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

Chapter 57

Hey kiddo,

What the hell? Mom and Dad are flipping out, and I don't know what to tell them. They think I might have some idea of what's going on over there. Is this some kind of show you're putting on for the cameras? Please tell me it is.

Jesus, (Y/N), I hope you know what you're doing. And I thought the plan was to help him make a better choice out of the other three women? How does screwing His Royal Psychosis factor into that equation? For the money? You're down to the final four, maybe even less by the time you see this (and if you are playing him, maybe try to get permission to check your emails more than once a week, yeah?). You should be back by now.

Was the whole letting-you-choose-to-leave thing fake? If that's the case, make him kick you out instead. Don't piss him off enough to kill you, but enough to get him to send you home. Just be your charming self, (Y/N), it's not that hard.

And please respond asap. The parental units are having a collective aneurysm.

Don't die,

Erik

(P.S.: Carlie says hi. She, of course, thinks this whole thing is terribly romantic. Is that really the example you want to be setting for her?)

Your brother means well, and in a way you know he's right - Mom and Dad must be freaking out. They don't know anything that's happened to you until Friday rolls around, until Ashley Marino's cherry-pie voice greets them with a segment of palace life that, all too often, with the exception of the masquerade, only contains five to ten minutes footage of their daughter. Their daughter, who they've seen in person only once in three years, and with whom they didn't exactly end their last visit on good terms. Nineteen is hardly ancient, but still - a lot has changed since you were sixteen.

Now, with half the contestants out, they can give more screen time to the girls who are left. You haven't had many interactions with the camera, besides a few sound bites for commercials, maybe a group shot or two. That is, until last night.

God, you don't even want to begin considering what your parents might be thinking. But they'll be even more worried if you ignore them completely. Sighing, you swipe to the next email.

(Y/N),

Last night's segment was a bit of a shock. Your father is coping. I don't know what kind of arrangement you and His Majesty have made, but right now you need to focus on leaving. The other girls have gone back to their normal lives, it's safe - you don't have to pretend any more. I just want you home - we all do. Permanently this time. Please, sweetheart.

Love,

Mom

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You're too distracted by the email to look up. "Hm?"

"That is the Midgardian expression, yes?"

"Sure, I'm—sorry. Just a bit distracted." You lower the tablet to your lap and smile at him, giving him your full attention (or at least as much of it as you can muster). "What's up?"

"The competition has gone on for long enough."

"Long enough?" His real meaning sinks in. "You mean..."

"I wish to end it, yes."

Your pulse picks up for a moment. He picked me?

It seems a fair assumption to make. You know now—assuming the others have been honest—that you're the only one he's kissed.

But you're not going to lie—in spite of your bravado in standing up to Rosa, there's still a part of you that worries. That doubts. You haven't spoken to him since that kiss in the hallway; what if that was for show? For the cameras? What if the other girls have been more involved with him than they've let on?

This entire train of thought runs through your head in a matter of seconds. You quickly come to, and realize that he's looking at you, clearly expecting a response.

You clear your throat. "You're planning to end the competition."

"Yes."

"And take a wife," you say cautiously, because your paranoid brain won't believe anything that isn't spelled out for you in plain words.

"Yes, and take a wife."

Well. That confirms it.

"Wow." What does this mean? Is it vain to assume it's me? Is it naïve to assume it's not? "I guess—you're right, it's time. I'm just...you know, surprised."

"That wasn't—well, I suppose it was part of it, but not all of what I came here to tell you."

Tell you. Not ask, which you would assume to be the case if...well, if he'd chosen you.

The disappointment sinks in, swift and sharp, only tempered by your efforts to keep a calm demeanor.

You look back down at the screen. Mom's letter. Asking—honestly, more demanding at this point—that you leave the palace at once. Guess that's going to be easier and sooner than I'd thought. Perhaps it's best after all, then, this turn of events.

So what if your first love turned out to be a dead end? You're young. You'll move on.

"It wasn't?"

"No."

You look back up at him, fighting back the ache in your heart. "Well?"

You can handle this. He'll tell you he which if the other women he's picked, and you'll spend thirty seconds pretending to be happy for him. Actually being happy for him. And you'll move on. And you'll go home. And before you know it, your three years in the palace will be nothing more than a passing—

"I love you."