Son of Mischief (Loki/Asgard Fanfiction - Selig's Story)

Chapter Eighteen

As she waited for Selig to return, Celia couldn't help but pace relentlessly across the room, out to the terrace, where she marveled over the gorgeous view, and back into the room. With each pass, she caught sight of herself in the massive full-length mirror in the corner, the one set in gleaming mahogany. And each time she did, she stopped. She almost didn't recognize herself.

Kirsten and Alayna promised they'd return later, to help her ready for dinner, so for now she was in what Asgardians must have considered casual clothes. Kirsten had given her black leggings in the softest velvet Celia had ever felt, and with it, she wore a loose white, long-sleeved tunic. On her feet were boots of supple leather that felt as if they'd been created just for her.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door opened and Selig poked his head in. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." She clasped her hands behind her back as he came into the room. "So, what do you think? You think I'll fit in?"

He smiled. "You look just like one of us, sweetheart. But, I have to admit, I kind of like it better when your hair is all over the place, like it does when you wake up in the morning."

"Only you would prefer me with bedhead." She peered at her reflection again. Kirsten has carefully worked every last snarl from those wild corkscrew curls and tamed them to the point where her hair looked like it did when she was younger. It was wavy and much longer than she thought, falling halfway down her back. "I don't know what Kirsten did, but I think it took a lot of magic."

He smiled. "She's good, Ce. She doesn't have magic."

"Really? She did this-" she gestured to her hair-"without magic? Damn... she is good."

"I forgot what you looked like this way. How old were you when you went Harpo?"

"Nine. I thought my mom was going to kill my dad when he brought me home." She sighed softly, gazing up at him. He still wore what he'd had on when they arrived in Asgard and looked almost good enough to eat. "Tell me, how did you manage to change in the three seconds it took us to get here from home?"

He reached for her hand, threading his fingers with hers. "Because it was either that or dealing with the grief from my parents when I rolled into Heimdall's chambers in only my underwear."

"Ah, probably very wise." She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. "I can't believe I'm really here."

"Believe it, sweetheart. And if you're ready, I'll show you around a little. Show you my world, like I promised."

Her belly flipped over as he gave a gentle tug on her hand and led her out of her chambers. Everything was so quiet, even their footsteps seemed muted. The promenade was open-air, shaded by the terraces above them, and the air was as warm as New Jersey's, but without the humidity. It wrapped around Celia like an old friend and the breeze lifted her hair, but didn't curl it, the way it would back home.

She inhaled deeply. "I smell lilacs."

He smiled down at her. "Lilacs are my mother's favorite flowers. My father had a million lilac bushes planted and they bloom all summer long."

"Really? Why doesn't that surprise me?" Somehow, she would have been more surprised if Loki didn't do something like that. As long as she'd known the Odinsons, they were an affectionate couple, always touching one another, always laughing, always kissing. When she was little, she used to wish her mother found someone who made her smile as much as Loki made McKenna smile. Maybe then she wouldn't feel the need to hit or berate Celia until she was in tears.

But as she grew older, she realized that no man would put up with her mother's mood swings and hare-trigger temper for very long. She was surprised her stepfather Steven hung on for as long as he did.