Chapter Text
As soon as she was able, Sigyn practically ran back to her room, stuffed her skirts into her mouth and screamed. There wasn’t even anything she could break or set fire to—none of it was hers, and surely the smoke would attract attention. She sank down to the floor in front of the desk chair and beat the cushions for all she was worth.
Aaaargh! The Norns are having a mighty fine laugh at this, aren’t they? So much for patient resignation. He can’t do this to me! I can’t do this. How am I going to survive this?
She sat on the floor arms draped over the seat cushion for a good 15 minutes before she started feeling really stupid, and finally looked up, and turned around to lean back against the chair leg.
Ah, goat’s piss, girl, you do what you’ve been doing. Keep your head down. Smile and nod. Be helpful, but not too helpful. Don’t set anything on fire. By all that’s fated—DON’T SET ANYTHING ON FIRE!!!!
This whole behaving one’s self was definitely overrated. Well, one small consolation she could count on was that after consummation, Theoric would be absent from home often—as long as Asgard was at war, his services would be needed elsewhere—and Asgard was always at war with someone. Thank the Norns for tiny favors.
Her father’s money would keep Theoric’s aging estate afloat. Herr Braggison would get whatever kickback Theoric had promised, and Sigyn would be well out of the public eye and away from anyone who might be overly interested in enforcing immigration statutes. It then occurred to her that maybe she should read up on those statutes while she had access to a law library, so she at least knew what I’m hiding from.
See? I can be rational.
She looked at the time piece on the mantle—two hours until supper. Time enough for a quick bath before she got her notes in order for the queen. She reminded herself of her mantra:
Smile and nod.
Be helpful, but not too helpful.
Don’t set anything on fire.
Loki, on the other hand, went right from the botany library over to genealogy. He had already looked through Theoric’s and Herr Bragisson’s pedigrees with a fine-toothed comb and hadn’t come up with anything suspicious. Theoric’s blood was as blue as the underside of a glacier—an ancient country estate with impeccable bloodlines. He was probably even Odin’s fourth cousin twice removed. There was nothing improper to dredge up there. It did, however, confirm his hunch. The estate was ancient but was parasitical. It had no means of supporting itself in the style to which its owners were accustomed, and badly needed an influx of cash.
Herr Braggison’s bloodline was quite a bit more mundane—money made in trade—and he certainly seemed to need no money, but Loki had seen enough of the man to know that his veins flowed with the ink of a ledger, so some profit motive for Sigyn’s marriage arrangements would come as no surprise.
Today he would delve into Sigyn’s family. But here he ran into a bit of a road block. Loki found the father—a trader in exotic wines and alcohols. He could trace the paternal line with no trouble. As for the mother . . . nothing. Well, not nothing, there was a marriage certificate. But that’s it. He searched everywhere.
Alright then, what was Trygge doing in the year before he married Ilona. That meant reading trade records.
I hate reading trade records.
But how hard could it be, really? Merchants had to apply for travel within realms—it wasn’t always safe, what with shifting alliances and trade agreements, so if Trygge had gone off-world there would be permits involved. And it wasn’t all that difficult to find them.
Alfheim.
Trygge had applied to travel to Alfheim to buy sweet wines, there were the dates, but wow, he was gone for a long time.
That’s an awfully long trip for just sweet wines. Was there anything else in the import manifest? Where’s the manifest? Of course, it’s in a completely different part of the library.
Trade manifests.
Ah ha! Sweet wines. Elven liquors. Fire whiskey. Lots and lots of fire whiskey?
Fire whiskey was from Muspelheim. There is no trade agreement with Muspellheim. There had never been a trade agreement with Muspellheim. Intercourse with Muspellheim is, in fact, strictly forbidden and has been for ages.
So, Sigyn’s father had purchased fire whiskey through a third party? Did Alfheim have a trade agreement with Muspellheim?
More records—lists of liquor dealers in Alfheim 900-1000 years ago.
Norns, I hate trade records!
Two hours later, Loki had come up with one possible source—there was one—singular—dealer of fire whiskey in Alfheim during the ten years prior to Trygge’s marriage to Ilona. The Fire Stone Inn: sole proprietor, Aeldit—formerly of Muspellheim.
Wow! Look at that stack of permits.
Permit #6870043: special dispensation for non-citizen ownership rights to The Fire Stone Inn to one, Aeldit, formerly of Muspelheim
Well, that answered the question of how Tryyge had bought fire whiskey without traveling to Muspellheim, but look at all these other permits:
“Permit #6870044: special dispensation for non-citizen proprietorship of a hospitality-oriented business, to aforesaid Aeldit.
Permit #6870045: special dispensation for non-citizen sale of food and beverages, to aforesaid Aeldit.”
Permit #blahblahblah . . . Ah! alright then--
“Permit #6870056: for the manufacture and sale of fire whiskey, ‘based on his father’s own recipe.’
Permit #68070057: safety dispensation for a minor involved in the manufacture and sale of fire whiskey—daughter, Ilona, claimed to be essential in the running of family business.”
Wait, what?
Daughter, Ilona, essential in running the family business.
Trygge’s wife—Ilona.
Urd’s stinking well, Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant!
Why does that make Sigyn even sexier?
It doesn’t matter, because by all the water in Urd’s stinking well, I am stupidly in love with her.
He went to his mother right after supper.
“We have to talk.”
“Have you discovered something?”
Loki looked around to make sure all of Frigga’s ladies had gone. “Fire whiskey.”
Frigga furrowed her brow. “Don’t be cryptic, dear. Occasionally you need to spell things out, even to me.”
“Sigyn’s father, Trygge traded in exotic liquors. While on a trading excursion, he found a supplier for fire whiskey. Made by an actual fire giant. Who had a daughter.”
“Yes?”
“Trygge married the daughter. Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant.”
Frigga sat down.
It’s not often Loki struck his mother silent. He tried to savor it, but he was a little too nervous to really enjoy it as he ought.
When she recovered, her response was probably predictable.
“That’s not possible, Loki. There’s been no legal interaction with Muspellheim for millennia, even diplomatic contacts are mediated.”
“A person who lived lived in Alfheim and sold fire whiskey was granted a huge stack of permits granting him “non-citizen’s rights” to operate the business. Sygin’s father was a liquor importer and acquired massive quantities of fire whiskey while on a trip to Alfheim. He also, seemingly, acquired a wife on the same trip, a wife who has the same name as said dealer in fire whiskey.”
“And there were no other sources for the fire whiskey.”
“Well, elves definitely do not make fire whiskey using a family recipe.”
“No, they do not.”
“And when you think about it, Sigyn definitely does not look as though her mother was an elf.”
Frigga sighed. “No, she does not.”
“So Trygge probably smuggled his new wife into Asgard when he returned with three barrels of legally purchased fire whiskey.”
“Because of course there are no records of her mother entering the realm legally.”
Loki shook his head.
“And does explain her father’s insistence that she marry early, and well.”
Loki nodded and began to fidget with his hands. “Is this a problem?”
“Potentially.”
“How big of a problem?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure.”
Loki dropped onto the sofa next to her. “Mother, honestly? I really need it to not be a problem.”
She carded her fingers into his hair. “Oh dearest, you know I’ll have to speak to your father about this.”
Loki groaned.
“Well, he would have to be involved in these discussions at some point, anyway, sweetheart. This just means I will have to involve him a little bit earlier.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes before Frigga broke the silence, “There is still the matter of the contract.”
“Actually, I’m not all that worried about that. I’m pretty sure Theoric only agreed to the marriage because his estate desperately needs cash, so I really think he could be bought off. And since the marriage has yet to be consummated, and I’m also fairly certain that the contract is not strictly legal, since Sigyn is not a legal resident. If this is the case, then the contract could easily be annulled. By the proper authorities.”
Frigga smiled, “By the proper authorities.”
“So really the biggest obstacle is . . .”
“Your father.”
“My father.”
“And you might want to speak to Sigyn, as well.”
“Right. That could be important.”
So his mother would talk to Odin, and Loki would talk to Sigyn.
Goat’s piss. I’ve got to talk to Sigyn.
Loki cloaked himself and went to find her room.
For her part, now that it was getting late, Sigyn sat in her bed staring at an open book that she had not been reading for the last 30 minutes.
She wasn’t frustrated any longer.
Sigyn was angry.
What in the known universe was Loki playing at, anyway? “We’ll talk later.” What does that mean? There is nothing to talk about. What gives him the right to jerk me around like that when he knows I can’t do anything? Selfish bastard. Just because he’s a prince he thinks he can have whatever he wants and do whatever he wants and there won’t be any consequences. Well, there might not be any consequences for him, but there absolutely be consequences for me. Permanent consequences. I can’t even defend myself without getting into trouble. I would set fire to his spellbooks if it weren’t a waste of good reading materials.
Of course, just at that moment, someone knocked on her door. Who in Asgard . . .?
She tied her robe tight over her sleep clothes and pulled open the door.
“Loki?”
He glanced quickly down the hallway before asking, “May I come in for a short while?”
“That’s really not a good idea.”
Loki swore he felt the temperature drop, and he swallowed nervously. “I cloaked myself. No one saw.”
“And that makes it ok?”
He felt colder. “I just need to talk to you. Please?”
After a long pause, Sigyn reluctantly stepped out of the way so he could pass into the room. Once he was fully inside, she stood against the closed door and crossed her arms, making no attempt to make him comfortable.
Loki fidgeted as he stood in what little floor space existed in the small room. Finally, Sigyn jerked her chin upwards and raised an eyebrow. She was not in the mood to be helpful. “Well?”
Loki frowned briefly, then pulled the chair away from the desk. “Won’t you sit down?”
“No, I think I’ll stand, thank you.”
“Alright, if you prefer.”
“I do.”
Loki moved over to the bed and wrapped a hand around one of the posts as if its solidity would serve as a mental brace. He cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you about your contract.”
Sigyn’s mouth fell open, this was clearly not the conversation she had been expecting. “What?”
Loki stood a little straighter and ran a hand down the front of his jacket. “I want to talk to you about your marriage contract. You never signed the betrothal papers, and pardon me if this seems to overstep my bounds, but I sense that you are less than enthusiastic about the marriage. I feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you aren’t entering into something unwillingly.” He took a breath. “Sigyn, has this marriage been forced on you?”
Sigyn opened and closed her mouth several times trying to find words that made sense, her face suddenly hot as she looked Loki directly in the face and tried to decide whether she was embarrassed, frightened, or enraged. In the end, all she could spit out was, “Why do you care?”
He couldn’t quite maintain a neutral facade when he replied, “Well . . . it’s a matter of honor . . . why would I not care?”
She snorted. “Honor? Is that what you call that little display in the library, then? Is a seduction more honorable when it’s only a woman’s reputation at stake rather than her husband’s?”
He flushed. “That has nothing to do with this.”
She crossed her arms again. “Does it not?”
“No. Yes. Not the reputation part, but . . . ah, Freya’s cats are easier to talk to. Why are you making this so difficult? It was a simple question.”
Sigyn walked right up into his personal space. “Not. So. Simple. You explain yourself or I’m not answering any questions. I’m not going to be manipulated into becoming a hanger on.”
“A hanger on? Is that what you . . .? No! That is not what I meant at . . . how could you think that?”
“Really?” And looking at him like he had quite lost his higher brain function—which to be fair, he rather felt he had at that point—Sigyn turned away and sat down heavily in the desk chair.
Loki scrubbed his face and grit his teeth. He made a fist and jabbed a finger in her direction as he took a deep breath to speak. He snapped his mouth shut again, lips in a tight line as he scrunched his eyes shut and counted to five.
He opened his eyes and breathed out heavily before he spoke, “I don’t want a hanger on. Alright. Here is the truth—and you really aren’t playing fair here, but this is the whole of it because you are clearly not being rational—I don’t want you to marry Theoric. He’s a thick-headed, slow-witted idiot, who’s never seen the inside of a book that he liked, whose preferred bed-mates, pardon my crassness, have all been blond, enormous-breasted doxies. The very idea of you spending the rest of your life linked to that rock-headed ass-end makes me furious, and I would actually prefer-it-if-youwouldmarrymeinstead-and-I-think-I-can-get-you-out-of-your-established-marriage-contract-wouldthatbeprefferabletoyou?”
By the time Loki got to the end of this speech Sigyn’s eyes were as wide as trenchers and her mouth hung open in shock. She blinked. Closed her mouth. Blinked again. When she finally responded, her voice was very small. “I have no idea how to answer that.”
“Yes. You could just say yes.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I think it is.”
“There are things that make this particularly complicated.”
“I know.”
Her brow pulled together in frustration and sat up straighter. “No, you don’t know.”
Loki walked over to her and pulled her chair around so he could lean against the desk while they talked. “Actually, I do know.”
Sigyn cocked her head suspiciously, both annoyed by his seeming obtuseness, and aroused by how effortlessly he shifted her around in that chair.
“I do know,” he repeated, but then Loki suddenly realized the potentially stalkerish behavior of his research, and his eyes darted nervously between his hands and her face before he gathered the nerve to launch into his explanation, “Right. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I, um, I did some research—a lot of research, in fact, in the library—and I, um, found out about your mother’s origin and why those origins might be the reason for Herr Braggison’s insistence on this particular marriage and its haste, and um, I want to assure you that those origins are very much not a problem for me, and I am willing to, um, work toward not having them be a problem for any other, erm, potential contracts that you might, um, choose to enter into.”
Sigyn’s voice came out in a whisper now. “And you would like for that contract to be with you?”
Loki finally looked directly into her eyes, and his voice also became extremely quiet. “Yes.”
“And how,” her voice still low, “do you propose to make any of this possible?”
Loki dropped to his knees in front of her, took her by the hand and began to play nervously with her fingers. “I believe that, since the contract was made between a citizen and a non-legal resident who was also a minor at the time the betrothal was signed, that the contract is not legally recognizable. I also believe that after the contract is annulled, that I can petition the royal council to grant you permanent residency after which you could legally enter into negotiations for a new contract.”
“And you have reason to believe that petition would be granted, why?”
His gaze shifted from her face to the fingers he held in his own, and he smirked. “I have it on good authority that the petition would be supported by the queen.”
A slow smile began to show on Sigyn’s face to match the warmth that had started to spread through her chest. “Do you, now?”
“I do,” and when his eyes moved back up to meet hers they were full of mischief.
“Well then, it might be worth an attempt.”
Loki’s focus never wavered from her face as he leaned forward and brought her fingers to his lips. “We’ll consider it a plan, then.” And though the first touch of his lips to her fingers was a chivalrous gesture, the next thing she felt was the wet tip of his tongue when he brought it out to taste the very end of her fingertip, and then his teeth began to nip. Her mouth once again fell open and she flushed down her chest as he took the tip of that finger into his mouth and sucked gently. Her heart beat hard enough to shake her clothing and her breath became shallow.
He slowly slid her finger out of his mouth and asked, “Is this alright?”
Her assent was the smallest of nods.
He smiled broadly as he moved even closer, his face centimeters from her own, hands sliding up her arms to rest on either side of her neck. “Then perhaps this would be agreeable, as well.” He brushed her lips with his own, feather light, thumbs resting under her jaw, then pressed forward into a soft kiss.
Sigyn drew back barely enough to break contact. “That would absolutely be agreeable,” she whispered, and leaned into his touch once more, lips parting in invitation.
She closed her eyes as she concentrated on the soft warmth of his mouth, on the taste of him flooding hers, and on the slow, wet slide of their tongues against one another. When they finally broke apart nothing existed but the dark green eyes inches from her own. She could barely breathe, even as her fingers found bare skin at his neck and fluttered over it, as if she could taste him that way as well, feeling the lines of muscle and following them up to trace around the shell of his ears, brush the softness of the lobes and comb through the hair at the base of his neck.
His own hands explored downward, sending tingles through her skin as he followed the collar of her sleep shirt over her clavicle, down to play at the dip in her cleavage, sneaking inside the fabric to cup her breast as he leaned in again for more of those glorious kisses. Loki drank in the little notes of pleasure that welled up with each touch, just as Sigyn swallowed down his own soft moans.
A distracting crick in his neck prompted him to pull back just slightly. “Sigyn, can we . . .?” And pushed the chair back slightly before pulling her down to straddle his lap on the floor and into another kiss. “Mmmmm, mch bttr.”
She giggled and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him to settle in as close as possible, gaining a needy groan for her efforts as she felt his cock hard through their clothes and she rocked against him.
Loki buried his face in her neck. “Oh Norns, Sigyn, I have dreamed about this.” Soon his lips mouthed wetly at her pulse point as he inhaled the smells of her—soft amber soap mixed with the lingering scent of the library. His mouth continued its travels south. He pulled her tunic aside to reveal a smooth copper shoulder, and he paid worship to the newly revealed skin while she watched, mesmerized by the path marked out by his lips and tongue, by the contrast between his ivory complexion and her own darker skin, whimpering when his hand lifted her breast free of the shirt and he sucked at the tight nipple he discovered.
Loki smacked his head hard on the desk behind him when someone rapped loudly of the door.