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Next day Loki's Chamber, 2011 (Pronouns used for Loki: she/her)
The morning light filtered softly through the windows of Loki's chamber as she listened to her father’s commands. There was little excitement within her, only a sense of duty as she carefully dressed in the finest attire Odin had ordered. She stood in front of the large mirror, taking in the reflection of herself in the luxurious gown.
The skirt of her dress flared outward, made of fine tulle that shimmered like the night sky, and it cascaded gracefully to the floor. The corset-like top, crafted from the finest satin, clung gently to her figure. Thin straps rested over her shoulders, with delicate straps hanging from either side, draping over her arms like soft threads of silk. The gown was dyed in the richest emerald color found in all of Asgard, its depth matching the beauty of the forests that once covered the realm. Small gemstones formed into intricate flowers adorned the skirt, while the top shimmered with scattered jewels, reflecting the light as she moved.
Loki’s black tiara rested atop her head, shaped like leaves and dotted with tiny emeralds to match the color of her dress. Her emerald earrings and choker necklace completed the regal look, a perfect display of Asgard’s wealth and beauty.
Her hair was carefully styled into a low bun, with a few loose strands framing her face, softening the sharpness of her features. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, unsure of the image she saw. The appearance of a princess, of a future ruler—was it truly her?
The guards, in their gleaming armor, escorted her to the throne room, where Odin and Frigga awaited. The vast, gold-clad room was filled with echoes of footsteps as Loki made her way toward the throne that had once been meant for Thor. Now it belonged to her. The enormity of the moment hit her, but she concealed it behind her poised exterior. She took her seat, the cool, hard throne an uncomfortable reminder of the future that loomed ahead.
The gates of the throne room opened with a majestic creak, and the first suitor entered.
"Your Highness, Astrid Brjørndottir. Princess of Alfheim. Daughter of Brjørn."
Loki’s eyes scanned the young woman, taking in the details. Astrid was a light elf, her pale skin almost glowing under the light of the room. The sharp points of her ears were unmistakable. Her hair, dark for a light elf, cascaded down her back in waves. The dress she wore was simple but elegant, white with a few delicate golden accents. Loki nodded politely, acknowledging the princess before turning her gaze to the next suitor.
"Ivar Runson. Prince of Niflheim. Son of Run."
The tall, muscular prince had fiery red hair that shone like flames, and he wore a silver armor that gleamed with strength. His presence was commanding, but Loki felt no real connection, merely a cold sense of duty in the air as he moved to stand aside.
Next, the announcer called in the suitor from Vanaheim.
"Njal Gormson. Prince of Vanaheim. God of Wisdom."
Njal had dark blonde hair and stood at least a foot taller than Loki. His tall, broad frame was impressive, but it was his calm, confident demeanor that caught her attention. He was handsome in a way that made Loki pause for a moment, her eyes lingering on him longer than with the others. She nodded, acknowledging his presence, though her heart remained distant, guarded.
One by one, the remaining suitors were announced: Nephuus, a fire giantess from Muspelheim; Mia, a Midgardian; Sigyn, from Asgard; Hœnir from Nidavellir; and Herja, a Valkyrie. Each one brought their own presence, their own energy, but none of them seemed to stir any deeper emotion in Loki. She was detached, observing them as if they were players in a game she didn’t fully understand.
Then, as the next name was called, Loki felt something she had not expected: a breathless sensation that stole her composure, if only for a moment.
"Sylvie Laufeydottir. Princess of Jotunheim."
The ice giantess entered the room, and for a heartbeat, Loki’s world seemed to shift. Sylvie was beautiful, in a way that transcended simple beauty. Her skin was a striking sky blue, adorned with patterns that glimmered across her forehead, arms, and stomach. The intricate designs were visible through her revealing clothes. She wore a golden painted leather strap that covered her chest, and her long, flowing skirt was made of the lightest, almost ethereal fabric. Half of her face was obscured by a delicate veil, attached to a crown of pure ice that sparkled with an otherworldly brilliance.
Sylvie was smaller than most frost giantesses, and Loki found herself wondering if she was even shorter than her. There was something delicate, almost fragile about her, despite her icy heritage.
Loki felt her heart race for just a moment, something stirring deep within her, though she quickly masked it with a small, polite smile. It was the first time she had shown any real reaction to a suitor. The smile, though subtle, was real, a flicker of warmth in her otherwise cold demeanor.
Sylvie’s eyes met Loki’s, and for a brief second, an unspoken connection seemed to pass between them. But Loki, ever the master of self-control, quickly masked her feelings once more, turning her attention to the other suitors, though her mind lingered on the ice princess.
As the suitors lined up, ready for the trials to begin, Loki couldn’t help but wonder if, for the first time, one of them might actually make her heart stir in a way that went beyond mere duty.
