Lower Your Eyes (A Loki Romance Fanfic)

Chapter Nine: The Things We Know

The following morning, I awoke feeling...odd. Neither upset nor happy. Simply neutral—as though I'd suddenly had room in my heart to appreciate the simplicity of the snow glistening on the treetops, the freshness of the morning air sweeping through me like a cleansing force. As I crawled out of my tent, I saw that the others had awoken already—Loki among them. And when they said hello, Loki's eyes lingered a bit before looking away, warmed by a slight grin that graced his features.

Save for the occasional 'watch your step' and sidelong glance, we didn't say much to each other while the others were present, though Loki did trail beside me for the rest of the trip. Which earned us the occasional glance, but no one mentioned how he no longer strode in front of me.

Hours later, I sprawled over my bed and contemplated things—namely how all of Loki's kind words and gestures over the past few months had paled utterly in comparison to last night's affection. The thought alone made me smile, my thoughts trailing absently to other places as I lay there...

"Aila?" I jumped suddenly, my eyes flying open to the sight of Davos situating himself down in the middle of the bed—brown hair slightly longer, and wilder than usual. He grinned as his eyes flickered down to my flushed cheeks, "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing important," I shook my head as I sat up.

"If it makes you smile like that, it must be important."

"It's nothing—nothing I want to talk about anyway," I responded as kindly as I could.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. "Well, we don't seem to talk these days at all anymore."

"I know. It's neither of our faults, I've just been occupied well into the evenings—you know that."

"Right," he nodded a bit sullenly. "Since you started working for the lesser Prince."

I frowned. "Please don't call him that, Davos."

His brows shot up. "What? You've called him that yourself on many occasions—just last week, even."

"Well, now I don't."

It was easy to see the bit of darkness slowly clouding over his expression. "Aila..." he muttered darkly. "Why do you care all of a sudden?"

I shrugged. "Is it so strange to be bothered by someone insulting the man I work for? He's been good to me; you know that as well."

"I do," he nodded, "You're lucky enough to have a harmonious bond with the man you serve, but there are boundaries—"

"I'm well aware, Davos," I interjected curtly. "I know where the lines are. I haven't crossed any."

He arched a brow suspiciously. "I wasn't suggesting you had already."

In fact, I had crossed a line just twenty-four hours ago—and I would do it again. Anger pulsed through me as I rose. "I don't want to talk about this. Come, we have the dinner to attend to, and I must change."

"Aila," Davos ground out, and I stopped, half-turnt toward him. The sad, solemn look etched in his expression softened me a bit. "Please don't run from me when I try to talk to you. I will always be your friend, first and foremost. I won't condemn you for anything—I only want you to be safe."

Guilt replaced the anger, and I looked down at the ground before his feet. He was right—Davos had only ever proven that he wanted what was best for me. Whatever it was that came over me, I felt guilty for it—though, not nearly guilty enough to fully explain why. Even I didn't understand my own defensiveness completely. Perhaps it was anxiety, some deeply rooted instinct telling me that last night was a mistake against my own safety. Perhaps my heart stepped in to fight—to defend—the kiss when he implied it.