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There were other places to read and after the first day he could have easily found a new place for his studies without slighting the generosity of his mother. The next morning however found the prince sitting on the same bench with the same unfinished book in hand and a stack of books beside him to make up for lost time. It was rare of him to not finish several books in a day, let alone the one he had brought with him.

After meeting the slave girl he had been too distracted to finish his studies. It was not just because she was lovely, he was not Fandral who could not use the brain in his head when presented with a pretty face. Instead, it was the mystery of her. 

She was so different from any Asgardian he had ever seen and yet, there was something about her that seemed familiar somehow. Some niggling memory in the back of his mind that he couldn't seem to wrap his head around. It both frustrated and fascinated him and he was determined to sort it out.

Then there was the matter of the magic he had felt. He was a Master of Magic himself and he was not one to be easily fooled. The magic hadn't belonged to the slave woman. It was highly illegal for a slave to have access to magic and if he hadn't missed his mark he didn't think she was aware of it's existence.

He was aware the moment she entered the garden this time. She wore the same simple shift as the day before, though it appeared to be pristine despite her work in the garden the day before. Today she had a small bucket with her and she moved among the plants, carefully weeding away the invading ones she disliked. She moved quietly but efficiently and hummed softly to herself as she worked. It surprised him to find himself enjoying her quiet presence.

It was odd. He had never enjoyed having anyone near him while he worked. Most days it irked him, if not entirely enraging and distracting him. She never addressed him. She simply went about her business seeming ignorant of his presence all together. Though after a week of observing her he doubted that were possible. The small slave seemed to know every inch of the garden and she was constantly touching and nurturing every plant within her care.

It fascinated him. Asgardians valued prowess in battle and bravery more than anything and yet here in this small corner of the world was one who nurtured instead of attacked. He should not be so interested, she was only a slave after all. Which only served to add to the mystery that vexed him. 

Since that first day he never saw any evidence of the magic he felt. It was almost enough to make him question whether he had imagined the whole thing. At times like these he wished he had someone to confide in. But there weren't many other magic users in Asgard and even fewer he was in contact with. His mother was the only one he routinely confided in and with the slave occupying her private garden he couldn't help but think Frigga must have known something about her. 

Early one afternoon several days later Loki was distracted once more. Had he been paying closer attention he would have realized the sunny day had rapidly given way to dark clouds and a cold breeze had picked up. He had never been one to notice the cold however so it came as a surprise when the skies opened and the rain came down in torrents.

He swore loudly, leaping to his feet. He had brought out two stacks of books that day. He fought to gather them, using his body to shield them from the weather. "Damn it to hell brother," he muttered as thunder crackled and lightning split the sky. Someone had upset Thor and for once it wasn't him.

Suddenly, there was a small figure beside him. She moved quickly, snatching up the remaining books that wouldn't fit in his arms. Loki turned to run back towards the palace, but there was no saving it. He had ventured almost a ten minutes walk into the gardens. They would be soaked through by the time he got inside.

"This way prince!" She yelled over the roar of the storm and she took off down the path in the opposite direction.

He followed, uncertain where she was leading, but trusted she knew the garden far better than he. Less than a minute later she veered off the path hopping gracefully along a narrow line of stones and through a thicket of large palms. She ducked beneath the branches that slapped against Loki's face in the wind.

Water dripped down his face and he ground his teeth in frustration. "Where-?" He started to demand.

"Here," she called back breathlessly as she shoved open the door to a small gardening cottage. He had to duck to follow her through the doorway. Once inside he was able to stand though the ceiling was low, and the lowest beams were only inches above his head. There was a work table at its center and the walls were lined with shelves filled with gardening tools. He recognized some of them as ones she used. He also frowned to see a small pallet on the floor in one corner. To his knowledge the slaves had their own quarters below the kitchens. 

She carefully set the books she carried on the table. She whirled away from them and immediately began rifling through a large basket in the corner. He frowned as he watched the strange slave. She hurried back with a threadbare towel in each hand. At first he thought she was going to use it for herself. Her hair hung in sopping tangled ropes and her dress was soaked through. 

To his surprise she instead set the second towel on the table in front of him as though she were being careful not to touch him. She turned back to the pile of books she had rescued. She immediately began to wipe them down, carefully starting at the spine and working her way around the outside.

"I'm afraid some of the pages are wet," she said without looking at him and she turned to the stone hearth. She kicked in some wood that was sitting in wait and began digging through jars that lined the mantle as she muttered quietly under her breath.

Loki didn't recognize the language at first, but it sounded like she was swearing. He frowned at her as she dumped another jar onto the ground, sifting through the items. Finally, he recognized one of the words she said as he realized she was speaking a rare dialect of elvish. Fire.

He turned to the wood and held his hand out. Summoning his magic, he threw a small flame into the center of the kindling. She jumped, whirling to face the emerald flames. Then she turned to glare at him. He had the good graces to look sheepish for startling her. She scowled at him and he had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling at her. As though she could sense it she frowned fiercely.

Loki pressed his lips together so he wouldn't offend the small slave when she was helping him. She then turned her attention back to the books. She dragged a bench over to the fire and carefully laid each book out after she dried it by hand. When her pile was done she looked up at him sharply and frowned when she saw he was still clutching his stack in one hand.

"Please Prince." She said holding her arms out for them as though they were precious jewels. "We need to dry them before any irreparable damage is done."

He realized then that he had done nothing but stand there and watch her work, her small graceful hands moving over the books as carefully as they moved over her plants. He snapped into motion, laying the pile out on the table. He took the second towel and the two of them worked through the larger stack of books he had carried. Once they were all laying out before the fire she went back to the first and carefully lay the back of her hand against the leather cover. She frowned and moved the bench back a few inches. Once satisfied she nodded and then finally looked up at the prince standing only a few feet away.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

She looked down and away, her gaze settling almost hungrily on the books. "Just doing my duty Prince Loki," she assured him.

She wanted to keep touching the books, to open them and greedily read every word. But they needed to dry before they could be handled without risk and she wasn't willing to jeopardize their safety for her curiosity. It had just been so long since she had been granted the freedom to read. 

He scoffed in the back of his throat. "Hardly, had you only done your duty hundreds of years worth of knowledge would have been lost."

She nodded but kept her eyes down. Now that she wasn't focused on work she seemed nervous to be around him once more. 

"What's your name?" He tried asking, keeping his voice low and soothing. Everything in his life had always been about proving himself, about seeming larger than life in order to keep up with his older brother. Now however, he found himself stepping back, lowering his voice and hunching his shoulders so he didn't tower over the small slave. He seemed to scare her and he didn't like that feeling.

She pinched her lips together and he swore for a second he saw a flash of defiance in her eyes. But he blinked and it was gone.

"Kenna," she told her shoes, her hair hung forward in wet ropes, shielding her face from the prince. 

Loki nodded and turned his attention back to the books, wondering if there was any way for him to not frighten her. He tried keeping his attention off of her, perhaps if he didn't stare at her she would relax.

The wind gusted and the small shed shuddered. She looked up at the rafters frowning.

"Should I be worried?" He asked in a light, teasing voice. He glanced once more around the small shed. "It doesn't seem very stable."

She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully and despite his resolve not to stare, he found he couldn't look away.

She's a slave. He reminded himself, turning to face the window. She was beneath him. He shouldn't even notice her. Most slaves didn't warrant speaking to unless they were being given an order. She should be no different. In fact he wouldn't have been here if not for the strange magic. 

It was odd, there were not many slaves in the palace, most positions were happily occupied by citizens of Asgard hired as servants. Of the slaves he had seen, they had all been men, taken prisoner in times of war now long past, and offered the opportunity to serve instead of rotting in the dungeons. But she was too young to have fought in any of the most recent wars, and she certainly was no warrior. 

She seemed better when he was not watching her. "I was wondering the same thing. What could have possibly upset Prince Thor so much?"

A smirk crossed his face. "Whatever it is I'm sure it will pass in time," he replied flippantly. Then his smirk stilled as he watched Kenna's face and noted the fear in her eyes. He stepped closer to her frowning. "You needn't fear," he assured her.

"I'm not afraid," she snapped defiantly, turning to face him.

He smiled at the look on her face. She may be a slave and she knew all the proper things to say, but she was far from broken. There was a fire in her. It made him inexplicably glad. As though realizing she had risen to his baiting she dropped her gaze and looked at the floor.

She sighed and stepped towards the one small window to gaze out. Lightning crack so loudly and so suddenly she jumped. She stumbled back a step and Loki steadied her with a hand on her elbow. Magic tingled up his arm once more, just a strong as before. 

She pulled away abruptly, her chin tucked against her chest.

Loki's tingling hand closed into a fist and he made a noise of disgust over her submissive behavior. It was especially disgusting after seeing the fire in her eyes and feeling the magic flowing over her skin like a protective glove. 

He cleared his throat and straightened his spine. "My brother is throwing a tantrum," he said as the window rattled in the rising wind. "It will soon pass and all will be well."

She frowned up at him. "Easy for you to say. I'm not an Asgardian. I'm afraid I am not as durable as the rest of you."

He frowned down at the small woman. Of course it shouldn't surprise him to learn she was no Asgardian. She was smaller than any he had ever met and certainly didn't behave as one would. It also explained her odd eyes and perhaps even the magic. 

She stepped up close to the window and leaned forward to attempt to peer out into the storm. Her wet hair swung forward and she brushed it back behind her ear impatiently.

He was shocked to see her lightly tipped ears. "You're an elf," he said quietly.

It shouldn't shock him so, she had spoken elvish, but for some reason he had not made the connection. Many scholars spoke elvish fluently as many of the most ancient texts had been written and preserved by the elves. But why would a slave speak the language of scholars? He shook his head at his own idiocy.

As far as he could remember not many Light Elves had survived the destruction of their homeland by the Dark Elves. Only a small faction had survived, and they were led by their king in an attack against the remaining eight worlds, holding everyone responsible for their destruction not just the Dark Elves. He and Thor had been there for the King's surrender, but he had been very young and the memories were no longer clear. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he fought to remember. When he opened his eyes he found her watching him curiously.

Frowning at her he realized she must have been spoils of that war in order to end up in Asgard as a slave. It meant she would not have been a warrior. In order to be spared she would have had to be little more than a child for the Allfather to be willing to take the chance bringing her here.

So much about her suddenly made sense. Her gracefulness and delicate movements that had drawn his attention. She was different and it was simply a distraction rather than attraction. It made him feel better. After all, she was only a slave.

She turned to face him, lifting her chin defiantly. "Yes," she replied. "One of the last."

He nodded and turned away. He was fascinated once more, but for an entirely different reason. There was so much he could learn about Light Elves first hand from her. The Light Elves had command of magic long before it had come to Asgard. And now the race was almost entirely extinct, all their precious knowledge lost. There were so many questions on the tip of his tongue. He was desperate to find out how young she was when she left Alfheim, but it seemed rude to ask. Rude to bring up what would no doubt be painful memories. Perhaps if he got to know her better she would be willing to share with him. 

The thunder crackled so hard it shook the glass and branches whipped against it. Kenna frowned and took a measured step back.

Loki watched her closely. She was a jumpy little thing who had clearly learned to fear Asgardians sometime in her life. 

The storm passed as quickly as it started. When the sun reappeared she approached the window slowly, as though expecting the storm to rise suddenly once more in it's fury. When nothing happened she reached out and gently touched the glass, pushing herself up on her tip toes in order to look out.

"I believe your brother has managed to calm himself," she said in a low voice, turning back to Loki.

He glanced out the window, but found himself watching the slave who once again wouldn't look at him.

"If you wish to return to your day, I will stay with your books and attend to them as they dry," she said bowing her head.

Loki frowned, not wanting to leave her to fix something he had done. Just then he heard the bells ringing out. He swore under his breath, too low he thought for the woman to hear. When he looked back at her however, she was watching him curiously once more.

"Pardon me," he said sheepishly, ashamed of himself for swearing in front of a female.

Her eyes widened at that. She was a slave, no prince should ever apologize to a slave.

"I am late for training," he said moving towards the door. "If you would simply attend the fire for a short time I'm sure the books will dry well enough on their own," he called over his shoulder in his haste to leave. 

Kenna bowed low at prince Loki's words and watched as he nodded once more and hustled out the door.

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