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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As I continue my restless pacing within the confines of Vannaheim's royal suite, I notice the ever-watchful gaze of Ivor, Annalise's seasoned guard. His scrutinising presence adds a layer of amusement to my otherwise mundane act of waiting, as I see him shadowing my every move.
Does he suspect that I'll attempt to abscond with a precious vase? Or perhaps he thinks I'll steal the delicate china I've grown fond of using?
No, his vigilance isn't about protecting the inanimate treasures of the palace; he's worried I might dash out of those double doors in search of Annalise—my patience growing thin as I wait for her to pack what she calls 'a small bag.'
I have no intention of causing a scene. But Ivor's commitment to mirroring every move I make, though slightly amusing and perhaps tinged with a touch of paranoia, tempts me to test the boundaries of our dance.
What if I were to begin skipping or attempt a cartwheel across the room? Would Ivor follow suit, mimicking my actions?
The mental image of a dignified guard engaged in such acrobatics while clad in his formal attire tickles me, and I find myself contemplating the spectacle.
"Will you just keep still and wait patiently!" Ivor finally snaps, his voice laced with exhaustion. It appears my endless pacing has worn him out.
"Do not get stroppy with me, guard. How about you fetch your queen and express your frustrations to her, since she is the one taking an age to pack mere essentials."
"She is seeing to her king, not just packing," Ivor responds, his breaths quickening as he struggles to match my energy. "You cannot rush a parting moment."
His words strike a chord within me, and anger begins to rise. The reminder that the king is present within the palace, and Annalise gives him her attention before leaving with me, fuels my frustration. What is it that keeps the king so preoccupied that he doesn't present himself to me? And why is Annalise being held up when she simply needs to state her intention to leave and be done with it?
An involuntary and sickening thought creeps into my mind—maybe the king seeks her body before she departs, engaging in physical intimacy with her. The idea twists my stomach, and jealousy engulfs me in a raging storm.
Clenching my fists tightly by my side, I attempt to redirect my anger. I know Annalise is married, bound to someone else. But that knowledge is often misplaced, particularly as she greets me alone each time I visit.
"My king, are you alright?" Joben, perceptive to my battle of hidden emotions, notices the turmoil etched upon my face.
"I am swell, Joben. Just peachy," I reply through gritted teeth, striving to maintain a facade of composure despite the cyclone whirling within me.
Ivor soon approaches, drawing my attention away from the jealousy that consumes me. I expect him to revel in witnessing my anger up close, ready with a mocking comment, but his stance across from me and nervous gaze, suggest a different intention. It appears he is wrestling with what he wants to say.
