Lost Treasures - A Loki love Story

Tea?

"Mourning has no set timeline, Ivor. I can't simply turn off my grief. No, I will continue to wear black until the pain in my heart subsides. But you may give permission for the palace staff to transition their uniforms and adorn the palace in our vibrant blue hues if you wish."

I expected Ivor to be pleased or at least satisfied with my response, but instead, he appears unsettled.

"You know, a loss like this never stops hurting, Annalise. Sometimes you have to rip off the bandage and carry on with life."

"Then, if this pain will forever reside within me, I have no need for the contents of my wardrobe. Please donate them to those in need. For I dress to reflect how I feel, not merely for the occasion."

I hastily walk towards the door that leads to the throne room where I plan to await Loki's arrival. Surprisingly, Ivor doesn't follow; he remains behind, his sadness lingering in the royal suite.

I know he means well with his encouragement to move on, to not dwell on my father's passing. But my father was the only man I knew and loved deeply. Moving on is an arduous process, one I am still grappling with.

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"He has arrived, my queen."

My heart skips a beat as the guard's voice cuts through the silence, announcing Loki's arrival.

Rising from my throne, I steel myself for the sight of the doors opening wide, expecting to see him burdened with defeat, the root and helmet in tow.

However, as the grand doors begin to part, Loki's towering figure casts a long shadow across the threshold. In his Jotun form, he is unmistakable and imposing, but what captures my gaze are the large golden horns not in his hands but majestically perched atop his head. They are even bigger than I had imagined.

His eyes meet mine, filled with sparkling mischief, and a sly smile curls his lips.

A sinking feeling takes hold as confusion swirls within me. Why is he wearing my helmet, looking so pleased? Where is the promised gold? The precious root? I expected him to arrive with a face full of displeasure, tinged with the sour taste of defeat, yet here he stands, wearing that unnerving smile and exuding an unexpected air of confidence.

This is not the scenario I had rehearsed in my mind.

With small, nervous steps, I descend the stairs, my dainty shoes click-clacking on the polished floors with each stride. Although my mind teems with a flurry of thoughts, I focus intently on not tripping over. These heels, plucked from the depths of my wardrobe, bear a layer of dust, revealing their lack of use and my inexperience in walking in them.

I ponder my next move, weighing the options: should I cut straight to the chase and demand the root, or should I engage in a more gracious conversation to uphold the decorum expected of a queen? I'm torn, but I suppose it's only right, considering he will soon be offering his apologies as he grovels beneath the weight of his grave error.

Consumed in my thoughts on how best to start the conversation, I realise too late that I've already closed the gap between us. I halt abruptly, and he jumps back, widening the gap considerably more.

His movement catches me off guard, and my brow furrows in puzzlement. During our previous encounter, he had deliberately encroached upon my personal space, disregarding any boundaries. So why, in this moment, is he suddenly showing me consideration and maintaining a respectful distance?

Sensing my confusion, he addresses the unspoken question lingering in my thoughts.

"You wear heels today," he states, glancing down at my delicate open-toe shoes.