Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

17 | Sigrid Sharpe

Y/N had felt a twinge of remorse at the idea of bringing someone else into the mess that she'd made, but the person Arne has enlisted seemed more than happy to not only join her mess but to help her make even more.

When Arne had left the cottage to fetch their mysterious assistant, Y/N could see him from the window turning left at the end of the road towards the Market. It wasn't long before he returned, a slight, animated woman somehow managing to keep pace with his broad strides. Their hands are clasped comfortably, her little palm and slender fingers dwarfed by Arne's bear-like paws.

Dressed in sensible trousers, her straight ginger hair is wrapped into a messy plait swinging all the way to her waist which supports a leather belt of small tools.

Loki had been playful and in high spirits with the children, but, upon hearing their footsteps approaching the cottage, he joins Y/N in the kitchen, his mood falling to grave seriousness.

Arne smiles bashfully as he ducks under the door jamb. Closing it behind him, he gestures to the woman now removing her heavy boots—as if out of habit—and setting them on the wooden shoe rack. "Y/N, Your Highness, This is my partner, Sigrid."

At 'Your Highness', the woman straightens up so fast she almost headbutts the coat rack. Her eyes widen when she spots Loki and she immediately thrusts out a freckled hand. "Sharpe. Sigrid Sharpe."

Loki regards her open palm, surprised.

On the rare occasions Y/N has seen him introduce himself to a woman, he had tenderly taken their hand and kissed the feminine bones of their knuckles.

Even the gentlemen he meets dare not touch him. Whether knowing he is a prince or not, they take one glancing look at his fine clothes, his long hair glossy like a mane, guess at his wealth, and—as if he really were a lion prince—opt for a respectful bow of their head or a tip of their hat.

Y/N suspects a hearty handshake isn't the sort of greeting he's used to.

Getting over his initial surprise, Loki takes Sigrid's hand all the same and she beams, giving it three firm shakes, the ripples rolling all the way up his arm.

As she does so, Y/N peers closer at the tools decorating her person; tiny spanners, wrenches and what appear to be types of picks; some as fine as a hair, slightly curved and flattened to a wedge at one end. "You're a clock mender?"

Sigrid's eyebrows are as pale as her skin so all her expressions are in the narrowing and widening of her eyes, which are a clear, glassy blue. They look to Arne for support as she scratches the fine fire-red hairs at the back of her neck, giving Y/N an uncertain grin.

It is Loki, however, who interjects gently:

"Y/N, Miss Sharpe is a thief."

Blinking, Y/N looks back to—what she now knows to be—the lock-picking tools again and their purposes materialize before her. Flushing hotly at her own naivety:

"Oh. Well, we need a thief more than a clock mender right now so that's good."

Sigrid's uncertain smile blossoms into a toothy grin, her shoulders sagging in her overalls with obvious relief. "I'm glad to be of service. And I hope you won't judge Arne too harshly for fraternizing with a thief." She gives Loki a meek bow of her head which looks unnatural on her, but Loki just smirks easily, giving Y/N's side a nudge with his pointed elbow.

"I know a little something about—how did you put it? 'Fraternizing' with thieves."

Ignoring him, Y/N turns back to Sigrid. "So, are you a good thief?"

Her bony shoulders roll in a shrug. "I'd say so."

Loki's gaze hardens critically, no doubt assessing whether he trusts this woman with his Y/N's life and honour. "Good enough to rob a palace?"