Chapter Seven: Can't Always Get What We Want

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I was shaken, to say the least. Less so because of what happened—a situation I'd encountered numerous times throughout my life as a slave, though it never went that far—and more because of my magic.

The Prince said nothing of my seidr in the days that passed. Granted, I hadn't used much of it in the shower house to defend myself, but I had spent the rest of that day wrestling with my own anxiety. Had that other man felt it? Was I exposed?

Prince Loki said nothing of it that following evening, nor in the days that followed. Time assuaged the panic... and in fact, the night of the incident, he seemed a bit perturbed himself—as though he had something to worry about. His lips were pressed in a thin line for the entirety of our conversation, and he listened tautly as I explained everything that happened. Tension rippled in his jaw, and fire blazed in his gaze. When I was finished, he cast a solemn glance into the kindled evening fire and excused me for the night without another word.

In the weeks that followed, my employment with the lesser prince spurred even more trouble—though of a more sensitive nature.

Astrid continued to endeavor to make my life as difficult as possible and had done so since her promotion to Head Maid. While Asgard was to enjoy a series of celebrations in the months to come—marking the end of warfare between realms—my life grew more and more turbulent under her reign. My rations were significantly reduced, and I was set to do the most laborious work. Work that was often reserved for the men, due to their comparably larger stature.

The night of the incident, I hadn't encountered her for the rest of the day—she was busy with the luncheon—and I was on my way out of the kitchens when she happened upon me for the first time.

"And where are you going?" she had muttered lowly as I sauntered by her—plastering my eyes down to the cold, stone floor. For a moment, only the torches provided any sound between us.

"To Loki's chambers, my lady." I curtsied to her, keeping my eyes down. I hated when she cornered me like this. My burst of seidr earlier that day had been a fluke—a random event—and I was lucky to have kept it concealed. I'd never been able to summon it in such a violent manner before, and I was left at her mercy at all other times.

She pivoted slowly, her dress swaying around her feet as she sauntered toward me. Her steps echoed through the tall hallway outside the kitchen, where we were alone. "To...whose chambers?"

A hard smack at my cheek sent me flying to the ground. After that, she turned back to the kitchen, and when the door flew open, I looked back to see several others—slaves and servants alike—looking out at the sight of me sprawled over the floor. My elbow had hurt from the impact, and it was already late by the time I'd gathered myself and returned to the Prince's chambers—shaken once more.

I could have reported her to him—and risked facing more punishment for the complaint. I'd considered it in the days that followed, rationalized that it was worth the risk. Though it would have been an invasion into his past affairs, and I could not gauge how that would fare. All I needed was to give Astrid a reason, and I would wake with beating hooks embedded in my back—and there was no clear indication that the Prince would really do something about it. Ensure my safety.

True, he'd joked about punishing her once in the library. And true, he had helped me that day in the shower house—cared enough to check on me. But that was the act of any decent person that had foreseen what was to come, it couldn't have been an indication of genuine care...even if he did choke up a bit at the sight of my near bareness outside the shower house.

Though...he was a man, after all. Of course, it would entice him.

So, I waited, and endured. Lost weight, due to my smaller rationing. And when the day of the Haelstrom arrived, I was given more to do than any of the other servants. I was to report to the kitchens—to Astrid—early in the morning, for my assignments.

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