Lower Your Eyes (A Loki Romance Fanfic)

Chapter Eighteen: Schemes and Dreams

Was there a punishment for questioning the sanity of Asgardian royals? Or for admonishing their lack of foresight on all the ways their current stratagem—involving me—could go awry?

Loki, Frigga, and Thor—these three would singlehandedly be the end of me. Their schemes alone would be responsible for my untimely demise.

"I think this is brilliant," Thor said. Donning a smile, he glanced between his mother and brother across the room, perching himself beside the unlit fireplace.

Dinner lay unfinished on the table nearby, wine left mostly un-drunk. I could still smell the freshly baked tarts as I fought to keep my pulse steady, partly wondering why these three couldn't see how frivolously they were playing with my life. Honestly—I'd had one night with Prince Loki. One. Was this some convoluted plan to finish me off and move on to the next woman?

None of them seemed to notice the way I stared down at the dress laying on the edge of his bed. The ambient light of dusk pooled through the window towering over the Prince's large desk, though the dress itself was too matte to reflect off any shimmers—hardly a comment on the material, which was obviously finer than any I'd ever touched in my impoverished life.

"Agreed." Loki leaned against the neighboring bed post, arms crossed, and cast a satisfied glance down at the dress. "Mother, you've certainly outdone yourself with this one. They'll never know the difference."

Outdoing herself? I damn near gaped at him. Is that he calls this?

Frigga seemed to sense my reluctance, keeping a steady eye on me from where she sat on the couch. "Aila, dear," she said, turning their attention toward me as well. "What do you think?"

Silence settled in the air as I stared down at the gown. My pointed glance was finally noticed as I looked down at the rags I wore—finery as far as slave standards went, but still pitifully downtrodden.

A tangible shift moved through the room when they realized I hadn't agreed with resounding enthusiasm. "She doesn't like it," Thor muttered as he stared, and I wasn't sure whether the underlying tone was that of disappointment or alternating strategy.

I let out a breath, scanning the fine silks and fabrics that draped over the edge of the bed. "It's not that I don't like it..."

Again, the room went silent, and the queen leaned forward, brow set with concern. "What's bothering you? Speak freely, Aila. Your opinion on this matter."

I looked at her, pausing for a moment. "I could never pass as Princess Lilette—not even at Solstice Festival."

I'd only ever seen the Solstice Festival from a distance in the past, standing atop the windy balconies of the castle towers. All the palace emptied every year for the occasion, swarms of people crowding the streets, banners and extravagant entertainment brightening the night, firelights exploding among the stars.

And, of course, there was the smell of alcohol that carried with the wind.

"You don't think you can do it?" Thor asked.

"How can I?" I looked at him. "Even if this is the exact dress she ordered for the occasion, Lilette and I still look nothing alike."

A loud, derisive snort came from Loki's side of the room. "Nothing alike?" Loki peered at me, eyes alight with amusement. "Well, you really don't know your own face, do you?"

I shot him a hard glare, sensing that—to one extent or the other—this whole thing bore the thrill of a game to him. A trick. He was enjoying the uncertainty that had been driving me mad.