100 Marvel One Shots✔️

The Gentleman & The Lady >> Loki X Reader

She chuckled. "I suppose you're right, __________."

As you strum another note, you retort, "Well, I'm always right, Asta, unless I'm wrong."

But when the song ends, and you flex your aching hands, Petyr appears with his lyre, and both you and Asta retreat from the festivities, and through the entrance for servants, find your way into the kitchens, and find a seat away from the hubbub.

"__________," she frowns, seeing you wringing your fingers, "How long have you been playing, tonight?"

You pause to think, and in a small voice, you reply, "Midmorning, Asta –,"

She gasps, outraged. "That's hours, __________! __________, please, I know you are the only one in the palace who can play that heavenly music, but do not allow yourself to be clouded by the responsibilities!"

You sigh. "I'm fine, Asta. Cramps are normal, for musicians." You place your hands in your lap, and add, in a teasing tone, "you would know, if you had continued you training as a child."

Asta huffs. "Are you sure you're not working yourself to death?"

You nod. "I'm fine, I promise. Don't forget, playing music is my labour for my place here, in the House of Odin."

It's then the Matron of the East Wing calls your names and claiming you both to be slacking of your duties, has you laden with trays of food, and sends you into the melee of the ball once more. You're soon separated from Asta in the main hall. Navigating around the fancy garb and the wildly gesticulating arms of courtiers and their guests, you offer Asgardian delicacies to these people.

But when one man with golden skin throws their arm passionately as they make a point, you're knocked to the ground, and the tray of food too. Yet, when you crack an eye open, you see you are not upon the floor, but floating merely inches from it.

A gloved hand helps you to your feet, and when you finally look up the arm, you can't help but gasp. Standing there, in his green and gold garb, is Prince Loki himself. His eyes, the colour of overripe flesh of honeydew, they stare into yours, and soon, your cheeks turn dark with the flush of embarrassment.

Taking your hand from his, you swoop into a low, customary curtsey.

You're usually good with the royal family; when you were taken in by Odin, you were silent. When you had met Frigga, you had been modest. Once, when you ran into Prince Thor (years ago, when he had been playing with his friends) you had been polite. But you had never had the occasion to speak with Prince Loki, never in any feast when you had played the harp in the corner, never met in the hallways, never met his gaze before.

But now, you're before him, and come to think of it, it was most likely his seidr which had halted your fall to floor of the ballroom.

"Thank you, Prince Loki," you keep your gaze low.

He waves off your appreciations, and with another flick of his wrist, the fallen plate soars from its place upside-down on the floor, and the trodden-on food dances from its place underfoot. You watch, silently astonished. You had seen magic before, you weren't a simpleton, but never this close, and never, never by the prince himself.

"It would do to be careful," he warns you, passing you the retrieved plate of ruined food. "These halls are enigmatic in emotion tonight."

"Yes, your highness," you accept the plate, "Thank you, your highness." You nod, and sparing a hasty smile and curtsey, excuse yourself to the kitchens once more. It's then you realise you said your highness twice, and when the Matron sees your ruined plate of food, she gives you an exasperated sigh, and a stern talking-to about the need to be careful in the festivities. But you hadn't heard a word, because all the time, you were thinking of the prince you had just met.