A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, with a good plot and the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly crowned king of Jotunheim, Loki...
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Standing at the base of the magnificent staircase that leads to the thrones reserved solely for the king and queen, a nervousness pulses through me. The two empty chairs represent power, authority, and I am to finally take my place.
Summoning every bit of strength to steady myself, I begin climbing. Step by deliberate step, I silently beseech the divine forces above to grant me the strength and guidance I need for this clash with the Jotun's. The outcome of which will shape the trajectory of my reign as queen.
It must be a victory.
As I take my rightful place, gracefully settling onto the intricately crafted throne with the poise of a queen, I gaze ahead, my chin held high.
Below, I see the faces of my loyal soldiers who have gathered, radiating pride. I feel their love for me—feel it within my bones. And I am burning to make them proud. To prove myself a worthy ruler.
From this position, I have a clear view of the doors that serve as the entrance to the palace, the very doors through which the Jotun will soon flood in. Yet despite the need to focus on the imminent threat, my eyes involuntarily drift to the right, settling on the empty chair that once belonged to my father, the revered king who ruled before me.
A pang of longing hits my heart as I remember his presence, prompting grief to suddenly overwhelm me. I fight against the tears welling in my eyes, desperately trying to keep them at bay. But the longing to pour out my emotions and properly grieve for my father becomes almost unbearable.
I was robbed of my time to grieve.
The Jotun's advance upon other realms had forced my council members to fast-track the transfer of power early. They believed quickly appointing a ruler prevented the possibility of being overthrown by another king.
But being thrust into queenship so suddenly—the weight of the crown placed upon my head even before I could lay my father to rest, meant duty took precedence over personal emotions. I was forced into a position of leadership without the luxury of time to properly mourn.
Robbed.
Feeling a sudden rumble of vibrations surge from beneath my seat, alarm fills my gaze, and I turn towards the doors. Despite their sturdy construction, the thunderous footsteps of the Jotun warriors charging in the distance manage to penetrate the barriers.
The entire room now shakes, my heart physically rattling inside my chest under the Jotun's relentless force stampeding towards us. It sets my nerves on edge, weaving doubt into my thoughts, threatening to erode the facade of confidence I strive to uphold.
I steel myself, putting on the mask of strength I've worn since my father's passing, quickly pulling down my black veil to ensure it hides any ounce of anxiety that may flicker across my face.
It's crucial that my men see a queen who embodies strength, especially in this critical moment that marks my first decision as their queen.
"The Jotun grow closer, my queen!" The voice of my guard stationed at the door rings out, his eyes wide with fear as he witnesses the approaching chaos. I can only imagine the horror he see's.
With my heart racing, I respond, "As soon as they reach the second fountain, marking the halfway point between us and them, I want you to open the doors wide."
My instruction, an unexpected command, causes the guard to turn from his post and look at me with uncertainty.
"Open the doors?" he repeats incredulously.
"Yes, you heard me correctly," I reaffirm. "Now, please, turn back around and keep your sharp eyes on the horde of blue giants advancing towards us."
With a nervous swallow, he pivots back around, his eyes locked on the approaching swarm of enemies. Silence takes hold of the room, yet the collective anxiety is unmistakable, shown by the tense postures of my guards as they form a protective stance around the room.
As I await the nearing threat that hurtles towards us with relentless speed, a flush of dread and a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead. I swiftly adjust the veil that hides my nerves and inconspicuously wipe away the perspiration.
But while doing so, I feel someone's gaze upon me. Ivor. His inquisitive eyes seemingly sees through the veil, understanding the turmoil I grapple with.
The turmoil that is the grave consequence should my decision not to attack prove wrong.
He offers me a gentle nod. It's a simple gesture of reassurance, but it manages to calm my racing heart. I can do this. I must.
"They have reached the fountain, my queen!"
The fleeting calm that briefly settled in my chest disappears, replaced by the thumping of my heart as the moment finally arrives.
"Open the doors!" I command, my hands clenching tightly onto the arms of my chair, anchoring myself to prevent falling under the force of my own anxiety.
Without a moment's hesitation, the guard obeys my command, and the entire room, myself included, holds our breath as the doors begin to open.
Instantly, a flood of sunlight spills into the room, and my eyes, momentarily blinded by the sudden influx of light, quickly adjust. The harrowing sight that greets me is more frightening than I'd ever imaged.
The sheer number of Jotun warriors that surge with a force of nature sends a cold creeping shiver down my spine, every second feeling like an eternity as I brace myself for the inevitable clash.
My eyes narrow, honing in on a particular figure amidst the chaotic scene. He stands out amongst the crowd—a towering Jotun mounted on a majestic black stallion. His commanding presence radiates power and authority, amplified by the way his long black hair dances in the wind, revealing the royal etchings marked on his skin.
There's no mistaking it—this is Loki, the Jotun king himself, his red eyes mirroring his heated anger, driven by a terrible desire for conquest, and his sights are set on the ruler of Vannaheim—me.
For the first time, a genuine fear wells up within me, tinged not only with concern for the safety of my people but also with a personal dread. Flashes of being forcefully handled race through my thoughts, igniting a deep-rooted worry.
While I've not heard specific accounts of Loki taking advantage of women in his conquests, I am acutely aware that he'll seek to make a spectacle of Vannaheim, especially after I thwarted his attempt to breach my walls.
The haunting question lingers in my mind: Could I be the unfortunate woman he seizes, subjecting me to acts of sadistic torture. Torture the Jotun's are known for?
In the face of such a possibility, I vow never to submit. He'll not take my honour while I still draw breath.
