(Book 3 of Series / Continuation of The Perfect Assassin / Can be read as a stand-alone) *mature content* It all started as a game. Elizabeth Rausch was an idol admired by all. She was one of Europe's most famous performers, both in music and dancin...
I'm insecure and defensive, tell me what you're thinkin'
When you wanna spend some time by yourself
Tell me, do you miss me?
Help Me Now - Kevin McHale
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Ingvild
He was confused. The last comment Liz had said left him thinking. He'd tried not to let it bother him, but even as he sat here in his private library, book in hand even though he hadn't even read a word of it, Loki couldn't seem to think about anything else. If anything, every thought that clouded his mind was about her. And he didn't know if it was annoying or pleasurable to him. Perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't seem to get his mind off of her, much less focus on the task at hand. He hadn't even turned the page and guessed he'd had to have been sitting here for at least an hour or more. Loki sank deeper into the loveseat with a sigh as her face enveloped his mind for the hundredth time. Liz's eyes when he'd offered her the compliment were not gracious and mysterious like they normally were. Instead, they seemed scared, confused, and defiant. Why was that, he wondered. And not only that, but the gold had withered from her irises, the grey hue of them replacing like withered pixie dust from a Peter Pan movie. Suddenly a small throat-clearing cough sounded from the entrance. It cleared him of his trance and he cranked his head to the side to see who had interrupted him.
"Ingvild." He watched as she smiled gently and crossed her arms over her chest. Her flowy cream-colored dress brought out her curled blonde hair and brown eyes.
"Your highness," She greeted as she slowly made her way deeper into the room. She was one of the only people he allowed in here. Anyone, including his brother, was not permitted to step foot inside of this room. Maybe it was because it was one of his favorite places in the palace beside his unknown thinking space in the palace gardens. Even Ingvild wasn't aware of the treehouse; he was the only one who knew. "You're doing it again." Loki relaxed his face momentarily, just now realizing how tense he'd actually been. His fingers played at the corners of the book pages and he glanced away.
"I don't believe I understand." Ingvild sighed softly before elegantly taking a seat near his splayed out legs on the loveseat. Her hand moved to rest on his knee and she gazed at him. Her eyes were as deep as the darkest chocolate yet they always seemed to contain some sort of sparkle.
"You're brooding." His brows furrowed at her.
"I'm afraid you've been mistaken." This caused her to laugh heartily, her pink lips widening into a beautiful smile. Loki's mind swarmed. Normally his heart would have lept at the sight; it always did. But why didn't he feel it just then?
"You may be the God of Mischief, Loki," she countered. "But that doesn't fool me in the slightest." Ingvild paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing at him as if she were inspecting a specimen in a science lab. Meanwhile, Loki was still battling inside his head. Her touch, usually warm-feeling and comforting, didn't seem to have any sort of effect on him. And her voice, most times compelling like a siren, wasn't doing anything to draw him in. Granted she was not a goddess, she withheld no supernatural powers like him, but sometimes he forgot because Ingvild had always seemed to hold some sort of magical power over him. It was almost alarming that he didn't feel anything of the sort even as she sat here next to him, her hand resting on his leg affectionately.
