Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

11 | Diplomacy

There's silence.

"What?"

"Due to the ever-looming threat of war, my father is trying to broker peace between the Aesir and the Vanir. Now that I'm old enough, Mother asked if I'd agree to an arranged marriage to the Vanirian princess---"

"No, I understood that, I just meant..." Y/N pushed his words away with one hand as if they were a swarm of something she was afraid would sting her. "What did you say in answer?"

Loki's eyebrows raised so far up his head they nearly brushed his widow's peak. "Are you joshing? I said no, obviously."

For some reason this made Y/N release a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in.

"I understand that arranged marriages have brought kingdoms together in the past, but I refuse to marry someone I do not love." Loki had strayed over to the little table in the corner of the room where they usually prepare his paint. He distractedly flopped down to sit atop one of the table's surrounding cushions, his long body folding neatly like a Japanese fan.

There have been two pillows tucked under the table for a while, now, one for Y/N and one for Loki. He'd added one just to put an end to Y/N's pestering. She hated the thought that she---a lowly maid---was atop a plump cushion whilst a prince has to kneel on the bare floorboards; no matter how many times said prince insists that he doesn't mind. But Y/N was having none of it. He may have been brought up as a gentleman but Y/N was raised a servant. Offering a lady the most comfortable place to sit may be the polite thing to do, but doing all in her power to make her master more comfortable is basically coded into Y/N's DNA. She didn't let it go, and on day three of Y/N's concerned little offers to at least swap the pillow between them in shifts, Loki had flounced to the other room and returned with a cushion from one of the numerous settees.

"Happy now?" He'd asked, a ghost of an amused smirk playing on his thin lips.

Y/N had wanted to say 'No! You're supposed to do it to make you happy, not me! That defeats the whole point!' But at least his slender legs weren't crushed against the hardwood floor anymore, so she pressed her lips into a smile and gave a nod.

Presently, the prince was not wearing his trademark half-smile, his eyes following Y/N about as if she's a character in his favourite play. He's slumped over his crossed legs as if gravity is trying to claim him.

"Why does the majority of politics involve using lives as pawns?" he mused, taking the first box of pigment and tipping the crumbly lumps into the mortar. He's performing a task he usually enjoys, but his thoughts are clearly elsewhere. The look in his eyes is unusually vacant, a deep frown pressed into the place his laid-back expression would normally occupy.

Y/N got the sense that his question has been rhetorical. If it wasn't, he's come to the wrong person for diplomatic advice. All of Y/N's accumulated knowledge on governing a kingdom comes from folk-tales, stories passed around to amuse children, and scraps of information she'd overheard from other people just as clueless as she is. These are not reliable sources, so Y/N decided it would probably be best if she simply lets Loki's questions hang in the air.

He continued, addressing the room at large, his movements more animated as despair evolved into agitation: "Even though the entire system is corrupt, I can't help feeling selfish. I know I should sacrifice my happiness for my kingdom, but wouldn't it be more logical to find a solution where everyone can be happy?"

Y/N had joined him, lowering herself tentatively to kneel at his side. He's suddenly gazing at her with large eyes the colour of clover, as if looking to her for reassurance, an answer, something. Y/N wasn't sure what it was she should do to comfort him, or, more importantly, what she's allowed to do.