Lower Your Eyes (A Loki Romance Fanfic)

Chapter Six: How Vexxing

The luncheon was held outside, on a beautiful, breezy day, in one of Asgard's many beautiful courtyards. This one was just on the water, with all the buildings towering high around them, while the coolness of the water sent a beautiful breeze over the canopies and tablecloths.

Loki was seated at a rather large, circular table with Thor and the Warriors Three, as well as Lady Sif. They sat to his left, while on the right were several Asgard's noblemen. Aila stood some ways away from the table, averting her eyes from several the other servants that had been working the event. Aila, of course, was only obligated to Loki's service—though her help was hardly needed. Evidently there'd been a slight change in leadership, and a new servant was now in charge, aptly filing the servants into order.

While Loki was a gifted conversationalist, he spared the occasional glance toward his slave woman—thinking back to the night before. Her roaming gaze, her thoughtful words...and when she approached their table to serve them more wine, he hardly believed that anyone seated around him took no notice of her. Bits of soft hair strewn about her shoulders loosely, the angular run of her jaw and regal features—she was a loose handed, elegant drawing come to life. What did she think of all these people? Of this event? Of the palace? Surely, she had more than a few insightful thoughts buzzing around in that head of hers.

"What do you think, brother?" Thor's voice suddenly resonated, and Loki blinked down at him as Aila traipsed around the table.

"What do I think about what?"

He gave Loki a confused look, as though he'd clearly expected him to pay attention to such a conversation. "Emissaries from Niflheim, visiting in six months' time."

"Ah yes, the 'land of darkness and mist...'" Loki mused, forking a vegetable as Aila's slender arm appeared within sight—pouring wine for someone across the table. "Well, it'll certainly make for an interesting occasion."

Silence passed around the table. "Is that all you have to say of it?" Thor asked dubiously.

"I will have more to say when we meet them for the first time."

A guest chuckled beside him—Althar, a distant acquaintance from one of Asgard's richest families. "Ever the curious one, Loki—since you were a child. Very strange,"

Loki clenched his jaw, loathing when Althar spoke of him in such a fashion. The nobleman was close to Loki's age, yet he spoke as though he were much older—frequently allowed to do so, given his family's high rank in Asgard. And when Loki glanced to his side, he looked twice at the man's leer at Aila across the table.

"And you've an interesting taste in staff, it appears," the nobleman raked his gaze over her form. Aila's hair hung down over her shoulders as she poured the Lady Sif's wine, and she stiffened at realizing that she had been mentioned.

"True enough," Thor agreed, though his voice was void of the same unpleasant tone—curiosity, if nothing else. "Girl, what is your name?"

Loki looked between Thor and Aila, watching as she straightened up—holding the decanter close to her abdomen—keeping her thoughtful eyes fixed in the center of the table. "Aila, my Prince."

"Aila," Thor repeated. "And where are you from, Aila?"

She pressed her lips together reluctantly. "I was born here, my Lord," she answered softly—neutrally.

"Oh." He nodded, understanding the implications of her birth into servitude. "And what of your parents?"

Loki's eyes flickered down to her hands, gripping the decanter nervously—not matching the controlled expression on her face. How could no one else notice the remarkable composure she held?