Bethroned: Mischief At It's Finest.

Burdened with the arrangement.

The morning sunlight filtered through the golden curtains of your chambers, casting soft, warm light across the room. You blinked awake, the weight of the day settling over you immediately. Today was the day-your wedding day. You were going to be married to Loki, the god of mischief, your greatest rival, and the person who never failed to get under your skin.

You sighed deeply, sitting up in bed just as the maidens entered. They moved with graceful efficiency, their faces kind but distant as they began preparing the bath for you. The steam rose from the tub, filling the air with a subtle floral fragrance.

"Good morning, my lady," one of the maidens greeted, bowing slightly as she approached your bed. "Everything is prepared for you."

You nodded, still feeling the heaviness in your chest. Slipping out of bed, you let them guide you toward the bath, the water warm and soothing as you stepped in. For a moment, you closed your eyes, trying to clear your mind of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

The maidens began their work, washing your hair, cleansing your skin, their hands gentle and practiced. Despite the calm atmosphere, you couldn't shake the knot of dread in your stomach. This wasn't just any wedding-this was an arrangement, a binding of two forces of chaos, meant to keep the peace between realms. But it felt more like a cage, and Loki? He was the last person you could imagine sharing this fate with.

Your thoughts drifted back to the argument in the garden the night before. The way his words cut deep, the look in his eyes that had been both infuriating and, in a strange way, vulnerable. You hated him-at least, you wanted to believe you did. But the way he made you feel, the way he challenged you, unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Once the bath was over, the maidens helped you step out, wrapping you in a plush robe before guiding you to a nearby seat. Laid out before you was an Asgardian gown, shimmering in hues of deep emerald and gold. The fabric was rich and elegant, the kind you had seen Frigga wear at royal events. It reminded you all too clearly of the world you were about to step into, one where appearances mattered more than truth, where alliances were forged not out of love but necessity.

You let the maidens dress you, their hands careful as they laced the gown tightly around your waist, securing the intricate details that adorned the bodice and sleeves. The fabric clung to your form, regal and powerful, a reminder that despite your reluctance, you were still a goddess-a force to be reckoned with, even if today you felt more like a pawn.

A maiden stepped forward, holding up a mirror so you could see yourself. You barely recognized the reflection. The person staring back at you looked like a queen-poised, elegant, and ready for the day ahead. But behind the makeup and the gown, the uncertainty lingered in your eyes.

"My lady," the eldest of the maidens said softly, bowing her head as she approached with a final piece. She held out a delicate, golden circlet, the symbol of your new title as Loki's wife-his queen.

You stared at it for a moment, the weight of what it represented pressing down on you. Slowly, you reached out, taking the circlet from her hands. It was lighter than you expected, but the burden it carried was heavy.

As the maidens placed the circlet on your head, securing it gently, the eldest spoke again. "You look beautiful, my lady. The realm will be proud."

You forced a small smile. "Thank you."

But as you looked at yourself one last time in the mirror, all you could think about was the man waiting for you-the man you were about to marry, despite everything. And as much as you hated the thought, you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking right now.

With a deep breath, you stood tall, ready to face the day, even if your heart was anything but prepared.

Loki stood in front of the large mirror in his private chambers, the polished surface reflecting the Asgardian finery draped over his tall frame. The deep green and black of his ceremonial robes suited him, regal and sharp, but the weight of the occasion pressed heavily on his mind. Today, he was to be married-not out of love, but duty. It was an arrangement, a strategic alliance between realms. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found.

Thor, standing beside him, clapped a hand on his shoulder with a grin. "Look at you, brother. Almost looks like you're enjoying this."

Loki scoffed, brushing Thor's hand off. "Enjoyment is hardly the word, Thor. Let's not pretend this is something I wanted."

Thor's smile faltered for a moment, but his usual cheer didn't fade. "Arranged or not, this union will be good for the realms. You and she are more alike than you care to admit."

Loki's jaw clenched at Thor's words. More alike, he thought bitterly. Perhaps there was truth in that. She was the only person who challenged him, who wasn't intimidated by his sharp wit or relentless games. And yet, that was what frustrated him the most-he couldn't predict her, couldn't control her like he could everyone else. She was unpredictable, just like him. He hated it. And somehow, that intrigued him.

"It's not about being alike," Loki muttered, adjusting the high collar of his robe. "It's about being trapped. Tied to someone simply because our parents deem it so."

Fandral, leaning casually against the doorframe, chimed in with a chuckle. "Ah, Loki, don't be so sour. You're marrying a goddess of mischief! If anyone can keep you on your toes, it's her."

Loki shot him a sharp glare, but Fandral only grinned wider. "I've seen the way she looks at you. Like she'd rather set you on fire than marry you. Should be fun."

"Fun," Loki repeated dryly, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, watching my life become a spectacle for the court's amusement is what I live for."

Thor stepped in again, his expression softening. "Loki, you've always been... different, and I've never held that against you. This is an opportunity to build something. She's not just some helpless bride; she's fierce, capable. You could rule together."

Loki turned to face his brother fully, his eyes darkening. "Rule together? Don't be naive, Thor. We are both forces of chaos, driven by the need to disrupt the very peace our parents want to maintain. This marriage is a leash, nothing more."

And yet, as the words left his lips, he couldn't deny the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind. Last night's argument in the garden replayed over and over. The fire in her eyes, the way she had stood up to him without a hint of fear-it had struck something deeper. She wasn't weak, nor was she someone who would bend easily to anyone's will, especially not his.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed her before. He had watched her, studied her. She was as clever as she was dangerous, and there was something thrilling in knowing he'd be bound to someone who didn't cower in his shadow. But that same thrill terrified him. Being with her meant being vulnerable, and Loki despised vulnerability.

Thor's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "You're not as indifferent as you claim, brother. I see it. This isn't just duty to you."

Loki's expression hardened, but before he could respond, Fandral crossed the room with a laugh. "Enough of this brooding, Loki. The guests are waiting, and you look like you're about to declare war, not get married. You'll scare the bride away."

Loki shot Fandral a withering look, but his friend only winked, grabbing the ceremonial cape and fastening it over Loki's shoulders. "There. Now you look ready to charm her. If that's even possible."

With one last glance in the mirror, Loki adjusted the cape, his face impassive, though his mind was anything but calm. This marriage felt like a trap, but at the same time, there was a small part of him that wondered what might come of it. Could they actually work together? Or would they tear each other apart?

"Let's get this over with," Loki muttered, turning away from the mirror and heading toward the doors. As he walked, Thor and Fandral fell in step behind him, but his mind was already racing ahead to what lay before him-the ceremony, the vows, and the woman who would soon be bound to him for eternity.

One thing was certain: nothing about this marriage would be simple.