A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, that will make you have all the feels, followed by the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly cr...
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As I charge towards my target with increasing speed, my gaze locked on the opulent palace radiating ostentatious wealth, I envision all the ways in which I will make the King of Vannaheim quiver before my might.
I intend to provoke and belittle him, until he kneels before me, pleading. Such exhilarating thoughts surge through my mind, fuelled by the thunderous roars of my comrades, all eager to breach the imposing palace walls.
Drawing closer, we hurtle past a fancy fountain, but as we clear it, my eyes surely deceive me. For what I see cannot possibly be real. The grand doors, the colossal gateway to the palace that I had dreamed of conquering, suddenly begin opening.
A wave of fury washes over me as I come to a realisation. Just as the king deprived me of the glory of demolishing the wall, he now robs me of the triumph of tearing apart his palace. My desired final showdown, the siege meant to erupt into chaotic warfare, is thwarted.
A sickening feeling churns in my stomach. Being allowed to pass through the palace doors so easily feels akin to stealing a toy from a defenceless child—a shameful act unworthy of being immortalised in history or depicted on painted murals. None want to read about such a dull and uneventful encounter.
Aggravated, I command my men to halt, reining in my own horse just a few feet from the open palace doors. Dismounting, I advance alone, my keen Jotun eyes scouring the area for any hint of an ambush. I'm fully prepared for the treachery of the cowardly king—I even welcome it. But, as I draw nearer, I am surprised to find no visible guards stationed to defend the entrance.
Joben, my faithful friend and guard, voices his concerns from behind, urging me to pause and consider the potential danger that may lie ahead. But despite his intuition that the king might be luring me into a carefully laid trap, I find myself unable to resist the powerful pull that compels me forward. Like a magnet, I am drawn towards the palace until I stand squarely within its grand doorway, poised upon the threshold. My men remaining back.
In my peripheral vision, I catch glimpses of subtle movements from inside, the nervous twitches of armed men concealed within the shadows. Usually, I would confront them head-on, using my commanding presence to instil fear. But my attention remains captivated by the figure seated atop a set of grand steps—a woman, shrouded in darkness, yet unmistakably holding court from the solitary throne.
Could she be the queen? If so, the absence of her king, indicated by the empty chair beside her, sparks not only curiosity about his whereabouts, but also stirs a growing anger within me.
What kind of cowardly ruler allows his queen to face the stampede of Jotun's alone? We are a feared race. A mighty band of beasts. I can only imagine the fear coursing through her, maybe even tears behind the veil she wears.
My instincts now warn me that danger lurks within, for the king's non-attendance suggests he is hiding, ready to issue an unexpected order. However, in spite of this, I still find myself driven forward by the same mysterious force, my legs taking me across the threshold and into the palace.
