. You don’t know how, but they do. He lifts his visor, waving happily at everyone, but he only has eyes for you. It’s like a promise, an awful, dreadful, frightening promise. He had decided since the first moment that you were going to be his wife, and it didn’t matter how many knights he had to force into the mud to make it come true.
You were his.
You shiver, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. He hasn’t won yet, you try to convince yourself, but it is in vain.
You force yourself to applaud right with the crowd, cheer for his victory and glory. The sunrise on his shield of arms mock you, the rising sun flashing in the morning light.
You cant help but wonder if it’s actually a sunrise, because to you it looks much more like a dark ominous sunset, promising a future far more frightening.
Title: Empty Halls to Echo - Part 4
Rating: M
Pairing: Billy Russo x OC
Warnings: Stalking. Obsession. Suggested non-consensual voyeurism. Murder. Potential blackmail. Mention of manipulation. Breaking and entering. Blood. I wasn't kidding about the murder.
Summary: Billy plans his next move...and Grace makes hers.
Notes: HEED THE WARNINGS.
previous / masterlist
He’s going to fire her. He has to. He can’t have her working at Anvil when every time he sees her he wants to either bend her over a desk or get her on top of one. So, he’s going to fire her…and have an NDA drafted and ready when he offers to take her out, to take care of her. He doesn’t know what she’s open to, but he’s ready for anything. If he has to pay to keep her, he will.
Billy tries to think of ways to phrase it, of what will be the right thing to say to get her to agree while he watches her on the security feed. She’s in the same stairwell, and he’s tempted to go and see if she’ll sing but he doesn’t. He’s scheduled a meeting with her this afternoon. He can wait. He just can’t stop thinking of that night.
It was one of the worst nights of his life, and yet one of the best. He killed Frank. He killed his best friend in order to keep everything around him running. He couldn’t lose that. Not when he just found her. Not when he needs it all to keep her. It was happenstance and luck that had him running into her later that night at a bar. Need for a distraction from the blood on his hands, need for her and to find out if she’d make those same sounds he’s practically memorized drove him and before he could even question it, he had her in his bed. It was better than he could fucking imagine…except the part where she was gone when he woke up.
He pauses, watching as someone stops her on the stairs. There’s no one else there. Billy’s not stupid. He knows the men he hires. He knows what they’re capable of and this man looks angry. Before he can get moving, to help if the man grabs her, she’s already acting…and shoving him down the stairs. His mouth falls open. There’s no way that was an accident. She was too deliberate. His girl just tried to murder one of his employees. He runs for the stairs.
He needs to get there before anyone else.
When Billy arrives, she’s still standing in the same spot, watching the man at the bottom platform. She does not look surprised to see him when she looks at him.
“He slipped,” she says, her voice deadpan. She’s watching him carefully, as if waiting to see his reaction. He stares back, his chest tightening as want floods him.
“Is he dead?” he asks.
She glances at the body. “Not yet.”
“Hmm.” It’s too open. He doesn’t think she’d appreciate it if he fucked her where anyone could walk in. Even if it’s so tempting.
The door below them creaks and he watches as she moves, rushing to the bottom where the body is. Her eyes are suddenly wide and he hears her as she calls for help before the door even opens. She looks like she’s about to start crying as she hurriedly tells the person how the man fell, how she tried to grab him but she couldn’t. He moves down quickly, slipping into business mode as he demands they call an ambulance. She turns, clinging to his chest as her shoulders shake as though she's crying. If he hadn’t witnessed the entire thing, he would think it was legitimate.
He leads her back to his office once the paramedics are gone. Hand on her waist, he guides her up, trying not to give into the urge to pin her against the wall and take her in plain sight. He doesn’t care. She still has blood on her hands and looks like she’s in shock but he knows better now. He knows it’s a trick, that she’s a better actress then he ever would have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself. She lets him take her so he does.
When they’re finally in his office, after the door has closed and he signals his assistant to warn him if the cops show up to ask questions, he kisses her. She doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back, bloody hands on his face as she holds him close. His arm goes around her waist, pulling her tight against him as he moves her back, pressing her back until she hits his desk. He wants more. He wants to take her up against the wall, against the window. Something so he can feel her, give her everything as long as she doesn't leave. She can’t leave. He just saw her kill someone. The man was alive but he wouldn’t be, not for much longer.
Grace shifts just enough that he can move closer between her legs. He should get her cleaned up. Make sure there’s no blood on either of them. He can’t let go though. He doesn't want to stop kissing her.
“Billy,” she murmurs, pulling away just enough. It gives him access to her neck and her kisses the skin there, intent on leaving a mark. Something to show that she was taken. That she’s his.
“Billy,” she says again. He ignores it. He slides a hand up her thigh, revelling in the feel of her skin. She’s so soft. Her hand goes to his hair and she suddenly grips it tight and yanks him back. “It’s time to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t wash the blood, people are going to get suspicious. We’re both covered now.”
He pulls back. It’s true. The blood that was on her hands transferred to his cheeks…and he smeared it on her face and neck as he kissed her. He groans. “Fine. But after–”
“After, we talk,” she agrees.
He lifts his head and looks at her. “You’re mine,” he tells her. He needs it to be clear. He needs her to know.
Warnings: noncon/rape, forced oral, violence, mentions of pregnancy.
This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re journey is perilous.
Note: Thanks everyone for being so enthused about this fic. I love Loki! And I’m glad to be back on it.
Thank you. Love you guys!
As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3
You weren’t certain when but you were taken from the cellar in the dead of night. You barely stood on your own as Magnus uncovered a cart of barrels reaking of ale and snarled for you to lay in the space between them. The prince, shrouded in a grey cloak, helped you up and tossed the same smelly blanket over you. You shivered as snowflakes gathered in the creases of the wool and your patchy tunic and loose trousers offered little shield from the cold.
You had missed the first snowfall. It brought back hazy memories. A girl you once knew, Gilla, and her hand-sewn boots kicking through the powder. You curled up on your side and held your stomach. You were still in disbelief and as it were, the men were undeterred by your change. That life you had before seemed further and further away.
“Keep quiet, pet,” Thor girded as he gripped your ankle through the blanket, “I’ve given my leave to keep you silent in any way necessary.” He squeezed until you looked at him through the bleak, moonless dark, “Think of the child.”
You uttered some instinctual acquiescence and dropped your head. Your teeth chattered and you were shrouded entirely as the wagon was covered once more. You heard their voices, hushed and hard to decipher as they moved around the cart.
“He knows…. cannot say…” the words swirled behind your closed eyes. It was the first you’d laid down in what they claimed was weeks. You were so very tired. “Short rests… old roads…”
You felt the cart shift under a sudden weight and a horse nickered as its heavy hoof stamped the snow. A slap on its hind and a final word from the prince, a grunt in return from the deceptive guard, and the wheels jolted into motion. You were lulled by the movement, the soft rumble of the wood beneath you. You drifted off in the eerie silence of the city as you were secreted between the kegs.
Your dreams were distant and dull, tinted by the sounds around you. The grind of the axle, the occasional grumble of your driver, the spitting of the trotting horse, the muffled slosh of ale beside you. When you woke, you were as cold as before and you rolled onto your back as the chain between your shackles stretched across your middle. The cover glowed with daylight and you heard the stirring of the winter time critters who had not retreated to a seasonal sleep.
You slipped in and out of consciousness. You were awoken once by your keeper, he tossed you a heel of bread and a stein of milk as he took his own meal at the foot of the cart. He didn’t share the cheese or dried meat from his pack. Your stomach growled greedily as you devoured your rations and laid back down.
The wagon bounced along the winding roads, you didn’t know where you were headed. You were rocked by the uneven ground and pondered slipping out from beneath the cover and absconding through the snow. You had no boots however, only cloth wrapped around your feet. And you were weak, so weak.
As it grew dark again, the cart slowed and stilled. You didn’t move as Magnus jumped down and caused the wagon to shake as he did. He rounded to the tail and noisily tapped one of the kegs and you heard the first droplet spill into the snow. He filled his skin with the pungent alcohol and you listened to his thirsty and thick gulps. He replaced the stopper and belched as he crawled up beneath the leather cover.
He nudged you over until there was space for him. He pushed the blanket away from your hips as you rolled onto your side. You reached, clumsily as the chain caught your wrist, and tried to pull the wool back over you. He smacked your hand and hooked his fingers under the top of your trousers.
“It’s fuckin’ cold,” he growled as he pushed the trousers to your ankles with his toe. “Need to warm up, eh.”
You sniffed and squeezed your eyes shut. His scent surrounded you, his warmth too as he pressed against you from behind. He shoved his arm under you and wrapped it around your neck, the thick muscles forcing your head up against his shoulder. He opened his breeches impatiently and wiggled his cock free behind you.
He was rough as he felt around your ass, kneading you roughly as he lingered at your ring. He pushed his thumb against your asshole but snorted and slid his hand further between your thighs. He prodded blindly against your entrance, poking you painfully several times before sinking into you. You whined and his arm tightened around your neck.
“Shut up, bitch,” he moved his hips between his gristled breaths, “Stubborn… think you’d learned by now.”
His intrusion was painful and your body aided little as you were mostly dry. Your walls burned around his thick member and you arched against him to ease the fullness. He breathed into your scalp as he pleasured himself in your pain.
He stopped and trembled. He brought his other arm around your stomach and rolled onto his back, taking you with him as he lifted you atop him. You groaned in pain as your hips ached and he grabbed your knees, bending your legs as he planted his feet and angled himself beneath you.
The trousers fell away from your left angle as he splayed you and rutted into you from below. You clamped your lips shut as you tried not to cry out. You clutched your hand over your chest as he moved your body against his.
“A cunt. That’s all you are.” He hissed, “You think the king fucking cares about you or that pathetic whelp. He’ll find another whore; a prettier whore.”
You bit your lip as your chest swelled. You couldn’t deny his words and couldn’t say you ever thought Loki wanted you for anything besides his own whims, but it only made your circumstance more torturous. From one man to the next, you were a slab of flesh to be twisted and molded to their use.
His hand slipped from your leg and he pushed it against your cunt. He spread your folds as he hammered into you, holding in grunts that nestled in his chest. He lifted his hand and slapped your pussy so that it stung. The sound of the slap made you gasp and he did it again.
“That’s it, bitch,” he snarled, “Make me cum.”
You whimpered as he continued to slap you, your clit reverberating with each strike. His heart pounded as he finally held his hand between your legs and curled his fingers into your flesh, framing his cock as it slid in and out of you.
“You’ll be filled with me by the time we arrive,” he sneered and spasmed as his voice fizzled with his climax. “Shit!”
You felt his hot seed burst inside of you and he let himself down as his legs slid straight. He panted heavily and pinched your thigh gruffly. He pulled out of you and played with his cum as it dripped out of you. He spread it up your cunt and wiped his fingers on your tunic. He hummed and shoved you off of him.
“Clean me up,” he grabbed the back of your neck and forced you up. “I can’t sleep like this.”
Reluctantly, you moved down, keeping low under the leather shroud, and bent over him. You rested your shackled hands on his hip and gripped him tentatively. You took him in your mouth and held back a gag at the taste of him. You glided up and down his length a few times before you drew away. Content, he waved you off and tucked himself back into his breeches.
“Now lay the fuck down,” he pulled you down by the back of your tunic. “I’m fucking tired.”
🐍
You were once more roused by the motion of the wheels. The snow crunched beneath them and you were once more huddled and freezing beneath your meagre blanket. You listened to the horse and the silence of the white plains around you; at least you imagined they were plains. Perhaps there were trees, tall sentinels to witness your fate.
You sat up as far as you could and leaned against a keg. You felt sick again. The tunic rubbed uncomfortably against your tender breasts and you felt around for the oat biscuit you’d saved from your last meal. You chewed on it but nearly choked as the wagon suddenly lurched.
The cart veered and you listened. It was some time before the sound of hooves came clearer as they stamped across the snow. You heard the howl of hounds and the voices of men. Your driver swore and the cart halted all together.
You felt his weight leave the vehicle and heard the whisper of metal. Snap, snap, the leather broke easily against the blade. The horse whinnied in panic and Magnus demanded that it run. The horse obeyed and the wind whistled around the sword as you tried to imagine the scene. The crack of steel against steel and the cry of an unseen man.
Your captor’s flight was impeded but not entirely as you heard your accosters call for him to be caught. The hooves continued, fading into the puffs of powder. You braced yourself and buried your face in your hands. A party of thieves would find you and what worse could they do? A new prison, a new sentence.
You rocked back and forth. Perhaps they might kill you. That was the only swift escape. You listened as low orders were exchanged outside and footsteps neared the end of the cart. You didn’t look as the end of the cover was unstrapped and rolled up. Not even as the wood groaned beneath new weight.
Gentle fingers touched your shoulder. A soft voice startled you. Your name was spoken with a care which felt unreal. “It’s me.” The boy said and you raised your head. His rosy cheeks glowed beneath a wool cap that let out wisps of his carrot-coloured hair, “It’s Hal.”
You blinked as him numbly and grasped his hand without thinking. You squeezed to make certain he was real. He winced but did not pull away.
“We found you,” he said, “Come on. I must take you back.”
“Back?” You uttered and your stomach sank. “To the king?”
“Yes,” he rubbed your shoulder, “King Loki.”
“No, no, no,” you shook your head, “He will… he will be angry. He will think I ran. He will hurt me. He does hurt me. As they have.”
“The king is not angry,” Hal assured you, “He has fretted for weeks over you. And when he has caught up to his treacherous guard, he will make certain he suffers for his crimes.”
“He… what do you mean?”
“The king is in pursuit of Magnus right now. He bid me find you so that he might catch his betrayer first and bring him to justice.” Hal trailed his hand down your arm and took yours from beneath the wool blanket, “Come. We must get you warm. You are freezing.”
You sniffed and let him guide you to the end of the cart. You kept the blanket around you and an armored man approached. You winced. Hal stopped you from stepping down into the snow. He bid the guard get another blanket and ordered another to stoke a fire. A pit was made close by as two of the guards attached their own horses in place of the one taken by their quarry.
“I will remain with you,” Hal said as a kettle was hung on a makeshift spit over the fire. “Once you’ve something warm in you, we are to move to Alfres Castle and the king shall find us their.”
Just a boy, you thought, but he was a comfort nonetheless. You’d never thought to meet him again but there he was. You nodded and accepted the second blanket. It was thicker and lined with lambskin. You hugged it to you and rested your chin against it. You were heartened to no longer be trapped in Magnus’ grasp but you feared your return to Loki’s.
🐍
The castle was only an hour’s ride from where the king’s party found you. Upon your arrival, you were ushered inside and more guards stood by the castle’s gate and doors in expectation. Hal guided you through the halls and to a chamber at the top of a winding staircase. He lit the hearth and brought you a basin and cloth to wash. He left a clean dress, this one with full length sleeves and skirts.
He returned, when you were clean and dressed, with a platter of food. You ate without hesitation and found yourself painfully full. You sat close to the fire, unable to shake the chill of your days spent in the cellar and then in the back of the wagon. You sat in silence but the boy didn’t seem to mind.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said, “I recall the king did not like me speaking with you.”
“The king told me to remain close until he has returned,” Hal shrugged. “If he takes issue, I will make certain it is with me.”
You watched him thoughtfully. “You are brave.” You said.
“Am I?” He wondered. “I don’t think so. I am obedient.”
You chewed your lip and looked away. “Well, I think so.” You muttered.
“You should lay down. I can bring a hot brick to warm your feet.” He offered. “The king might not be back until the morning.”
“What will he do… to-- to--” You quivered and hugged yourself to keep from shaking. Your thighs ached as you thought of the night before; of those which had marked the last month of torment.
“He will kill him.” Hal said coldly. “And better for it. I never did trust that brute.”
You stayed silent as you raised your head. The boy watched you and you saw the pity in his eyes.
“I followed him one night. I warned the king that Magnus was acting odd. He would be sent out to search for you and he’d returned with some lame excuse. So I went after him and found him sneaking beneath a butcher’s shop. I told his majesty but when he thought to look for himself, you were already gone.” Hal leaned forward and poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle you hadn’t touched. “Magnus didn’t return either. He gave himself away.”
He sat back and drank. He winced at the taste and frowned into the cup. “Huh, I always thought wine would be sweet.”
“What would you have done if he had caught you?”
“Well, I’d probably be dead,” he set aside the cup. “I didn’t think of it though I should have.”
“And the king… why did he want to find me? Was he not mad? Surely, he thought I had fled.” You urged.
“He did. At first. I did, too.” He stood and sighed, “I wouldn’t worry for what he thought before. You should sleep. I will have the warmer brought up and you will rest.”
“And will you?” You countered. “You’ve done much today.”
“For a short time, I think,” he smiled. “Your questions do make me rather sleepy.”
He laughed at his own quip and you let out a weak chuckle. His boyish humour amused you as it broke through the veneer he fought hard to keep up.
“Thank you, Hal.” You slowly stood from the chair.
He bowed his head and strode to the door. He left you to the crackling of the wire and the winter gales blowing against the shuttered windows. You went to the bed and hid beneath the covers. You never wanted to move from there. Ever.
🐍
Through your deep slumber, coaxed by the warmth of the fire and the blankets around you, you heard the door. Soft footsteps moved around the room, brighter than when you’d dozed off, and distant movements flitted with the shadows. A log clacked into the hearth and the flames lit the space as your lashes fluttered sleepily.
You felt a figure sit on the edge of the bed and a hand rubbed your arm through the layers of blankets. You murmured and rolled onto your back as you gazed up at your new visitor. Loki’s face was serious and sombre. There was a hint of pink at the tip of his nose and along his cheeks. He had just come in from the cold.
“I have failed. Both of us.” He said. “Magnus cannot be found.”
You pushed your arm from beneath the covers and grasped his wrist. “Magnus…” you said weakly, “And…”
“Shhh,” he hushed. “You are tired. I am too.”
He squeezed your shoulder and stood, your arm falling as he drew away from your touch. You watched him as he removed his tunic, then his breeches. He kept his undershorts on as he stretched before the fire and basked in its glow for only a moment. He retreated from the hearth and disappeared around the other side of the bed.
He pulled up the corner of the covers and slid beneath. He sidled closer to you. He seemed hesitant as he turned on his side and watched you. You closed your eyes as your uncertainty made your nerves wild.
“You didn’t run?” He asked at last.
You opened one eye and looked at him. You shook your head and closed your eye again. “Not from you,” you croaked.
“Yes, my brother and his games,” he said. “I will make certain he never plays one with you again.”
Your lips parted. Your nose crinkled. Did he not know? You wondered if you should say something. Surely, he must have caught on.
“Thor,” you said quietly.
“Yes, Thor,” He confirmed as if you were dull. “Such a pest but I must put up with it.”
He shifted closer and carefully pushed his arm over you. He let it down gently and went rigid as it settled across your stomach. He pulled back and spread his long fingers over your middle. He sucked in a sharp breath and retracted his hand as he pushed himself to sit up. He pulled the blanket away from your torso.
Your eyes snapped open. He stared at your stomach as you crossed your arms over it and tried to hide. He caught your arm and pulled it down to your side. His eyes flicked up to yours.
“You’re…” He looked down and you saw the calculation on his brow, “It must be…”
You nodded. “Yours.”
He went quiet and slowly lowered himself beside you once more. He nestled close and drew the blankets back up over your bodies. He hugged you to him as the heat of his flesh seeped into you.
“I will find Magnus and I will make him beg for death,” he said.
You gulped as his fingers swirled over your stomach. “You’re not angry with me?” You asked.
“Perhaps for not telling me when I did come in,” he said, “But for your condition, no.”
“I…” You began but could not figure what to say.
“Sleep,” he bid. “It is a concern for tomorrow.”
🐍
Loki stirred as a knock came at the door. A pounding that frightened you and had you sitting up in terror. The king waved you back down as he took a robe from a hook and wrapped himself in the dark fabric. He went to the door and opened it with a grumble, asking who it was.
“Brother,” Thor’s voice made your blood cold. You pulled up the covers as if to hide beneath them. “We looked all night. He is nowhere to be found.”
“Mmm,” Loki huffed, “Well, come in.”
He beckoned the prince inside and you only watched their shadows as you dared not move. You felt eyes upon you but didn’t look back. Loki went to the hearth and poked the embers with the long iron. He added a quarter log and stepped away.
“You haven’t an idea of his direction?” Loki asked.
“North.” Thor said plainly. “I can only assume he’s headed for a port. His only hope is to be away from the country.”
“As if I will not sniff him out,” Loki spat and a chair scraped on the stone floor. You heard his deep and angry breaths. “She is in condition. He endangered royal issue. He is a traitor.”
Thor cleared his throat and sat too. “And she is… far? You are certain--”
“A woman does not show after a month and she is growing.” Loki rebuffed.
“Only a bastard,” Thor remarked, “That is trouble itself.”
“A bastard. Illegitimate. My betrothed needn’t worry her precious royal cunt.” Loki slithered. “And you are not one to lecture me on marital loyalty. How are Lady Jane and your new daughter?”
“Healthy. She expects she might be ready to visit court in the spring.” Thor said.
“Ah, and ruin your fun?” Loki taunted. “The baker’s daughter isn’t very subtle.”
“Oh, but she is fun,” Thor chortled. “I give her a pretty bauble and she’s got me in her mouth as she wears it ‘round her throat.”
“Perhaps my bastard might have a friend of similar bearing,” Loki mused.
“She is cautious. She says her father would murder her.” Thor returned. “And if it came to it, how could I know it was mine? These peasants… you cannot say where they lay.”
“Mmhmm,” Loki tutted, “I suppose you are right.”
“Well, brother,” Thor stood, “Speaking of the wife, am I permitted to depart now?”
“My men will continue the search. I did promise you a respite.” Loki said, “I will see you back in the capital.”
“After Wintertide,” Thor affirmed, “Jane would have my balls if I was not home for the occasion. Not now with the little one.”
“Very well. Away before this snow has us all trapped.” Loki trilled.
The door opened and closed. The hinges made your blood boil and your spine rigid. You sat up and stared at the door. You were in a trance. Horror bubbled in your veins.
“L-L-Loki,” you said the king’s name without thinking; no title, no courtesies, but pure fear as you gripped the covers in your fists. “He--He--- Your brother---”
“Does think me stupid.” Loki rose and came to you. He coaxed you back down and unknotted your hand from around the quilt. “He did not find Magnus because that little shit would tell it all in an instant if he thought it would save his own head.” Loki growled as he twined his fingers through yours. “I know everything, mouse, but one rat at a time.”
