Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

21 | Shadows And Horses

Y/N's heart inches higher in her chest as they near the gates of The Palace until it's wedged hard into the back of her throat, bumping her teeth with an acidic tang.

However, keeping to the shadows, Loki leads her around the towering golden walls at more than a safe distance with the stealth of a black cat.

Planted at regular intervals every fifty yards or so, the night guards stand, motionless and straight-spined. Sturdy and immovable as the pillars supporting The Palace, their armour glinting a lifeless metallic grey in the dark.

Through the gaps between houses, shop awnings, and stalls, Y/N watches one particular guard as they pass, waiting for a blink, a shuffle of pins-and-needles-ridden feet, or the twitch of an itchy eyebrow.

The wedge of her chin jutted out with silent pride, she continues her vigil in determined, stony silence.

Even when an owl screams from the forest, and cart trundles by The Palace gates, its lantern swinging over the cobbled road, she just watches—or, perhaps, listens—combing the night for the scuff of creeping shoes or the glint of a menacing eye.

Noting the guard with less fascination and more caution, Loki continues, utilising the reliable cover the city centre provides; shop awnings and bridges sheltering them like trunks and leaves of a complex, concrete jungle.

The street lanterns have been extinguished many hours ago, providing deep shadows to skulk in and, in no time, the closed-up shops morph into terraced housing, their curtains closed like sleeping eyelids. Nearing the fringes of town, they begin to break into semi-detached chunks, slowly drifting apart until, every now and again, Y/N and Loki pass one or two lone cottages submerged in the smattering of woodlands.

The Palace is less majestic from the rear, its back turned on the mountains as if it doesn't deem them worth its attention. The number of guards has dwindled too, until the ground between them—fluffy with ferns and bracken—is so vast Loki takes Y/N's hand, finally deeming it safe to stray from the security of the trees and walk next to the wall.

They keep close for some time, hiding in the great curve of it.

"We can speak now, but quietly," Loki's voice eventually comes to Y/N through the darkness, and she realises he has been silent for some time—not even crunching a leaf under the sole of his shoe.

A gap in the branches permits a single moonbeam to fall onto his pale cheek and she finds he's no longer hugging the wall but stepping out with easy, comfortable strides. Almost lazily, he lets the tips of his fingers trail the curve of the stone to maintain a sense of direction.

Some quarter mile ago—perhaps back when the woods were thin enough to let in a beam of moonlight—the gold bricks have changed without Y/N realising it. Stacked like perfect slabs of butter through the city centre, they've steadily depleted in quality until they're nothing but chipped round stones, their mortar rubbing chalky stains onto Loki's fingers.

"Whereabouts are we now?" Y/N asks, trying to mimic him. She can't tell if he can see in the dark or is somehow feeling his way, but she trips on several branches that he just steps over with the nonchalant deftness of a deer.

"We're about level with Mother's Water Garden."

Y/N nods and, though he had not looked back at her, she feels he had seen.

She can feel him when he's close by, now, most of the time; the energy of him—as though he gives off a vibration she can somehow tune into. It seems to be tuned more finely in the dark because she can sense he is looking for something, and feels his triumph like a burst of a wax stick's warmth when he finds it.