Bethroned: Mischief At It's Finest.

The Wedding.

The grand hall of Odin's palace was filled with the soft hum of anticipation, Asgardians and royal dignitaries from various realms gathered in their finest attire. The atmosphere was thick with expectation, though the weight of the occasion felt far heavier to Loki, who stood at the head of the aisle, trying to keep his emotions concealed behind his usual mask of indifference.

He tugged slightly at the collar of his ceremonial robes, his gaze drifting over the golden decorations, the ornate carvings on the pillars, anything to distract himself from the knot of unease in his chest. He could feel the stares of the crowd, the whispers about the marriage of two gods of mischief, a union that promised to be anything but peaceful.

Thor, standing beside him, gave him an encouraging smile, but Loki barely registered it. His thoughts were elsewhere-on her.

The doors at the end of the hall slowly creaked open, and the murmurs hushed. Loki's sharp eyes darted to the entrance, and there she was.

The moment you stepped through the doors, his breath caught in his throat.

You walked down the aisle with a regal grace, your Asgardian gown shimmering under the soft light, every step purposeful, every movement controlled. The deep emerald of your dress, the golden circlet on your head, the intricate details that adorned your attire-they suited you. Powerful. Fearsome. Beautiful.

Loki's smirk faltered, his expression betraying something deeper than he intended. You looked every bit the queen you would soon be, and it unsettled him. It wasn't just your appearance; it was the way you held yourself, the fire in your eyes that hadn't dimmed despite the circumstance. You were walking toward him, toward a future that neither of you had chosen, and yet you did so without hesitation, your chin held high, defiance glinting beneath the calm exterior.

Your gaze met his, and for a brief moment, the entire hall seemed to fade away. There was something unspoken between you, a mixture of emotions that neither of you could fully articulate. It wasn't affection, and it wasn't hatred-it was something far more complex. A challenge. A promise of what was to come.

As you neared, Loki's grip tightened slightly on the edge of his robe. He was used to control, to manipulation, to knowing what his next move would be. But with you? He didn't know. And that terrified him as much as it intrigued him.

When you finally reached the end of the aisle, you stood before him, your expression calm, though he could see the storm brewing beneath the surface. You were just as conflicted as he was, just as bound by duty as he, but there was something in the way you looked at him that made his heart race in a way he wasn't prepared for.

Odin's voice echoed through the hall, signaling the beginning of the ceremony, but Loki barely heard him. His focus was entirely on you, on the way you held his gaze without flinching, without fear. There was no retreat, no backing down. Just you, standing tall and defiant, even as you prepared to step into a future as uncertain as the two of you.

And as he stood there, waiting for the moment that would bind your fates together, Loki couldn't help but think that this was only the beginning-of what, he didn't yet know. But whatever it was, it was going to be chaos.

The grand hall was silent, the air thick with anticipation as you stood before Loki, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. You could feel the eyes of the court, the dignitaries, and your families all watching, waiting for the union that would seal the fate of two realms. But none of that mattered right now. All you could focus on was the man standing in front of you-Loki, the god of mischief, your rival, and now your soon-to-be husband.

He stood tall, dressed in his ceremonial Asgardian robes, the deep green and black contrasting sharply against his pale skin. His expression was unreadable, a mask of cold indifference, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes-something sharp, calculating, and undeniably dangerous. His gaze was fixed on you, as if trying to figure out what move you would make next. The tension between you was palpable, like two storms waiting to collide.