Horrible Terrible Things

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thor was half-turned from me so that I couldn't quite see his facial expression, but from the constant shaking of his head and raised palms I knew he was arguing with his brother - their hushed words were heated and Loki's finger jabbed at Thor's armoured chest as he sneered at him, his hand waving in my direction.

I swallowed, expecting Loki's eyes to fall on me but someone blocked my view, a tall man with rich chestnut hair dressed in deep navy leather, gilded with silver, a velvet cape falling over one shoulder. He said something, his hands moving as he spoke and Loki turned from Thor to the man and stalked toward him, a dagger slipped from between his fingers as he raised it to the man's neck.

I guessed it was Kit from how Thor's brows shot up, his hands raised in a panic as he slowly approached Loki who paid him no attention, his eyes not shifting from Kit as they bled red. I was conflicted about how I felt seeing Loki change before me, excited to imagine he was threatening Kit out of some overprotective mating bond or panicked to imagine he might hurt Kit and I would be to blame. My steps became more hurried.

I couldn't see Kit's reaction but he didn't shift, whether in fear or indifference, I couldn't tell. The surrounding guests were no help either, though the spectacle Loki was making on the dais had their heads turning their interest dissipated just as quickly. I had a feeling that seeing their prince threaten someone with a blade was a regular occurrence. Some of my panic subsided knowing whatever threat he had made wouldn't be carried out - at least not in front of everyone.

When I reached the steps of the dais, Thor announced me, startling both Kit and Loki, the latter yielding his blade as he moved away from Kit and sunk onto a chaise with a sneer aimed at Thor whose panic had shifted into a mask of hospitality at his brothers retreat. I ignored it and Loki's eyes swept to me but before I could allow myself the pleasure of drinking him in - even in his furious state with his pretty mouth turned into a scowl - I looked away and to Kit who had shifted to face me.

I stumbled as I ascended the last steps of the dais, my gown dropping from my hands as our eyes met and I righted myself with Kit's help, his own warm hands grasping my own, my cheeks spread with heat as I drank in the man before me.

It was Kit. The real one, no more glamour. Prince Khristophe of Vanaheim.

And Jesus fucking Christ did he look the part. I had been stunned before by his appearance but seeing him again without my anger, without my power pushing at my skin I could take him in.

Dropping my hands from his own, I urged myself forward onto the dais and I couldn't help myself as I stood before Kit, making it blatantly obvious I was staring. He was beautiful, perfect almost and he offered me a playful smile, dipping his head as he greeted me, no sign of having just had a dagger at his throat,

'Princess,'

I took the chance to look him up and down, the dark chestnut colour of his hair and contrasting sapphire shade of his eyes, the sharp chiselled angle of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders and narrow waist, strong thighs and decent bulge in his leathers. What had he said, I want to be your fucking toy, Princess.

My skin rose in goosebumps at the memory of his words. Had I enchanted him or were those enticing words of his part of the act of Fisherman Kit? What about his admission of love? Standing before me now was he still in love with me?

Kit couldn't contain his grin as our eyes caught and my smile grew, something electric passed between us. I was entranced by him, truly. No wonder he had glamoured himself, if he had come to me like this I would have thrown myself at him, quite literally. Something inside of my chest expanded as I stared at the prince, a fluttering in my belly and lightness in my head that had me feeling girlish and giggly and desperate to lean forward and kiss him just to see if -