I make my way to the grand hall, keeping my strides elegant and pristine as I recite my mother's words in my head.

Poised.
Graceful.
Elegant.
Kind.
Respectful.

Silent.

I must remain silent.

But I hate being silent.

"Princess Y/n Elsmelda," the guard announces as I walk through the threshold.

Shoulders back.
Smile.
Small steps.
Soft breathing.

Silent.

I smile as I walk through the parted crowd and to my parents' throwns.

I do a deep curtsy as we had practiced, lowering my head in respect.

"Your majesties," I say softly.

"Rise, my daughter," father says sweetly.

I stand straight again and walk to my smaller thrown beside my mother. I steal and glace at my brother, James, who wears an encouraging smile.

I sit delicately, waiting for my father to start his speech as I am handed a glass of champagne.

"Welcome, friends," he begins as he stands, "we have gathered here to celebrate my daughter," he gestures to me, "tonight, she comes of age. Tonight, begins her choosing. She will choose her husband from the fine suitors that have traveled seeking her hand. May her kind heart choose wisely and may the lucky man cherish her."

"To princess Y/n," James says loudly, raising his glass to toast me.

"To princess Y/n," the crowd repeats, joining in James's toast.

I raise my glass with them and take a small sip.

"Let the festivities begin," father shouts and music begins.

Here we go.

~~~~~

I'm introduced to yet another man, making polite conversation as he offers me another glass of champagne.

"No thank you," I decline, "I've had plenty."

"There's no such thing as too much champagne, your highness," he bellows, shoving another glass in my hand.

"Excuse me."

I turn to my right to find a tall man.

His hair is raven black and slicked back while he is clad in green leather.

"I haven't been able to introduce myself yet," he says with a small smile, "I am Loki, prince of Asgard."

Oh great another suitor.

"On the contrary, your highness," he answers my thoughts, "my brother is the one here to try and win your hand, where as I only wish to win a few moments of your time," he glances at the man that gave me the champagne and leans a bit closer, whispering, "and to save you from that ofe."

"Oh," I'm shocked, "thank you."

"Might I have this dance?" he holds out his hand to me as a new song begins.

"Yes, you may," I set my glass down on the table and take his hand as he sweeps me onto the dance floor.

His skin is cold against mine, but not an unpleasant cold, and it sends a small wave of thrill through my body.

"Thank you again," I say as we spin and sway to the song, "I couldn't stand another minute of being shown off like a prize to these pigs."

"Pigs they are indeed," he nods before spinning me again, "you're not a prize to be won, you're a lady. A lady who shouldn't have to be put through the itemization you are."

"Exactly," I agree, twirling out and coming back to him.

"You should be able to choose anyone you wish to marry. Even a poor commoner if you so choose," he adds, "your happiness should be int he forefront of this decision, not who has the most wealth or power."

"Precisely," I nod, "it feels as if the decision has already been predetermined and that this is merely for my father to save face and pretend it is my choice."

We continue our conversation even long after the song has ended.

And another.

And another.

Loki is a brilliant man, with abilities like no other I have yet to see. He's well read and polished, yet he seems to have a flame of mischief hidden behind his eyes.

It's that flame that keeps me talking to him, asking him questions, dancing, laughing.

"Would you like to go someplace else?" I ask suddenly, "somewhere quieter and less full of drunken royalty and noblemen?"

"Yes," he answers quickly, "the noise is starting to give me a headache."

"Come on," I grab his hand and make for the servant's door, but not before steeling a glace at my mother.

She smiles to me, her eyes holding that knowing look.

We quickly get into the small hallway without anyone but my mother seeing.

"Where to, your highness?" Loki asks with a smile.

"The library," I grin, taking his hand again and guiding his through the servant's tunnels.

"You seem to know your way around the tunnels quite well," he chuckles.

"I spent a good amount of my youth hiding from my brother in them," I laugh, "playing games or trying to run after I dyed all of his white shirts some obscene color."

"So you were a mischievous child," he hums.

"Indeed," I stop at a door and grin at him, "and I always will be."

I watch as that flame in his eyes glows brighter.

"Now," I become serious, "when I open the door, hold tight and run like hell."

I open the door before he can ask questions and dart out, holding his hand tight.

We run through the kitchen, bumping into cooks now and again, getting flour on our clothes and face.

We keep running as we enter the hallway and dash for the library, laughing along the way.

"Shh," I shush him, still laughing as I close the door behind us, "shh, we have to be quiet."

"You hush, you're being louder than I am," he laughs, dusting himself off.

"Shh," I shush him once more before giggling.

"You must have been a handful as a child," he chuckles, dusting some of the floor out of my hair, "there we go."

I smile up at him as he smiles back down at me.

I reach my hand up, moving it towards his face, as we stare at each other.

His hand moves to my cheek.

"You have flour on your cheek," I grin as I brush it off his face, holding his head still with my other hand.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

"What?" I giggle.

"You know what you did," he just grins down at me.

"Do I?" I feign innocence.

"I infact believe you do," he leans in closer and whispers in my ear, "princess."