The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

Chapter 55

As you walk down the hall to the foyer - you are determined not to get lost tonight - you cannot help but be relieved when you don't run into any of the other girls. You'd hate to hear what they have to say - if they recognized you, that is.

When you reach the king's quarters, even the guard at the door seems at first confused. "Uh, the king has a guest tonight, milady."

"Yes, I know. I am Lady (Y/N). His Majesty is expecting me for dinner."

He does a double take at your voice. "You - forgive me, Lady (Y/N)."

He hurries to bow while trying to push open the door, and for a moment you actually feel bad for startling him. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Please, no need for apologies. You're very good at your job."

He smiles, still slightly on edge. "Thank you." You enter the room, flinching slightly as you hear the door close behind you. The guard offers you his elbow, and you allow him to escort you across the room.

The table is small and round, placed beside a window. You almost cry in relief when you see the place setting - one fork, one knife. That's it. No dessert spoons, or fish forks, or -

"Lady (Y/N)."

For once, you don't flinch at the unexpected greeting. Instead, you take a deep breath, and calmly turn to face him. "Good evening."

His brow is furrowed as he appraises your appearance. "Your dress is...interesting."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Meg - my maid is a talented seamstress, and I was beginning to tire of the...monochromatic...nature of my wardrobe."

"I see you finally gave up on the underskirts," he observes dryly. "And yet the corset remains."

You tilt your head, giving him what you hope comes across as an enigmatic smile. "What can I say? It grew on me, especially now that I know how to properly lace it. The petticoats, however, were more hindrance than help." You gesture to the table. "May I sit down?" you ask in the sweetest voice you can muster.

Requesting to sit before he offers you a chair is in direct violation of Lady Amara's rules...but the cameramen don't know that. To correct you, especially given how "politely" you're behaving, would only make him look like even more of a control freak than before. You know it; he knows you know it. Still, he swallows back his anger and nods, offering up a tight-lipped smile. He pulls back a chair for you. "Of course. Please."

You blink once, then, still smiling, cross to the other side of the table and seat yourself. His eyes widen, but only for a second before he regains his composure.

It's a small victory, but you'll take what you can get.

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Surprisingly, you make it through the soup and salad courses without anymore inflammatory (or even just annoying) remarks from either party

Once the entrée arrives, however...

"So, you say you enjoyed your hometown visit."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He narrows his eyes at you, and you can't help but smirk at his reaction to the emphasis you placed on his title. "Some of the ladies mentioned difficulty transitioning back into life with their families and friends. Was this something you experienced?"

You're a bit taken aback by that. He knows exactly how difficult it was for you to go home. You know he knows.

"Oh, really?"

And you realize that he's not going to let you off the hook that easily. Not after your moves with the dress, the sass, everything. For all his superalien wisdom, he's every bit as petty as you are.

Is that the only reason he invited me here? To embarrass me and my family on camera?

Clearing his throat, he continues, "I seem to recall a conversation where you told me, quite plainly, that—"

"Shut up," you whisper. By some strange trick of the light, his eyes flash red. He opens his mouth, to reprimand you, maybe, but you're through with trying to play nice. "No, you know what? I'm not dealing with this." You take a deep breath, push away from the table, and begin the walk back to your room. You nearly twist an ankle trying to walk on the carpet in the stilettos.

"Lady (Y/N)—" You whirl around, not caring that the cameramen are standing not two feet behind him. "We had an agreement."

You laugh. "Yeah, well, that agreement was made void the second you started toying with my emotions. Invite me to dinner one day when you're not feeling like an insensitive jackass. Maybe, just maybe, I'll say yes."

"Watch your tongue."

"If I'm so outspoken, why bother keeping me around?"

"Would you like me to spell it out for you?"

"It would be a nice change!"

He strides up to you. "Do you really not know?" You blink, then shake your head. He sighs, reaching down to caress your cheek with cool fingers. "And here I'd thought you so clever."

And with that, he presses his lips against yours.

Just like that, the cameras may as well be in another realm. Your hands flutter up in response, one landing on his lapel and the other to cup his cheek. The anger of five minutes ago has turned into something new. You feel it in the way he pulls you in closer with a hand on the small of your back, the way he holds your face so gently in his palm, the way he moves his mouth against yours in a way that is somehow both endless and restrained. You feel it in your own movements - a slight arch of the torso, a more-than-slight weakening of the knees, a tilt of your head to the right so as to grant yourself better access to his lips.

It's a kiss that seems to last for seconds and lifetimes, all at once, and in that instant, you know you can't leave. You could never leave. Because he's here, and he's real. This kiss, this feeling - all real.

In a palace of lies, you might just have found the one thing that's true.