Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

10 | Marriage

Arne said he'd pick Y/N up at the palace just after dinner time. 'Pick up' isn't really accurate; he had no mode of transportation to pick her up with. He'd bashfully specified this, like he was disclosing his lack of wealth, expecting Y/N to change her mind about seeing him that evening. Y/N almost laughed; as if she had the social status to care about such things.

Her smile faded, though, as soon as she was alone. She felt deflated as she trudged back to the palace, listless like a soldier returning home from a war she'd lost. What didn't improve things was the knowledge that, really, Y/N had no right to wallow in self-pity. Yes, one day she will have to marry a man she doesn't love, have children she isn't ready for, and grow old and bitter, just like her parents---but not yet. She's arranged one date with Arne. One date.

And who knows; maybe once she catches a glimpse of the pale moonlight reflecting off of his tanned skin she might learn to appreciate it. Or when she looks over at his muscley body sprawled on the grass at her side, she might feel something for it---even if she hadn't before. And if she doesn't, he seems like a nice, amiable young man; perfect husband material, Y/N's mother would say. She'd probably declare it unashamedly, right in front of Arne's long, freckle-spattered face as she shoves Y/N into his arms. And for good reason.

Y/N should at least try to let him into her life.

One date.

She'd noticed that recently; her life seems to have gone through some kind of shift. Old ways have fallen away like the constantly eroding face of a cliff. People from her old life---her life as a scullery maid and a groundskeeper---have begun to fall out of her company.

Or she'd pushed them away.

No, Y/N hasn't pushed them away, not on purpose, she'd just... failed to maintain certain bridges. She stays late with Loki, crushing up colours, mixing smooth pastes, or just watching the prince dab at his canvas. Then, by the time she has completed the trek from his chambers to the servant's quarters at the end of the day, her brain is in no mood for socialising at the table with her roughcast peers; not that many are still up. Most have usually gone to bed---or are getting ready to do so. And Loki prefers to rise late, so it's early afternoon by the time he's left his rooms and Y/N can start her cleaning chores. Everything she does now is late: She's become accustomed to rising late in the morning, and going to sleep late at night. It suits her. She prefers the mellow hours of evening to the frigid, brittle first breaths of morning, but that does mean Y/N and the other servant's timetables don't sync up anymore. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing; to be honest, Y/N is more than happy to go without their gossip.

Another reason for Y/N's disinterest in the goings-on of the servants quarters is the fact that---as well as losing touch with several aspects of her old life---she seems to have gained a few things with her new life, and they're just...better.

For one; health.

This could be because her workload doesn't strip her to the bone as it used to when she'd be darting back and forth in a steam-filled kitchen, or relentlessly scrubbing steps at dawn. Her skin is no longer red and raw, or dry and chapped. Yesterday, she actually had to cut her nails because her work no longer involves labour that files them down to the quick. Her muscles don't ache as she uses them, or scream out in protest if she bends to pick something up.

Another attribute to Y/N's good health is the prince's generous offering of daily snacks. Y/N's body is finally receiving its required number of calories, and the effects are wondrous. She suddenly finds herself brimming with energy and motivation; listlessly dragging her limbs around seems to be a thing of the past. Sometimes she'll take stairs two at a time, or find a little skip in her step whilst meandering through the market. It feels good, as does looking at her reflection, all of a sudden. Y/N doesn't have a full-length looking glass, or even a handheld one. She'd have to sell a liver to afford anything of the sort. She does as the other servants do, and uses the speckled row of shoe-box-sized mirrors nailed up along one wall in their respected gender's washroom.