Lower Your Eyes (A Loki Romance Fanfic)

Chapter Two: Are You Worthy?

"Prince Loki...what?" I stuttered, hardly believing the words that came out of the head servant's mouth.

"He has requested to employ you."

I stared agape at the old woman—Ingaveld—eyes puffy and red from being up all night in tears. Several servants around the kitchen had also begun to whisper, likely on the subject of a slave being employed by a member of the royal family—a thing simply unheard of.

Behind Ingaveld, Astrid shot me an icy, disbelieving glare as she strode near us—true enough, if anyone was to be requested, I would think that the servant he'd spent the night with would be the one. The follow day, at that. In a matter of seconds, her face both blanched and reddened angrily again, and she turned away from us.

Meanwhile, my heart pounded frightfully against my chest...I had never heard that the lesser prince was cruel, but there had never been a slave—a female slave—set to work for him. I would be the first, and the thought alone of being one of the princes' chosen maidens was sickening.

"You will report to him now," Ingaveld gestured to the floor brush I'd been holding in my hands. "Leave that here and go to his chambers now."

I blinked up at her. "Now?" I shook my head. "I—I never learned to serve the royal family..." Mother had never taught me—this would have thrown her into a panic.

Tears pooled in my eyes at the reminder. Less than a day since she had passed, since I had dropped food over Prince Loki—and now this? What could he possibly want with me, after what had happened? To torment me for spilling food on him? Surely the lashes to my right forearm were enough, though even those were meant to be merciful, considering the unfavorable circumstances of my mistake.

Ingaveld perched her hands on her hips and sneered cruelly. "What you have and have not learned, is none of my concern. You will learn on the job—if he does not kill you first—now go."

My fingers trembled against the brush, and anxiety swam in my chest as I set it down, rising to go and gather whatever I might need. A broom, maybe? A rag, to dust his things? What did he even have in there, that might require attention? Upon reaching the supply closet, I simply grabbed whatever cleaning tools I could carry. So much of my strength had already depleted, keeping the fear at bay as I sauntered through the palace halls was doubly encumbering.

The cool breeze was sweet, at least. It was fresh against my skin, and I was grateful for the relative silence that I traversed the palace in. Loki's chamber was near the throne room, and his wooden door towered high above my head.

I stood in front of it for a moment, wiping the remnants of wetness off my cheeks. On the other side of this wooden door, was the Prince—and who knows what else. I hadn't even looked into in the room when I'd passed by it last night. And now I was raising a hand to the wooden engravings and knocking against the dense material.

The door opened of its own accord, and I pulled back my hand for a moment. Lower your eyes, I reminded myself, and threw my gaze down sharply when I looked inside. The room itself was the base of a tower, and half the cylindrical structure was a window of its own. Light poured over every inch of the space—on the large bed in the center of the room, the fireplace whose embers had doused, the bookshelf beside it, and the Prince's desk at the base of the towering window.

And there he sat, leg crossed under the table as he scratched away at a piece of parchment, consulting the tome beside it intermittently. In the vastness of the space, my footsteps were nearly silent against the cobbled floor. I felt...small. Insignificant against the stature of a royal prince, who had yet to acknowledge me since I strode in.