Night had fallen by the time I reached the palace. I was insistent on walking amid the golden halls again, hoping to find some kind of conclusiveness in the echoes of their cheers, but there was no applause. No roaring welcome back. The palace was still. The sound of my steps were indistinguishable from that of a laugh in a distant conversation.

There has never been a place in this world that has invited me in more than that of a throne. I would always feel it every time I entered the room, like we held a deep, gratifying secret between us. It is a subtle nod into that territory that finally silences their begs for my prowess. And simply, just like that, we become a force to be reckoned with against all the 'gods' who just can't help but say their name in vain.    

Yet, it seems for the first time even the throne is unsure of my purpose anymore. What am I doing here—who the hell am I—if not for annihilation?

Never have I spent this much time in a palace and not torn it down. Never have I passed by a sham of a throne and left the seat occupied. Never have I failed to find all the answers I need in the night and never has the dark world around me rendered speechless when I asked it for direction.

It has been a remote thought lately that kept itself in the back of my mind, but in this moment, it wanted to be truly considered. I suppose it is the only answer that suits my questions in all their respective forms; This is exactly what you asked for.

The very second I decided to leave him alive in New York, I asked for more. I pleaded to the unconscious body of an actual god for a challenge. A fix that could satisfy. A game worth playing.

I'm losing.

Is that what this is? Is this what it feels like?

I test the word again just under my breath as if it's of a foreign tongue. It doesn't leave a pleasant taste.

I don't know how to explain the foundation I've built for myself. It's simple, reliant on the few things in this life that are undying and inevitable; the sun will go down and bring me night, and it is only fact that people will always want more than what they have. There is no emotion, no people—nothing fleeting. I'm solid, protected, aligned...

When was the moment I lost the upper hand? When did he make the first crack? Was it a gradual process or was it stripped away during one, vulnerable heartbeat? How did all of my power come crashing down atop of me like towers in the city I built? God, did I ever have anything in the first place--

Oh.

In my defense, I've never had my own strategy used against me before. I almost pride myself on how crippling it is until it hits me again that it's been used at my expense. 

Perhaps I've always known—no I've definitely always known that I was fucked. Aren't we all? The illusion of total control is just that. I know that...how do I know that and still do it? How do I gladly ignore my own delusion while I get to shoot the consequences of others right through their head?

I guess just like that; gladly.

I never said I wasn't them, right? The 'gods'? There are conversations where I'd say that on repeat for what seemed like hours. It was a simple defense, one easy and satisfying enough that it didn't need any further explanation. It was always with Neal, always after he shook his head absentmindedly into the air just beyond my eyes, laughing bitterly through the words that what might as well have become my mantra; Always so perceptive of everyone but yourself, Safiya.

Always so condescending, you dick. But no words of his, ones I've listened to for years, hit like the ones Loki didn't even have to speak.

He's an expert tactician. Cunning, deceptive, and perhaps much more acquainted with pain than I thought because this kind of strategy takes a certain kind of self preservation. He offends whilst defending himself. He forces others to reflect while he deflects.

But he's also good with a knife.

What about me threatens him that much? What is it about me that warrants his skill over the effortless swing of his blade? That means I must be getting close to something, no?

I guess that's all this game is. Stripping each other of every comfort, every idea we have convinced ourselves to be true, until we are left bare.

Illusions—tempting to take, tempting to use on others, almost more tempting to become one yourself.

Maybe we're more alike than I thought.

Regardless, this isn't what I wanted. One, I'm losing in the game he has so eagerly started up again. Two, he has not even scratched the surface in showing me everything I want to see. And three, if I'm going to die soon, it won't be before I get to try the tea I had to leave in my room. It's probably fucking cold. It's definitely fucking cold. Why can't the tea here just keep itself fucking warm?

I could finally feel my nails digging into my palm as I started to round the hall into the bedchamber wing. By the marks, it seems my hands had been fisted for a while and the way my fingers struggled to straighten again only further proved the point no one was waiting to make. I force myself to sigh and close my eyes just until my shoulders felt comfortable enough to relax. What had it been? Five, ten minutes—too long for such blinding rage to have that much control.

My mind starts to come back to me, thoughts starting to look the most sound they have in a while compared to whatever hell I had just been forced into and spit out of.

I'm well aware it makes no sense. There is absolutely no intellect in a growing fascination with someone that only brings me closer to death, but I am absolutely infatuated by it. I don't know how to describe someone as such a paradox as Loki. He is perhaps the most sinful god, the unholy grail...all wrapped in that dark emerald green that could never decide whether or not it is of elegance or pure evil.

I want to see everything it can do. I want to hold it, play with it. And eventually, I want to see how hard it falls. But all I've been doing, perhaps all I've had enough strength to do, is watch him. And for some reason, I've been just as satisfied.

No matter how much hatred I have for him, and god can I feel the rage seeping through every pore in my body, it will never overshadow the shameless and twisted fact that I am completely and utterly...impressed.

I never said I wasn't them.

I swear it's as if he had been waiting for the compliment. Just as I make it halfway down the hall, Odin emerges from the other end with two guards that trail dutifully behind him.

He playfully cocks an eyebrow when he meets my eyes and hastily waves the guards away, as if to clear a battlefield. Normally I would be flattered that just the mere sight of me could be considered a declaration of war, but this was a fight I'm not entirely positive I could win right now. Just the thought of him had done enough damage.

I roll my eyes and dramatically turn to walk back in the direction I came from, ignoring the faint, yet effortlessly husky, "Are you kidding me?" that doesn't necessarily ask for my response.

I don't make it very far. Loki grabs my forearm and swings me to face him, instantly removing the illusion of Odin and gifting me the sight of those tanned, razor cheekbones.

Oh god get yourself together

"How are you walking around alone? Where's Kahlil?" The scorching pair of decisive, blue eyes run down my outfit before his eyebrows meet for further furious contemplation. "And what the bloody hell are you wearing? Do you have any pants on?" He shamelessly lifts my shirt to find the silky black shorts that were hidden underneath before I slap his hand away.

"Hey!"

"By all the gods, you're not even wearing any shoes." His focus darts around to every feature on my being in some kind of dire assessment--my words clearly a distant concern. "I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're not." I twist my arm from his grip and my eyes gain his full attention again. "I sent him to get a set of armor I could wear."

He stills for a second as whatever urgency he came with washes away from his face. His eyes narrow into mine in a weak attempt to look serious, but a grin fights strongly at his lips. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do the clothes not fit? I believe I was more than thorough in ensuring the right sizing."

I crinkle my nose up at him, speaking casually through my infamous deceptively deadly smile. "If you think I'm wearing anything you give me, you're mental."

He clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side, assessing my face as if he were oblivious to any threat in my voice. "Not one for submission?"

"Is that a joke?"

"It was funnier when I heard it from your maids this morning." He smirks down at me as if he were replaying every detail those two gave him. I don't know what he expected from me, but he frowns moments later when it's clear my face isn't going to retain any of the humor he had found so easily. He sighs, subtly shaking his head at the fact that the reassurance has to be said aloud. "I don't want to tame you, love. I told you that."

"Oh no?" I raise an eyebrow before shoving the paper I took from Skruge into his chest. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think I'm being fucking domesticated!"

He barely glances the note over before holding it up lazily in his hand. "He needs this paper. I don't trust him to remember what's on it."

"Then maybe, just maybe, you should keep the all seeing, more than capable gatekeeper at his post!"

He looks at me like I had just said the most ridiculous thing in the universe. "Oh please, that's not sensible."

I blink up at him, waiting for the few moments it takes for my mind to decide between wanting to slit his throat or run my tongue up and down it.

"I hate you so much."

"Oh darling, you have no idea."

I flash a smile that would give a politicians wife a run for her money before pushing past him. I make it just beyond his shoulder when he grabs my arm again, sighing to himself, forcing my eyes up to his. "You need to be controlled for the time being. Just until I know you won't destroy the entire realm."

His grip gets softer as I turn to fully face him, settling comfortably in front of his chest. Lips parted, eyebrow well above the other, I stare up at him as his fingers trickle gently down my arm until they fall back to his side.

"Oh I would never think to ruin your hard work."

He raises an eyebrow to mirror me before letting out a deep, syllable laugh to himself. "Mm. Of course not." The subtle thunder in his accent creeps its way to the pits of my stomach until I could feel his voice consume me whole for just one dark, unspeakable moment. It had been a few seconds too long that his eyes swam in mine, but it seemed I was the only one who noticed--or cared. A troublesome grin grows from whatever he had found satisfactory enough before his eyes start to wander greedily around my face, keeping a preferred focus on the every move of my mouth. "It's nice, isn't it?"

I watch his eyes for a moment as they move heavily from each feature. He trails the bridge of my nose...marks the lines of my forehead...a smirk of my own dares to pull at my lips until his eyes rest upon them.

"Just beautiful," I snide, each syllable drenched in sarcasm. "The birds are chirping, the people are smiling--"

He tilts his head to the side mockingly as if to consider a newfound discovery. "It's almost like...I'm perfectly capable of ruling."

"The people seem to believe you're more than capable. They think you're just the best."

"Mm. Do they now?"

"Oh yeah. You didn't hear? It turns out 'Odin' is a damn saint. After I took a look around, made a few friends, I had to sit on it all for a few extra minutes. I found myself deep in thought asking, you know, the big questions...like am I going absolutely insane? Am I actually certifiably mental?"

"Oh, don't stop," he rasps, intoxicating himself with every part of me but my eyes.

"Because if everything around me were true, it would mean that the same man who tried to take over all of Earth with an alien army at his disposal is now the same man who rules over Asgard where the economy is basically just mass exchanges of poetry for bread. But we have greater problems here than the people starting to accept compliments as currency. If everything around me is true, it would mean that I can't kill you just yet. Because Asgard is actually flourishing under you! Just fucking thriving!"

He hums absentmindedly, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as if he were listening to my words instead of whatever was so interesting on my jaw.

I throw my hands up at my side as I go to speak again with the rage that still lingers just as loudly, but when I consider the body in front of me for more than a second, my face falls just as fast. I wave my hands in front of his face, but his eyes have been busy smiling down at my lips as if they were speaking to him in a language only he understood. "You didn't hear a thing I just said."

He lazily raises his head after a few seconds and he doesn't look the least bit concerned. "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

I blink up to him twice before a smile slowly grows itself across my face. My lips work hard to keep in the laugh that wants to burst from my mouth as one of his eyebrows almost challenges it to come out.

He narrows his eyes into mine. "Well don't smile like that. It makes me want to be mean to you more."

I push into his chest with both hands and walk past him, a bit of the laugh escaping my lips during the impact. "You're driving me fucking insane."

"Can you stop walking away?"

"No."

"What do you want Safiya? Would you prefer something a little more mundane now? How about a long, rousing discussion about truth, honor...patriotism?"

I turn back and push him up against the wall by his throat as he screams "God Bless America!" shamelessly into the air for everyone to hear.

"You know, they hate you down there too."

"I love how you already see Midgard as below you," he growls before flipping me over so my back hits the wall. A gasp leaves my mouth from the impact and he seems to take a moment to drink that in.

"What are you planning?" I whisper, hoping the silk from my own words make their way between his parted lips and convince him to spill his soul for just a moment.

He slowly drags his teeth against his bottom lip, looking at me with a gleam in his eye that seems rather amused by the thought that I would ever think he would tell me so candidly. The way he released his lip with such smooth and careful concern captured all of the attention, and if it hadn't been for the subtle, added pressure of his hand on my arm, I probably wouldn't have noticed he was speaking again.

"I thought you'd tell on me by now."

"Did you really?"

He seems to consider something before speaking again, choosing his words carefully. "You're a hard read."

The corner of my lips quirk up for just a second before I move my eyes from his lips to the depths of his eyes. "What did you say? 'We're not done with each other yet?'"

His eyes beamed into mine, glazed over with some kind of tantalizing appreciation for the great inconclusiveness about us.

As we standoff, it's clear nothing about last night was enough. We left with hundreds of unanswered questions, a burning resentment for each other that could ash whole countries, and a rather persistant itch that we thought we had scratched.

That look follows his hand as it moves to inspect my jaw, the sides of my neck, pulling gently at my shirts neckline to see more of my collarbone. He assesses the areas for quite some time, looking at all the places he had paid close attention to—what he had sucked on, what skin he had dragged his teeth across. When his eyes rise to meet mine again, they look thoroughly conquered by an emotion I cannot quite pinpoint. It wasn't necessarily controlled.

"You're healed," he grins, keeping his eyes locked on mine. He moves his hand down to my inner thigh as his long, expressive fingers start to lightly trace the cut Sif left. "You could have just asked me for more."

I still for a second as his fingers finish their circle around the slash, but he keeps them there, resting against the skin. We seem to stare blankly at each other for a moment too long before he brings his face closer to mine.

"Can you still feel me between your legs?" He whispers darkly, sultry, as if he already knew the answer.

The question caught me by surprise. So did the way my knees started to feel weak again.

He looks down at me like he was considering eating me whole. "Do you know how hard it is to shake the feeling of you around me?" His eyes fall dangerously to my lips. "I can still taste you every time I close my mouth."

The weight of his stare nearly threatened the words back down my throat, but there was something in the directness of his voice that was so vulnerable, and I would not allow myself to waste any opportunity to use it. "Don't torture yourself."

He huffs once through a laugh of despair, his mind seems lost to his own cloud of lust. "I thought that was your job?"

I couldn't help but grin as his fingers start to move again, each muscle battling their own resistance to go any higher. I am well aware I'm playing with fire, but I walk into his hand anyways as he starts to play with the rim of my shorts. I trail my cheek against his jaw and move my head up to reach his ear, his stubble grazing all the way down my throat until he is practically nuzzling into the crook of my neck like a cat. "Careful, Loki," I whisper, relishing in the restraint of his velvety lips as they brush over the skin of my throat. "It looks like I'm winning."

He groans into my neck as he lifts his head, scratching the side of my face with his stubble before taking my jaw roughly in his hand. He runs his glazed eyes along the bone, grinning to himself before sharing his thoughts. "I could snap your pretty neck right now."

"Are you sure?" I whisper back before feeling one of his fingers brush itself lazily, almost absentmindedly against my cheek. I look to the side of my face, prompting his heavily hooded eyes to follow. "Your sentiment is showing."

He laughs wickedly, darkly to himself as his fingers start to drip down my neck. My eyes widen with a smirk playing at my lips, watching him consider my throat like it were a test of his own strength. I give myself a second to breathe before he grips tightly once around my throat, releasing me a few seconds later.

He draws closer to my face, his grin teasing my parted lips as hovers for a second over my mouth."We start tomorrow," he whispers hoarsely before moving to kiss me slowly and threatening on the cheek, drawing a breath from my lips. "Please do try not to kill anyone in the meantime. Blood leaves a horrid stain."

And with that, he backs up, giving me a once over before starting down the hall. I take my time coming off the wall, left a bit speechless, but also just a bit more powerful. It seems he does have one weakness that he has done an awful job at keeping hidden.

At the sound of my footsteps walking the opposite way, yet matching the pace of his, I couldn't help but wonder what the walls would sing if we ever marched down the halls together.

His deep, husky voice answers me with a subtle elegance that could persuade me it was the answer itself.

"Have a good night love," he throws over his shoulder before turning the corner, leaving me and the walls to ourselves.

"I hate you," I drag, knowing full well no matter how low I speak, he will hear me. Though, I don't know which one of us needed to hear that more.