Bethroned: Mischief At It's Finest.

First meet.

You watched him with a guarded expression as Loki stood before you, his sharp green eyes glinting with amusement. The hall of your parents' grand palace felt suffocating with his presence, though you wouldn't admit it out loud. He was exactly as you expected-sharp-tongued, calculating, and entirely too smug for his own good.

"So," Loki began, taking a deliberate step toward you, "it seems our dear parents think we are a match made in heaven. How charming."

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. "Charming isn't the word I would use."

His smile widened. "You wound me already, little goddess of mischief. We haven't even begun."

"I'm not your anything, Loki," you snapped. "And don't act like I'm thrilled about this either. My parents are just as desperate as yours."

Loki chuckled softly, his voice a silken sound that grated on your nerves. "It's true. They've grown quite tired of our... habits, haven't they? Tell me, do you cause as much trouble in your realm as I do in Asgard?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Trouble is an understatement. But at least I'm creative with mine. You? You're predictable."

His smile faltered for a brief second, replaced by a gleam of challenge in his eyes. He took another step closer, his presence dark and magnetic. You refused to back down.

"Predictable?" he echoed. "I assure you, darling, there is nothing predictable about me. Perhaps you'll find that out in due time."

You huffed. "I don't plan on spending enough time with you to find out anything."

Loki's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, the amusement never fully fading from his expression, though there was something sharper behind it now. "Oh, but we will spend time together. You can pretend all you like, but this arrangement won't go away simply because you scowl."

"Maybe not," you said, your voice low, "but you're not the only one with tricks up your sleeve."

He laughed again, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite your resolve. "I look forward to seeing what you can do, then."

The tension between you was thick, charged with the same chaotic energy that defined both of your reputations. Neither of you would make this easy.

The grand dining hall of your palace was filled with the kind of awkward tension that not even the finest food or lavish surroundings could mask. Odin and Frigga sat on one side of the long table, with your parents seated opposite them. You sat next to your mother, a forced smile plastered on your face, while Loki lounged on the other side, casually swirling his wine, looking completely at ease-too at ease for your liking.

"Isn't this delightful?" Odin boomed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Two realms united by marriage. It will bring much-needed peace, I'm sure."

You shot a quick glance at Loki, who smirked without looking up. Peace was the last thing either of you had in mind.

Frigga, ever the diplomat, smiled softly. "We know it must be an adjustment for the both of you, but we believe you'll find common ground soon enough."

Your father nodded, his eyes landing on you, a hint of concern behind his composed expression. "Indeed. Your strengths will complement each other. You are both... uniquely talented."

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to scoff. Talented? Perhaps. Stubborn and rebellious? Absolutely.

Loki finally spoke, his voice smooth and almost mocking. "Oh, there's no need to worry about us, is there?" He glanced at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "We've already become fast friends, haven't we?"