A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, with a good plot and the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly crowned king of Jotunheim, Loki...
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She ran! She bloody ran!
I understand that she believes she saw her father, had a full conversation with him within the sacred Lirra trees, but that simply cannot be possible.
These ancient trees are revered as direct conduits to the gods—places where one goes to offer prayers, to wish for good crops, to seek guidance and hope to be heard. But what Annalise claims to have done? That's not how it works, it defies the very purpose and nature of this hallowed space.
Perhaps my reaction—looking at her with remorse, even pity—was not the right one, given her heightened emotional state after such a holy encounter. But seeing her so fraught, so anguished that she believed her imaginary visions were reality, tore at my heart.
Grief can truly distort the mind, especially in someone so new to the outside world. However, I never thought she'd become so clouded that she would risk running to escape the humiliation she feels. Yet here I am, chasing after Annalise through the onset of an unpredicted snowstorm, the swirling white obscuring her small figure from view.
I call out to her, my voice swallowed by the wind. "Annalise! Annalise, where are you?" Even as the words leave my lips, I know Joben is already alerting the palace that she is missing. It won't be long before a swarm of Jotun's descends, searching in every direction.
I am confident we will find her. Mark my words, even if the heavens open up and bury my realm, I will find her. For if I do not, I will spread chaos on everything and everyone in my sight. No one, not even the gods above, will be shown mercy. Annalise is the calm my storm needs, and without knowing she is safe, that storm rages within me.
The snow picks up, the wind howling and pushing flurries in all directions, making it increasingly hard to discern which way to go. I can no longer even see the palace, and I worry Joben will direct the men to a different location.
I need more help. Substantial help. And though I promised him I wouldn't call upon him, that he is free to roam as he pleases, this is a matter of life or death. I simply have to call Fenrir.
Digging into my pocket, I retrieve a metal whistle, forged by the very chains that once bound him. I swiftly blow into it, and though to normal ears no sound is heard, I know Fenrir alone will hear the high, mighty call, reaching him wherever he may be.
I keep my gaze vigilantly scanning the lands, both for the sight of a small person—my Annalise—and for any sign of the ominous presence I know will soon approach.
It isn't long before I sense his presence, the air seeming to grow thick with a palpable energy as his dark, towering form stalks me from somewhere within the shadows, just beyond the edge of my vision.
Fenrir suddenly makes himself known, his glowing red eyes piercing through the veil of white before his whole body emerges. He's revealing that he found me, not the other way around.
