How to get away with murder

The Golem

She loves me.

Loki's heart sang with pride.

Sigyn loved him. Now, he knew for sure.

He had not meant to overhear her conversation with Sif in the gardens, but what a great news it had brought him.

For how long had she loved him? For as long as he did, or was it more recent? Did she prefer his hair – he did have great hair – or his eyes? His hands, maybe? Oh, the things he intended to do to her with those hands.

"If he knew your feelings for him, he would probably have been with you instead of me.", Sif had said to Sigyn. Well, he did not usually agree with Thor's friend, but she was quite right this time. Had he known, he would have not even cared about Amora. He would have been all over Sigyn, carrying her back to his rooms to enjoy the night away, Thor's victory feast be damned.

Everyone else be damned, but Sigyn, and the lovely little moans of pleasure she would mutter for him and only to him. He would have her melting into his arms, shivering against his touch, against his kisses. She would be his and only his...

Well. There was the matter of that fiancé, wasn't it?

Damn Freya and her stupid ideas. As if a Crimson Hawk was going to be worthy of Njord's granddaughter. Sigyn needed to marry a Prince or a King, nothing less. He was a Prince, and one day would become a King. He would be the one to marry her, and no one else, certainly not some merchant's son turned soldier. That one could marry some peasant girl for all he cared, not his Sigyn.

So, he looked for the man in question. Theoric Borson*? How hilarious it was that this commoner shared the same name as his father. Well, there were certainly not family. But it proved those peasants had already their sight way too high for people of their social background (or rather lack of). And then, there he was. Tall, blonde, muscular, with muscles bigger than Thor's, his very visible veins pulsing with blood. Well, if he... or rather when he slaughters that ox, there will be a river of it. But Loki was not scared to get his hands a little dirty, even more if it was to protect Sigyn from such a sorrowful fate. Theoric was laughing with some other soldiers, some wench on his lap, and already four pints of a mead on the side. His face was red from the alcohol and lust, and his hands were high up the girl's skirt. Well, what a sight. And it was that kind of highly appropriate and noble character Freya wanted to sell her daughter to? Not on his watch. He would rather die that let his pure little Sigyn into that ugly beast's bed. To imagine those wormy lips on her perfectly rosy skin was making him sick. No. It was out of the question. The man had to go. Where? He did not yet know, but not anywhere near Sigyn. If she was to be defiled, that would be by him, and him alone. Not by some lewd drunkard.

Strangely enough, the man started shouting his name all of a sudden, and waving in his direction, shooing the maid he had been handling before, and he was tottering now to join the Prince.

Oh dear... did he want a conversation? What about, truly? Loki had nothing in common with this man... except for...

Theoric had pushed him on some balcony, away from the maddening crowd of guests and noisy warriors. There were all alone, under the lovely two moons, with the fireflies as only witnesses. How romantic, truly, if it were not for the company. Had it been Sigyn with him and not her cattle-worthy fiancé, it would have been such an pleasant night. He would have slid his arms around her waist, trapping her against him, and softly kissed her neck, before whispering words of love in her ear. She would have turned back to face him and he would have kissed her lips, before carrying her to his rooms. The thought of Sigyn, finally his and willing, suddenly enraged him, as he remembered the man in front of him, and the one obstacle that could stop him from making his wildest fantasies come true.