Endlessly

Aster

With one final deep breath, you take your first step into the illustrious space that is the royal ballroom. You'd been here once before, as a small child, but even so, the space was yet more massive and grandiose than you'd remembered.

Concentrating assiduously on not rolling your ankle in the ridiculously high heels that your stylist had selected for you, you do your best not to waddle like a duck as several eyes in the room begin to look in your direction.

Your cheeks grow warm at the attention, and you begin to desperately look around the space for an excuse to not meet anyone's judgmental gaze. It's then that you realize there's only about three other 'jewels'- the condescending name the Vanir gave to a royal heir's prospects, in the room. They are all accompanied by their mothers or fathers, making it a crowd of a whopping eight. Generally, there would be nearly a hundred prospects alone for someone of the prince's station, and you start to wonder if you're in the right place.

Perhaps I've just arrived too early.

"Where is everyone?" You whisper to your mother.

She keeps her eyes fixed forward on the other guests, an appearance of pure regal pride resting on her face as she speaks out of the side of her mouth in a hushed tone. "This is it."

"What! Why-"

She gives you a quick jab with her elbow to shut you up, avoiding any unwanted attention, and continues. "The matter was handled quite quickly, and the rumor is that the prince hand-selected each of you." She pauses, straightening her posture. "You and your daughter look absolutely stunning, Gullveig."

Gullveig politely returns the compliment while her daughter looks you up and down with an icy glare.

Calm down, termagant- you can have him.

Your mother continues steering you through the room, and out of earshot of anyone else. "You should be thrilled at the lack of prospects, it gives you even greater odds of winning his favor."

Great.

"Besides, look at you compared to these girls, you're a shoo-in." She continues under her breath.

"Mother- don't be rude." You whisper.

"I'm only speaking the truth, my dear. You should feel exceptionally proud in this moment."

A palpable silence washes over the room, pulling you out of the hushed conversation.

Prince Aster steps through the massive arched doorway and into the space. He is flanked by two royal guards in their ceremonial armor. The prince himself is adorned in pure white silk couture with golden accents of armor embellishing his wrists and shoulders, that glisten in such a way you know for a fact they've never seen battle.

He holds his head high, but his face remains somber as he makes his way into the center of the room. He pauses, brushing a single wily golden curl out of his face before he speaks. "I would like to thank each and every one of you for gracing me with your presence this evening. I am truly honored to be in the company of the most beautiful women in the nine, and I intend to spend a bit of time with each of you individually so we may have a chance to get better acquainted."

Gods, did he read how to do this out of a handbook? What a stodgy speech.

You watch in silence as the prince begins to work his way around the room.

Gullvieg's daughter managed to not-so-subtly shove her way just steps from him, naturally causing him to start with her. She doesn't waste a single moment before she begins to really put on a show for him, too. He kisses the back of her hand, and she nearly swoons, dramatically opening up an extremely ornate fan- a display of her family's social status, and begins wafting herself as sensually as she can possibly muster.

There will be no such ego stroking coming from me tonight.

You turn to your mother to make a quiet jest, only to discover that she's left your side, and is happily engaging with a few of the other guests- the perfect picture of sophisticated grace.

She really does deserve me being on my best behavior tonight, you think, wandering over to admire some of the paintings hanging on a far wall to busy yourself until it's your turn- blech.

The paintings and the frames housing them are all just as stunning as the ballroom itself, varying quite a bit in size and design. You stroll past each one slowly, taking in the diverse textures of the paint, quietly musing if any or all of them have a deeper significance than beauty to the royal family. You reach one that is in a far simpler frame than most, made of a dark wood instead of the flashy precious metals or gems decorating, and distracting from, the others.

The work is a scape of the outskirts of a dense tree line framing what looks to be a very large, dark forest. The amount of detail in the painting is difficult to comprehend, reminding you immediately of the one thing you've been desperately trying to push out of your mind since arriving back home; Asgard.

The back of your throat catches fire as you use every bit of strength you have to hold back a flood of tears.

Oh, Loki.

You take a shuddering breath, willing yourself to keep it together and not be noticed by the others, but you miss him dreadfully. You haven't allowed yourself the time to consider the fact that you'll most likely never see him again.

You're unsure how much time has passed when the princes' very nearby voice startles you out of your thoughts.

"Lady Gersemi..."

"Oh! Your Grace, forgive me- I was captivated by the painting." You turn to face him with your hand clutched to your chest, your heart racing from the surprise.

"You have wonderful taste; this one is my mother's favorite." He steps to your side to regard the painting, and you spin around to look at it once again with him.

"Did she have it commissioned, or did she purchase it from somewhere?" You feel yourself relax, the conversation feeling surprisingly normal.

"A wedding present from my father, actually." He turns to face you for the first time, giving you a chance to take in his features close up.

He's handsome- enough to be a model, truthfully. Perfectly groomed, tanned skin, with bright, ocean-blue eyes. He reminds you of the way 'Prince Charming' is described in Midgardian fairy tales. "That's very romantic." You smile.

"They were lucky." He nods. "One of the few royal marriages that was filled with genuine love."

"I'm very sorry about your father. I can't imagine how stressful this must all be for you while you are still in mourning." You make a subtle gesture to the room full of guests.

You're taken aback when he lets out a single, wry laugh. "You're the only woman tonight that's mentioned my father."

"Oh... I apologize if it was inappropriate to-"

"You're absolutely perfect- you know that? Modest, beautiful- virginal." He cuts you off with a surprising change in tone.

"You forgot intelligent." You attempt a playful tone, but you absolutely mean it in earnest.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't know anything about a woman's intelligence." His face turns into a strange sort of grimace, and then he proceeds to reach out and take your hand.

Does he actually think that was romantic in some way? Barf.

"My Lady, I would like for you to accompany me at the Autumn ball tomorrow evening." He swallows.

Oh no. No, no, no- I mean, what an honor. Of course you want to go with him, you idiot!

"I would be truly honored to accompany you, my prince."

Enjoy your life of misery, you spineless wench.