Babysitter to the God of Mischief | Loki ✔

Chapter Four

"Your highness."

Loki stood up, his gaze quickly scanning over me before he gestured towards a door off from his rooms. It led to a small corridor, with two small rooms branching off.
There was a bedroom with a bed, small bedside table and a closet for my clothes, and a bathroom with running water, toilet and sink. I placed my pyjamas on the edge of the bed and put my brush down on the small table.

"I thought you were to fetch your belongings?" I jumped as I heard his voice, cool and silky as it reached my ears.

I blushed violently, turning slightly to face him. "These are my belongings."

He looked down at my bed, lifting a corner of my long sleeping shirt I had been given on my first evening at the palace. "You only have one pair of sleeping clothes and a brush? Do you not have anything else?"

I shook my head, "I don't."

"You only have one change of uniform? What if they were to get dirty?"

I blinked "I wash these in the evening, and leave them by the fire. Come morning they are mostly dry, your highness."

As I walked back out into his rooms his hand caught my wrist. I tried to pull my arm away, but his grip tightened, turning me so I was forced to face him.

"What's that?"

"What's what, your highness?"
Loki spun me so my back faced him.

"You have a mark on your dress."

I froze. Shit. Shit. Shit. "It's -"

"Don't you dare lie to me Dahlia, what is this?"

I shivered as his hand traced down my back to the tip of the first cut.
I gasped as his fingers caught the edge, and immediately he pulled his hand away.

"Take your dress off."

I spun to face him, my cheeks glowing with shock, "what?"

"Take it off."

I stared at him. "I may be your personal maid now, but I'm not undressing-"

Loki handed me a blanket, interrupting me. "Cover yourself, take your dress off."

I backed into my rooms, staring at him before shutting the door. I slid out the dress and promptly wrapped the huge, soft blanket around my body, holding it to my front as I slowly stepped back into his rooms. I blushed as he looked at me, his eyes holding some emotion I had no way of deciphering.

"Turn around." His voice was soft, gentle, caressing me as I slowly turned to face the wall. His hands brushed over my bare shoulders, as he slowly lowered the blanket. I held it close to my chest, but released enough for the back part to fall down. There was no point in hiding the huge cuts, he was the god of lies for crying out loud. I could feel his hand stop on my back, his knuckles resting against my exposed skin.

"She beat you." His voice was quiet, but the words bounced through the room as if he'd been shouting. I nodded my head slowly, and I heard a growl rise through his throat.

"It's okay, the healer-"

"Hasn't done a good enough job by the looks of it." I frowned at the dark tone of his voice, twisting my neck to face him. He was studying my back closely, his eyebrows pulled down as he was lost in thought.

"What are you-"

"Wait here." And with that he marched away into a doorway, disappearing for a few minutes. When he returned he was carrying a tub of what looked like thick blue cream.

"Your highness-"

"Stay still, this will hurt." He wasn't lying. I bit my lip to the point of blood as I tried to ignore the pain, my fists clenched as I squeezed my eyes shut. His hands artfully danced over my back, only touching my cuts as they all began pounding with pain.

I didn't hear him step away, nor did I hear him asking me to face him. He gently shepherded me back to my room, and lay me face down on the bed. I heard something about healing, before I slipped into blackness.

***

~Loki's POV~

I watched her sleep for a while. I know it sounds creepy, but it relaxed me to see her not in any form of physical pain.

As we'd prepared for the ball, Thor had made no mention of the girl, and I assumed it was safe to think he'd forgotten about her. Until I arrived and the first person I saw was her, holding a tray carefully on one arm, a fake smile plastered on her face as she worked from group to group.

No matter where I stood, or who I was with, I kept feeling my gaze pull over to her, until she finally appeared in front of us. Fandral had been a flirt, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of anger towards the man, a protectiveness over Dahlia, the serving girl who I hardly knew. I could see she was uncomfortable - she was obviously looking for help, maybe from the other serving girl who'd whispered in her ear as she'd walked past.

I was about to do something, remove Fandral maybe, when the Matron approached, her hand on Dahlia's shoulder. I could see how tight she was holding the poor girl, everyone could see Dahlia physically try to lessen the pain. Yet the glare I had been given by the Matron as I defended the girl was possibly the dirtiest I'd ever had directed my way. I couldn't care less, but before I knew it she had gone, slipping away into the crowds.

I hadn't seen Dahlia for a few days following the ball, which I saw as a good thing. I tried to keep my mind off her, and whilst my days were normally filled with work I didn't find that a hard task. But as night fell and I would go to bed, I suddenly felt something. A weird twisting in my chest, a longing, almost, to see her. I wanted to see her, talk to her again. Hear her opinions on things, learn about her past.

This need infuriated me, but after three days I couldn't take it any more, and I made a formal request to Odin to have her as my handmaid. Biting the bullet and ridding myself of dignity I asked outright for her to have the highest status she could have - one step away from commoner, but as a personal maid to the Prince of Asgard, she had more status than that cow of a woman who called herself Matron.

I could tell when she walked into the throne room that something was wrong, but it confused me how she never mentioned it. She'd seemed amazed by her rooms, but a sadness washed over her when I pointed out she had a total of two outfits and one brush to fill an entire wardrobe.

I was surprised. I had fully expected her to have multiple work clothes, even though I hadn't seen any on my trip to the servants quarters. And then I had the sudden urge to buy her something, anything, just to make her happy, to see a true smile.

It was when she turned her back that I noticed the bad thing again. Her walk was slightly off, her frame held at an awkward position. As I felt the skin beneath the dress I could see why. The fabric was thin and flimsy - a rubbish design considering they're to be worn all year round. However, I felt scabs and cuts... fresh wounds.

A beating. She'd received a beating.

I'd heard that Matron woman mumble something about a punishment, but I never thought Dahlia would actually receive one. She had been beaten because Fandral had flirted with her, because I had defended her.

She had been beaten because of me.

It was at that moment I felt the guilt wash over me. I felt awful, but I knew a way to make it right.

As I treated her wounds with a remedy of my own design, I promised myself to never bring harm or hurt to that girl again.

Never shall she be in pain for something I could have prevented.