Adverse Effects

Chapter 3

Without her to occupy him, Loki turned to his books, a stack of his favourites allowed to accompany him to his confines by his Mother. Odin would have not permitted such frivolous luxuries. While he was a prisoner, he still remained a Prince, though fallen, and as such, his cell was relatively comfortable. Double bed, chair, footstool, table, even his washbasin was solid gold... but his books? Definitely his Mother's doing.

He distractedly flipped through page after page, but could not concentrate. The woman burned persistently at his mind, the anger surging from such a beautiful creature only intriguing him more. What was her story?

Loki threw his book aside and jumped from his bed, pacing stormily about the chamber.

He trained his eyes on her quarters, the crumpled mattress in the corner, the wooden chair, the enamel washbasin. There was nothing else. Nothing to help him guess at her identity.

With a thud, the dungeon doors opened and the guards flanked them as the servants made their way in with breakfast. Bread and water was flung into slots in the barriers, though not, Loki observed into 'hers'. His own breakfast of wine and fruit, he saw, had not changed from his days of freedom.

“Slave, tell me something...” he called to the boy at his window.

“My Lord?” the boy replied, eyes downcast.

“The woman who inhabits the cell across the way, who is she?”

“I... I'm not sure I can say my Lord...”

“TELL ME!” Loki roared, thrusting the pile of books from the table.

The boy jumped back as they sparked against the barrier in front of his eyes.

“I'm sorry my Lord!” he cried, and ran.

With a growl, Loki kicked the singed books that lay now at his feet. Panting with frustration he unconsciously clenched his fists and poured his magical abilities into them, out of habit. Green flame lapped at his fingertips.

His breath slowed as he glanced down at his hand, unfurling his fingers now and letting the small slivers of fire lick around his fingertips. Abruptly, they vanished, leaving him filled with wonder. He had bypassed the safeguards put in place to dampen his abilities, if only for a moment. How?

He tried again, feeling power slowly surging to his palms as he tried to conjure something simple, an apple. The first time, an outline appeared, shimmering in front of him before snapping out. The second, a swirl of green and red mist that dissipated into nothingness. And on he went, for hours, persistence being his nature and driven on by the promise of eventual escape from his cage.

The hours passed and so engrossed was he in his task that the woman was forgotten for the most part. But at the sound of the dungeon doors creaking open and the chains at her wrists, the curiosity about her that had lain dormant in him, once again rose to the fore.

She was dragged back to her cell, hand now healed, but weak from the flogging she had received in punishment. Her shirt had been removed, though they had respected her modesty and returned her corset. The red welts on her back were clearly visible as the guards flung her to the floor viciously, and left.

She sobbed silently, face down, throat raw from screaming, hate radiating from her.

A crunching sound drew her from her silent pain. Turning her tear stained face, she saw the self-righteous prince smirking at her. He sat, lounging in his chair, feet up on his table.

Watching her suffer, while he slowly ate an apple.