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It was the middle of the night when an Einherjar dared lay hand to Loki.
His personal chambers were midnight dark; the curtains were drawn, and there wasn’t so much as a spark of light emitted or reflected by anything. Loki was at home in the shadows, and if any dared attack whilst he was slumbering, the darkness would give him an immediate advantage over his foe.
That, and he slept better in the dark.
His personal wards woke him before the Einherjar made it to his bed, so Loki was awake and waiting, a gold-hilted dagger in each hand, poised below the covers and ready to draw blood. When the intruder reached out, he barely placed a finger on Loki’s shoulder before Loki leapt up, daggers flashing as they came to rest beneath the Einherjar’s throat. It was only Loki smacking his head against the Einherjar’s horned helm that saved the man from death. “These things look ridiculous,” Loki muttered, wishing he had a third hand to rub at his forehead wound. “Who wears horns indoors?”
“Only following orders, my prince,” the Einherjar said. With a touch of seidr, Loki illuminated the room and saw his father’s guardsman staring at Loki’s daggers with trepidation. One hair closer and Loki would have drained the man of his life’s blood.
“What are you doing here?” Loki said, not yet retracting his blades.
“You’ve been summoned to the Great Hall,” the Einherjar said, attention still on the daggers pressing against his throat. “I was sent to retrieve you.”
“Lost a bet, did you?” Loki said, at last pulling his blades back just enough for the man to take in a staggered breath without fear of shaving himself.
“Prince Thor requests your presence,” the Einherjar said.
Thor? In the middle of the night? This promised to be the sort of thing that would boil Loki’s blood, but he might as well find out what his irritating oaf of a brother wanted so Loki could perfectly match his irritation and revenge to the situation.
Shedding his bed clothes, Loki quickly dressed in a tunic, dark pants, and soft leather boots, then padded into the hallway after the impatiently waiting Einherjar. The man tried to lead the way, but Loki refused to walk behind a servant. His idiot of a brother might be able to summon Loki in the night, but Loki would not be led like a child into whatever den of iniquity Thor was undoubtedly embroiled in.
Bursting through the doors into the Great Hall, Loki found a scene much like he has anticipated: Thor sat at the head of a table, surrounded by empty pitchers and mugs of ale. To his right sat Hogun and Fandral, also deep in their cups and surrounded by an even greater number of empty pitchers. Across from them sat Volstagg, who appeared to be doing a better job at holding his ale, though he was merrily humming a ditty. Next to him sat the usually resplendent Sif, now hanging her had over her arms and lolling her head about. An even greater number of mugs surrounded her. Loki could easily surmise that one of her friends had insulted her drinking prowess, and she consumed too much ale to prove them wrong and was now thoroughly soused. If the others weren’t too far gone themselves, they surely would have mocked her inability to remain erect.
All five individuals were holding cards, with a stack in front of Thor. He must be the dealer, then. Their bets were piled in the center of the table, the gold glistening in the weak candlelight. Clearly they were playing cards, and clearly whoever was about to win would hold boasting rights for years to come. Loki couldn’t fathom what he was needed for.
“Loki!” Thor boomed, finally catching sight of his brother. His voice was overly loud for this time of night, filling the otherwise empty Hall. Loki winced. He got out of bed for this?
“What do you want?” he demanded, crossing his arms in a show of displeasure. Thor gave no notice.
“The game is back on!” Thor roared, rousing Sif from her slumber long enough to rearrange the cards in her hand.
“At last,” Fandral groaned. “This round is taking far too long. My beds await!”
Bed, singular, Loki snidely and silently corrected.
“You sure about this, Odinson?” Hogun slurred. “‘Tis quite a prize you are bargaining.”
“I will not lose!” Thur rumbled, his meaty fist banging against the table. The empty mugs toppled over, liquid sloshing out of the full ones. “Call! Show your hands!”
Loki still did not know why his presence was required, though he was interested in who was about to win the giant pot. With all of his acquaintances drunk out of their minds, he could easily make a portion of the reward disappear, with everyone none the wiser. Inching closer to the table, he was determined to put himself into position to do just that. “That eager to be won, Silvertongue?” Hogun slurred, his glassy eyes squinting in Loki’s direction.
“Well, I am the greatest prize,” Loki replied. With a grumble, Hogun dug a coin out of his pocket and handed it over to a smirking Fandral.
“Three kings and a jester,” Volstagg chortled. “Top that, friends!” Fandral and Hogun tossed their cards to the table with twin grumbles, both glaring at the glittering gold.
“Three kings and two jesters,” Thor cried, tossing his hand on the table faceup. Loki raised his brows in appreciation. There were only five kings in a deck. Someone was cheating.
“Royal family,” Sif slurred, tossing down the highest possible hand. Loki’s own face stared up at him from the Lesser Prince card, a particularly dashing likeness, Loki had always thought. Thor’s image made him look like a bloated buffoon, which Loki found fitting.
“Royal family,” Thor said, sounding on the verge of tears. “There is no greater thing this side of Yggdrasil.”
“And now I’ve won one,” Sif said, reaching out to scoop up the gold. “Loki’s mine.”
“It is a particularly fetching card,” Loki agreed, reaching out to trace a finger along his painted face while swiping a gold coin from the table.
“You’re a particularly fetching card,” Sif said, reaching out a hand to retake the gold coin Loki had pinched. He couldn’t help but smile; even drunk out of her mind, Sif was more clever than the rest of these buffoons by half.
His smile immediately dropped into a frown as she reached out again to clasp his hand in hers. He’d always admired her most out of Thor’s friends—more than admired, really, though he wasn’t willing to admit just how much—and he did not appreciate her casual touch. He tried to reclaim his hand, but her grip tightened. “Mine,” she said, in a way that sent a shiver up Loki’s spine.
Thor raised his hand in farewell, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’ll miss you, brother,” he said morosely. “Take good care of him, Sif.”
What?
“Good care of me,” Sif corrected, standing only to immediately grab Loki and make him support her. Loki wasn’t expecting the added weight and nearly buckled under it before wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright.
Sif slipped both of her arms and around him and pulled him in close, squeezing the air out of him. She nuzzled her nose into his chest. “Smell good,” she slurred.
Loki stared down at her, not sure what to make of the affair. Having Sif in his arms fulfilled a number of desires he wasn’t willing to name, but having her drunk out of her mind was not part of that list. The moment she regained sobriety she would regret every moment, and he was not looking forward to that. “Sif, let me go,” he said, trying to extricate himself, but she held tighter.
“Never forever,” she sighed.
“It’s so beautiful,” Thor cried, his tears falling in earnest now.
“You two are pathetic,” Loki announced. “I wish to return to bed.”
Sif snapped up, her drunk eyes glittering dangerously. “Yes, bed,” she whispered, a touch too suggestively. Turning to Thor, she said, “Do it now!”
“Now?” Thor said, his lower lip quivering.
“Now,” Sif reiterated, straightening enough to pull back and smooth out Loki’s tunic. At least, that’s what he assumed she was doing; her motor skills were faulty, so it was much more like being pawed at by an overly enthusiastic dog.
“Can I do that?” Thor asked wonderingly, looking around the Hall. Volstagg had disappeared in the commotion and Fandral was asleep in his cups, but Hogun was staring at them all like he was watching a grand stage play.
“What are you two blathering on about now?” Loki asked, trying to capture Sif’s hands to keep them from beating him. For a drunk woman, she was surprisingly spry, and he could barely land a finger on her.
“Crown princes do as they please,” Sif said. “Do it. Now.”
Standing in a rush, Thor knocked his large chair over. It landed with a booming crash. “I hereby pronounce you husband and wife!” Thor roared, jabbing a finger in their direction. “By the power invested in me by ale and Odin, I declare it so! Hogun the Grimm stands as witness!”
“Sits as witness,” Sif happily corrected. Her motor skills suddenly began functioning as she jumped on Loki, smashing her mouth to his. For his part, Loki was too shocked to move; he didn’t catch Sif, and her kiss lasted exactly long enough for her to slide down his body and land in a puddle on the floor, where she giggled.
“So mote it be!” Thor cried.
“So mote it be,” Hogun said in awed tones.
“So mote it be,” Sif giggled.
Loki said nothing, his jaw fallen to the floor.
He he just been wedded?
To Lady Sif?
With actual witnesses?
A slow smile curled his lips.
Nullifying a faux marriage like this would be a cinch, but in the meantime, oh, the mischief he could wreak.
“My lady love, may I escort you to your bed?” he offered, bowing over Sif’s prone form and proffering a hand.
She sighed like a simpering maiden, a wide grin stretching her lips. “My Loki love,” she said, and immediately passed out.
Loki’s grin only stretched wider as he collected Sif from the floor and the gold from the table, escorting them both to Sif’s rooms. And if some amount of gold found its way into his own rooms, well, they were married now; what was hers was his.
He could not wait for her to wake in the morning.
It was high noon before Sif’s eyes fluttered open, the brilliant sunshine streaming into her rooms. She squinted against the bright light; she usually woke long before now, and had bested several Einherjar upstarts in the training yard. Why those idiots insisted on trying to prove her prowess false after all this time she could not understand, as it had been several centuries now since she lost to one of the palace guards. If they insisted on also trying their aptitude against the Warriors Three or one of the princes she wouldn’t feel so annoyed, but their insistence that they only battle her meant they found her the weakest and most likely to be defeated.
Squinting again at the sun, Sif decided the Einherjar could handle one day without being humiliated at her hand. “Bloody idiots need a day off,” she muttered, snuggling deeper into the warmth of her blankets.
“Say something, love?” mumbled a voice behind her. In the span of a heartbeat Sif was out of her blankets, head spinning, knives drawn and aimed at the intruder. She had to blink several times to be certain of what she was seeing, but there, in the hollow of her bed, was Loki, wearing precious little and smiling at her like the cat that got the cream.
She knew she was soused last night, but Sif was still fairly certain she hadn’t invited Loki to her bed. Squinching her eyes in concentration, she tried to piece together last night. There were several gaping holes, but if she counted the occupants of the table correctly, Loki hadn’t been there at all. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. Briefly she considered sheathing her weapons, but the mischievous look the second prince was giving her made her rethink that choice.
“You were rather forceful in your insistence that I was yours,” he said, stretching languidly. Sif closed her eyes against the lovely sight, grateful the blush in her cheeks could be attributed to a hangover. Of all people in creation, Loki was the last who needed to know just how attractive she found him. He would be forever insufferable if he found out.
“Lies,” she said, peeking to see if he was done stretching. He was, and the smirk on his face said her efforts at hiding her attraction had been in vain. She opened both her eyes to scowl at him. “I know you did not gamble with us last night.”
“True,” Loki said. “I was not invited to your soiree—”
“Hogun invited you, and you turned him down,” she interrupted.
“No, Hogun told me he would stab me if I left the library, and as that coincided with my need to continue my research, we all parted happy.”
Sif shook her head. “When will you two get over your petty animosity? No one even knows why you two dislike each other.”
“You have seen him, yes?” Loki said. “With a face that stupid, it’s a miracle I ever consent to be in the same room as him.”
Just once she would like a straight answer from Loki. His circular wordplay was giving her a headache. Or maybe that was from the dozens of cups of ale she'd ingested. “I still don’t know why you are here,” she said.
Loki propped his head up on hands tucked behind his head in a manner of affected casualness. It was unfair how good it made him look. As soon as Sif could take a step without listing to the side, she was going to find him some clothes to wear. “You insisted, my dear,” he said.
“So if I am to believe you, I finished my card game, tracked you down in the library, and dragged you to my rooms?”
Loki clucked his tongue. “Yes, except none of that is true.”
“Then yes would not be the appropriate answer,” she said, trying not to be testy.
He pouted at her, jutting his lower lip out rather indecently. Sif blinked back the urge to kiss him. “Don’t be upset with me,” he said mildly. “I’m merely trying to contain my hurt that you clearly don’t remember what transpired between us last night. Or rather this morning.” His eyes turned doleful, and if Sif didn’t have a lifetime of witnessing Loki turn others to butter with his well chosen words, she might give in to his supposed hurt and try to soothe it away.
As it was, she didn’t believe anything he was saying.
Almost anything he was saying. He was lying in her blankets wearing so little she had to wonder if she had invited him in after all.
Glancing down, Sif saw she was still fully dressed in the attire she’d worn last night, minus only her breastplate. She frowned; there was no reason for Loki to be naked if she was fully dressed.
Sheathing her knives at last, She stepped forward and yanked her blankets off the bed, revealing that Loki was only naked from the hips up; he was wearing sleep pants. Did he usually wear so little to bed, or was this for her benefit? “Enjoying the view?” Loki murmured, and she tossed the blankets over his head.
“Answer me true, Silvertongue: Why are you here, and what did I do to incur your wrath?”
Loki wiggled out of the blankets, his hair delightfully mussed. Sif closed her eyes again before she reached out to smooth it back for him. “You wound me, my lady. You ask for my hand, then reject me in the cold light of day? All I did was acquiesce to your overwhelming feelings, and now I must suffer rejection.” He sounded teary, but Sif would bet her life, his life, and the life of Thor that he hadn’t shed a tear in decades. She refused to look, however, for even his affectations of weeping could undo her. Asked for his hand, did she? She might yearn for him in the quiet moments of her life, but she would never do the indignity of acting upon it! Sif had no issue initiating a courtship, but one did not approach the royal family without invitation. Not even she would stoop so low.
“Now I know you are spouting falsehoods,” she said. Her knees were about to give out on her—too much standing and not enough food. Had she even eaten anything last night, or had it all been ale? She opened her eyes long enough to ascertain where the edge of her bed was so she could lean against it for support, then turned her back to Loki. “I would never—”
Her words cut off abruptly as she looked about her chambers for the first time that morning. Afternoon. Whenever it was. She had to blink repeatedly, and glance at the position of the window and the outside view to be certain it was her room, for it had not looked this way when she left yesterday morning. Everywhere she looked, there were stacks of books, measuring implements, haphazardly tossed scrolls, and piles and piles of green. “Did you move in?” she demanded, whirling to face Loki. The motion brought on a wave on pain in her head, and with a groan she slapped a hand to her forehead.
“My love, you must be careful,” Loki cried, scuttling to her side of the bed to place his long, cool fingers against her brow. How his touch was so cool after lounging in her blankets she did not know, and frankly did not care. He could touch her all day; the coolness of his hands brought much needed relief.
“You can stay here forever if you keep doing that,” she said, as he began pressing gently at the pressure points on the sides of her head. Ohh, yes, he could move in immediately—well, stay; he’d already moved in—so long as he remained precisely where he was.
“I told you you wanted me,” he murmured. There was something about the way he said that that triggered Sif’s memory.
“I’m out of gold,” Thor said, staring at the ante as if it were a lost child.
“Can’t stay in if you can’t meet the bet,” Volstagg rumbled, taking another bite of turkey leg.
Fandral leaned over the table, pointing where he thought Thor was. “Surely a prince of the realm has something to offer.”
“He has Loki,” Sif suggested as she downed another mug, knowing Loki was Thor’s most valuable possession.
Thor smashed a meaty fist on the table. “Yes! Loki!” he thundered. “I offer him forth as collateral.”
“You sure you want to do that?” Hogun said, eyeing his cards askance. “He’s not exactly a prize to be won.”
That offended Sif. Loki was a very great prize, and she’d love to win him. “Ignore Hogun. Loki is acceptable.”
Fandral cackled as he looked at his cards, sure he would win. Sif frowned at her excellent hand, trying to ascertain if she had the whole royal family or if she really did only have two Lokis and two Thors. She blinked, trying to see straight.
“Loki it is!” Thor said, miming tossing a wager into the alarmingly large stack of gold coating the table.
Sif’s eyes widened as she looked into Loki’s face, suddenly connecting the dots. Loki, wager, hand, here…
“Where is my gold?” she blurted out before she said something else she’d desperately mean, but definitely regret.
Pulling one hand away, Loki tapped her on the nose. “You do remember the important things,” he said, lips curving up slightly. “I left it on your correspondence table in the receiving room.”
“Is all of it still there?” she asked suspiciously.
Loki had the audacity to look offended. “My dear, why would I shortchange us? This is our future to which you’re referring.”
Pushing past him—and regretfully losing his wonderfully cool hands against her skin—Sif exited her bed chamber to enter her receiving room. A mound of gold sat upon her table and littered the accompanying chairs and floor, clearly too much for her little table to handle. Moving towards it, Sif made as it to count it, but really, she had no idea how much was supposed to be there. Loki could have absconded with half her hoard, and she’d never know.
Still. It wasn’t gold she was worried about finding. Trailing her fingers through the glittering mess, she did not find any scrap of parchment. There was no evidence of a transaction between her and Thor bearing the insulting claim that Loki was now hers. She sighed in relief.
“Looking for this?”
She turned to see Loki lounging in the doorway, still not wearing a tunic of any sort but now sporting her scarlet silk robe. In his hands was a scroll, identical to the many scrolls now adorning her chamber.
Chambers, she amended, noting that this room, too, was full of Loki’s things draped across every surface and covering much of the floor. Had she always possessed so few things, or had he removed some of her possessions to make room for his? And why would he do such a thing? Her eyes darted to the scroll in his hands, a feeling of dread settling in her stomach. “What is that?” she asked softly, afraid to speak up.
Loki unrolled the scroll and began to read. “I hereby pronounce you husband and wife! By the power invested in me by ale and Odin, I declare it so! Hogun the Grimm stands as witness!”
“Sits as witness,” Sif whispered in horror, a second lost memory from the night before returning with a vengeance. “No, we didn’t—”
“We did, most unceremoniously. I can’t wait to announce it to Mother.”
Her horror tripled. Sif couldn’t announce a drunken marriage to the Allmother—not in the best of times, and certainly not when the groom was Frigga’s son! “Please tell me that isn’t legally binding,” she begged.
“There were witnesses,” Loki said, and her heart sunk further. Sif dropped to the floor, sitting uncomfortably on several gold coins. Loki started counting on his fingers. “Hogun, Fandral, Thor, and the seventeen servants we passed on our way to your rooms.”
A high-pitched noise emanated from Sif’s throat. In the far-flung villages, it only took six witnesses seeing the couple on the way to bed to make a marriage legal, and they had twenty.
“It is an event to celebrate!” Loki declared, throwing his arms wide. The scroll fluttered in his hand. “A feast is in order; I should think the entirety of Asgard would like to attend. Is tonight too soon? Tomorrow, then; Mother will arrange everything, you need not worry about it. All you must do is appear at my side, wearing a dress so ravishing I’ll have a hard time keeping my hands to myself.”
“You’re funning me,” she said faintly. Her right hand grasped at the floor, looking for something solid to hold onto. She came in contact with a coin and clutched it for a lifeline. “This is all a grand joke.”
“I would never joke about my love for you,” Loki said, so serious she was forced to consider he was in earnest.
Sif shook her head vigorously, her sleep-mussed hair flying about her. There was another stab of pain in her temples, but she ignored it; she did not have time to focus on her hangover when she’d accidentally and drunkenly married a prince of the realm. And he seemed perfectly at ease over the situation!
“Are you not satisfied with inviting all of Asgard?” Loki asked, sounding concerned. “I am the second prince; I can command the entirety of the Nine Realms to attend. Your wedding celebration should be as loud and exciting as you wish.”
Sif let out a choking noise.
“What are we going to do?” she moaned, slumping over and ruing the day she first tasted ale.
“After our wedding feast, we’re going to make a dozen babies and teach them to terrorize all who would interfere with our happiness.”
She wanted to yell at him, but he sounded so sincere. How could he be handling this with anything other than horror? Loki had never shown an ounce of interest in her; there was no way he felt anything other than mortified. And yet…
“Are you under a love spell?” she asked suddenly, lifting her head to look at him.
“Of course, darling; yours.”
For a brief, horrifying moment, Sif thought she’d bespelled the prince, an unpardonable sin that would surely result in her public execution. No wonder he was fine with the situation; she’d botched the magic so badly that he fancied himself in love with her.
But then she looked up at his eyes glittering wickedly, and knew she’d been had. “You couldn’t successfully cast a spell to light a candle, let alone put me under your spell,” he said. “Our marriage and our love is true, beloved Sif. Rejoice, as I am.”
Instead she ran to the washroom and threw up.
Once again Loki’s cool hands were soothing her brow, holding back her hair so it wouldn’t fall in her sick. “We haven’t already made a baby, have we?” he murmured into her ear.
“That is not even remotely funny,” Sif croaked.
“I do carry royal seed. It could be fast acting.”
She turned her head to glare at him. “This is hangover-sick, and you know it. We couldn’t possibly have created a child; we haven’t even copulated.”
“The day is young,” he said cheerfully.
“Loki, this isn’t funny. We wed under false pretenses, and your parents are going to filet me!”
“Father might,” Loki mused, tugging Sif to her feet and to the sink to gently wipe at her mouth and offer her a toothbrush, which she accepted. “Mother won’t. She’s very fond of you.”
Sif shook her head fiercely (a mistake with a toothbrush hanging out of it); Frigga was far more formidable than Odin Allfather. Loki was her beloved son, and she would not part with him to anyone she deemed unworthy. Sif may have made her mark on the palace and earned her place in the ranks of warriors, but that did not qualify her to be Loki’s bride. One whisper of what had transpired last night, and Frigga’s eyes would widen, her nostrils would flare, and the recipient of her ire would be transfigured into an ant, easily squashed by any nearby boot.
Sif was too young to die. There was so much glory she had yet to attain.
Loki’s cool fingers brushed her hair aside, his fathomless eyes peering into hers, his backside resting against her sink. “You’re actually concerned,” he said, sounding surprised. She broke the eye contact to spit. “About Mother?”
“You’re her favourite,” Sif whispered, nervously tapping the toothbrush against the side of the sink. “Kind and gentle though she may be, she is still fearsome. One glance, one flick of her fingers, and any who draws her ire turns into dust. She would do no less to any falsely claiming they were worthy of her beloved son.”
Some nameless emotion flitted across Loki’s face, lighting his eyes, and was gone in an instant. Sif was only half-sure she’d seen it. “You’re worried about Mother,” he said again. Suddenly he was gone, pacing through her rooms. He seemed agitated. The motion was making her head spin. Staggering back to her bed, Sif wasn’t sure if her dizziness was from her hangover or watching Loki’s frenzied movements.
At last he came to a stop directly in front of her. Sif looked up at him, lost her balance, and fell back against her messy blankets. At least they cocooned her head. “Let me get this straight,” Loki said. “Your only objection here is that you think you’ve married a prince of the realm without the permission of Odin Allfather or Frigga Allmother, and you’re worried about ramifications?”
“What else is there to be worried about?” Sif demanded, her voice coming out more forcefully than intended.
“How I feel about it,” Loki said.
“Why should that concern me? I’m skilled at what I do, loyal to a fault, an excellent provider, and more than fair to look at. You should be so lucky to find a match in me.” That was perilously close to confessing how much she desired him. She might as well shout from the rooftops that she thought herself equal to marrying a prince.
Loki dropped almost to the floor, resting against his heels. Long, delicate fingers ran a ragged path through his already disheveled hair, only serving to make him appear more desirable. “You aren’t completely opposed to this,” he said, voice odd, eyes strangely hopeful. A tiny flutter in Sif’s stomach gave way to hope she had no right to.
“I am very much opposed to facing your mother,” she corrected.
“But not opposed to me.”
“I thought that had been established.”
He looked at her abruptly, a fierce light in his eyes. “It has not.”
Sif inhaled sharply through her nose, propping herself up on an arm so she could better look at Loki. Their eyes met, and the air was thick between them. Sif found it difficult to draw an adequate breath. “Thor did not throw you into the pot unprompted,” she slowly informed Loki, her voice low and intimate. Her skin felt overheated. “I… suggested it after realizing how brilliant my hand was.”
“You wanted me to be your prize.”
It sounded so crass when phrased that way, but she could not form the words to announce her feelings. “Something like that,” she murmured instead, and averted her eyes as her whole body flushed.
“You married me on purpose,” Loki said, glee in his voice. Sif whipped her head around to look at him, ignoring the spike of pain it produced, and watched his grin grow in size. “You planned our marriage in advance, with Thor, so all you had to do was say now to make it happen.”
“I drunkenly planned our marriage in advance,” Sif contradicted. “Can a woman be held accountable for her drunken decisions?”
“This one will be,” Loki said, his grin taking on a menacing glint. Sif squealed as he pounced, his lips capturing hers. It was a brief kiss, ending almost as soon as it began. Sif stared at him, not uttering a sound, struck as she was by the fact that Loki had willingly kissed her.
She moved forward to kiss him again, capturing his lower lip between hers. This kiss was more than the peck he’d offered her, but not much more, as she was suddenly filled to the brim with emotion and needed a different sort of release.
Drawing back, Sif fell back against the bed, a wide smile tugging up her lips. She let out a laugh, short and high pitched, that might almost be described as a giggle. She needed a ladyfriend to share the news with, or a Fandral-friend, someone with whom she could gush over landing the second prince. “We’re married,” she announced to Loki’s amused face. “We’re married and you’re not opposed to it and neither am I, so this face of a marriage need not be farcical.”
“I see you’re no longer afraid of my mother,” he said.
“Terrified, actually. Would be quaking in my boots, if I was wearing any. But if you’re happy with the marriage, she won’t mind half so much and will go easy on my punishment.”
Moving to sit next to her, Loki reached out a hand to lightly finger one of her unkempt tresses. “It’s Father you should be more concerned about, though he’s hardly bothered to notice my existence these last few decades, so you might get a reprieve there, too.” He dropped her hair to run a finger down her cheek, and Sif could not contain her shiver. “You know, I went to sleep last night hoping to carry out a grand joke on you today, but this has taken a most unexpected turn.”
He snapped his fingers, and all of his things scattered about her rooms disappeared. Sif frowned; it had all been an illusion. “Put it back,” she pouted, jutting out her lower lip in hopes he’d want to kiss it.
“Temping,” Loki said, tapping said lip, “but your rooms are wholly inadequate. You may move into mine, where this is space aplenty—but you must leave your armoury behind. I will not have my texts displaced in favour of your weapons. Leave them in your rooms, which you can convert into a private armoury, the likes of which only members of the royal family may have.” Which really meant she could share his bed and place an article or two of clothing in his closet, while the remainder of her possessions stayed precisely where they were. She didn’t mind; having a separate space all her own would keep her from murdering her new husband when he was infuriating, which would be frequently.
“This marriage is legal, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’d hate to find out otherwise after we throw the marriage banquet you promised me.”
“Extremely legal,” Loki said, his hand trailing down her arm to her hand, which he raised to his lips. It was a courtly gesture reserved for glittering ladies, and not usually granted to Sif as most of the men she knew did not see her as a woman. It was a reminder of one of the many reasons she first fell for Loki; he appreciated her as she was. “I did not lie about the 17 servants who saw us. We have witnesses aplenty, and enough gossiping tongues that I’m sure our union has spread all over the realm by now. And we have Thor’s presence as officiant to make everything legitimate.”
Propping herself up on an elbow, Sif looked at Loki curiously. “You said you intended to prank me, yet here you are, touting the legality of our marriage. What did you plan to do if I attempted to murder you in horror of our union?”
“It’s perfectly legal, but not extremely binding. It could easily be broken, if we so chose. For starters,” and he held up a ball of fire in his hand, “destroying the document would eliminate any physical evidence.”
Sif smacked his hand away, the illusory fire gone in a blink of an eye. “Do not threaten—”
Ignoring her as if she had not spoken, Loki continued, “And without consummation, there is little holding us to it—”
Pushing him back, Sif rolled over so she was leaning over him and kissed him again.
“If you had been truly horrified,” Loki said breathlessly between kisses, “I would have paraded you around Gladsheim and shouted the news to every corner of the realm until you attempted to slay me out of frustration, at which point I would have teased you a few days more, then assisted you in annulling our marriage.”
Dropping a kiss on his nose, Sif murmured, “And now?”
He gave her an intense look, filled with desire. “Now I will parade you around Gladsheim and announce the news to every corner of the realm, with you willingly at my side.”
He continued staring up at her, and in his eyes, Sif saw reflected back at her everything she felt for him.
“You are willing, yes?” he asked softly, lifting a hand to trace her cheek.
“Extremely.” Meeting his lips again, she set about proving it.
“I missed your wedding?” Volstagg cried, desperately disappointed, as he sparred with Sif in the courtyard.
“By mere seconds, I am told,” Sif said, slashing at his upper arm with her glaive. He parried out of muscle memory, clearly too distracted to be giving his all to the fight. Signalling an end to the practice, Sif lowered her weapon and leaned against the staff. “Hogun can tell you all about it. He was there as witness.”
“I remember a glittering pile of gold,” Hogun said from the sidelines where he stood with Fandral and Thor, awaiting their turns to go against Volstagg. “And I seem to recall Loki pocketing some of it.”
She knew it, that little bilgesnipe. She was going to spill ale on one of his precious books in retaliation.
“I can’t believe I slept through it,” Fandral said. “The event of the century, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open!”
“I don’t even remember it, and my name is on the document,” Thor reminded them all.
“I barely remember it,” Sif said. “Fleeting images, a few words, and waking up next to Loki.”
“A frightful sight, I’m sure,” Hogun said. Sif rolled her eyes but said nothing, for he was not wrong, if not for the right reasons.
A sudden loud crash shook the palace and training grounds. Sif winced; that would be Loki’s parents, finding out about the marriage. Loki had volunteered to announce their union alone, and Sif, brave warrior that she was, let him. She wasn’t afraid of much, but the wrath of his parents terrified her. “Anyone want to go on a quest?” she asked feebly.
“Yes, please,” Thor said immediately. “I don’t want to face my parents when they find out I officiated an unapproved marriage.”
“You should probably wait for Loki,” Volstagg said, giving Sif a suggestive wink she would have expected from Fandral.
“No, don’t wait for Loki, or your quest will turn into a honeymoon,” Fandral said.
“Honeymooning with them is better than facing that,” Thor said, gesturing towards the royal family apartments. “How does Midgard sound?” A second, louder crash punctuated his words, and he hastily added, “Or better yet, Knowhere. I'll grab our gear, you grab Loki, and we’ll meet at the Bifrost.”
Sif made it three steps into the palace before she rounded a corner and ran into Loki, quite literally. They tried to save each other from falling, but grabbing the other’s arms threw them both even more off balance and they landed in a heap on the stone floor. “Darling, I’m glad to run into you,” Loki said, once he was through wheezing after Sif landed on his chest. “It turns out you were right, and Mother is a bit upset at us for wedding without her presence. I suggest an immediate relocation to the realm of your choice for a lengthy honeymoon.”
Sif rolled off him, tugging Loki to his feet. “I was just on my way to find you to propose just that. Thor’s grabbing our gear and will meet us—”
“Oh, no. Thor is not joining us,” Loki interrupted, pulling her close to kiss her nose. “He’s on his own.” He kissed her again, this time capturing her lips. Sif couldn't help but hum in approval. “And we are not waiting on gear,” he murmured, trailing kisses down her jaw. A tingle, and Loki tugged her through a doorway into one of his magical passages.
With his arm holding her in place, lips dancing their way down her throat, and electricity thrumming between them, Sif found she did not mind leaving Thor behind one bit.
Thor arrived at the Bifrost shouldering his and Sif’s gear. He didn’t have access to Loki’s rooms and didn’t know what his scholarly brother would want, anyway, so Loki would just have to purchase what he needed. It could be a sort of mini-quest, a grand adventure! Certainly a memorable moment.
He came to a halt as his foot crossed the threshold to Himinbjorg. Standing in Heimdall’s usual location was his mother, arms crossed and fingers tapping an irritated rhythm on her arm.
“Hello, eldest son of mine,” Frigga said, voice dangerously calm. “I hear you officiated a wedding between my precious youngest son and his beloved, and did not deign to invite me.” Her eyes glittered in the dark interior. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Thor gulped.