Rebecca sat observing her dungeon companion.
After their conversation, he hadn't spoken a word to her, nor even looked her way, just lay, relaxed on his bed, leafing lazily through his book.
She had taken in every word he had said. She had no reason to believe him, but something in his manner of speaking made her think twice. His own people had imprisoned him, why? And he had healed her had he not?
She would never trust him, he wasn't called the God of Mischief for nothing, but his comment on the benefits of his friendship had caught her attention.
She mirrored him, sitting on her mattress, back against the wall, taking a book from the stack he had left her the previous night. The books, she thought, another surprising gesture.
Opening the volume, she scanned the page. Midgardian myths and legends. Her eyebrows shot up. Hmm. Not what she would have expected. The fallen Prince was clearly more of an enigma than she imagined.
She peered over the cover of the book at the man lay prone on the opulent bed.
He didn't look the brute she had imagined.
He was tall and lean in a strong, elegant way. The green of his shirt set off his alabaster skin and clung to the taut muscles it covered. His black hair slicked back, framing high cheekbones and an angular jaw. She had seen the thin lips curl cruelly and yet smile in a not unappealing way but it was his eyes that now absorbed her.
The deep verdigris reminded her of the forests of her homeland. She could almost smell the sweet, damp moss and hear the running water of streams and waterfalls when she looked into them. She knew if she were able to look deeper, there would be flecks of gold, the rays of sunlight glinting down through dark evergreens...
How long had it been since she had seen the sunlight?
How long since she had felt the breeze on her face?
How long since Loki had dropped his book to meet her ardent stare?
She jolted at this last revelation and blushed violently, snapping her attention to the book on her knees before her.
She heard him snigger across the way.
Had her breathing quickened? It certainly felt like it.
Did she yearn for her freedom so much? Or was it the thought of being close enough to see golden flecks in Loki's eyes...
The thump in her chest suggested the latter.
Infuriated at her weakness, she slammed the book shut, sliding it across the floor, swinging her body flat to the mattress and raising her legs to lean on the wall. Rebecca lifted her hands to rest on her brow and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.
Yesterday she had had nothing but hatred for the royals of Asgard and their courtiers. Now? Now one of them had thrown her into confusion. She lay in a tumult, unsure of her emotions and making no progress in righting them.
A delicious aroma roused her from her thoughts. Turning her head, she saw a golden bowl, filled with soup, steam rising from it. She looked over at Loki who sat upright now, and nodded at him before taking the bowl in her hands.
He watched her drink, deeply at first, then slowly, savouring every nourishing mouthful.
Good girl, he thought, I'm going to need you strong...