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The last three weeks have been a blur of rage and grief for Calev.

Working himself to the bone with training from dawn 'til dusk. Tossing and turning and getting no sleep at all by the time the sun rises for him to begin it all over again.

Though he tries to form ties with his fellow soldiers, he is still the outsider who has lost everything. The stranger who has little to lose and everything to gain. They're right not to trust him. He wouldn't have trusted someone like him.

Though he is surrounded by the other warriors for most of his waking hours, he is alone.

Though he tries to devote himself to those gracious enough to give him and the few other survivors refuge, he wishes he could just lie down and let the world go on without him, just like Corinna has seen fit to do.

He can hear her sobs through the walls but can't quite bring himself to go and grieve at her side. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

She is not alone. He knows that Melinoe spends most of her day with her and never before has he quite appreciated his cousin's presence until now. She is able to do what he cannot.

The sword being knocked from his hand brings him back into the present. Sheepishly, Calev apologises to his sparring partner and picks up his blade to begin again.

"Concentrate," a passing overseer snaps.

Begin again.

That's what they should be doing, but the past lingers, and the trauma of their losses is still raw. Like a weeping wound torn across his chest. Burning up with infection. Demanding to be acknowledged.

Calev blocks the swing of his opponent's sword and counters with a slash of his own. The effort is weak.

By the time they finish, Calev is dripping with sweat. His cheeks are flushed with exertion, his muscles ache, and his eyelids droop with fatigue. It's only noon, but three weeks of little sleep and increased training is taking its toll.

As he's taking a long-needed gulp of water, a small hand folds gently over his armoured shoulder. The same battered armour he'd worn during the ambush. When he turns, his eyes focus upon Melinoe and her pale expression of worry.

"You should rest," She says to him, her hand dropping back to fold inside her other. Now she looks at him more closely, that worry gives way to a deep frown. "You need to rest, cousin."

"I'm fine," He replies, taking another swig of water. "What're you doing down here anyway? Shouldn't you be tending to Corrina?"

"Your sister is asleep," She says, confirming what he already assumed. "I thought I might explore Asgard a little seeing as we're going to be here for quite some time." She shrugs her narrow shoulders.

"Yes," he lowers the water, "I suppose we are."

"Yes," Melinoe squeezes her fingers, letting herself hope for just a second that maybe, just maybe, at least one of the two siblings want to avenge the fallen, "unless you want to do something about it."

Calev's throat bobs and he glances away with immediately glassy eyes. A blurring vision ready to shatter at the lightest tap.

"We can't," He tells her.

"We can. You just don't want to," She accuses, her words stabbing right into his stomach.

When he turns back to her, the fire in her is roaring. Calev sets down his water and takes a step towards her. His hands rest on her shoulders, sticky and hot from his training.

"There is nothing for us to go back to now. Going back to Valens would be suicide. We have no army and we have no means of defeating the invaders." He grips her shoulders tighter, gaze boring intently down into her, trying to find her through the burning anger. "We can't do anything, Mel. I know that pains you. It pains me too, but we were lucky enough to escape with our lives. Don't you think we ought to try to begin again?"

She blinks away hot tears and straightens her posture. Calev's hands drop away.

"You're right," She says quietly, though he is not blind to the heat of her fire. "I'm sorry for being cruel, cousin, truly."

He manages to smile thinly, though it is warped in sadness. "Don't be sorry. Now, move along. I'm sure you have better things to do than stand here and watch me train."

"Yes, of course, Your Grace." She bows her head.

The kindness in his eye goes rigid and shifts. The winds of winter sweep in and collect within his irises in an instant. His grief is just as viciously angry as hers. Only his is hidden behind a mournful façade, running between shadows as his hollowness takes hold.

"Don't call me that," He snaps coldly. "You know as well as everyone that I abdicated my title for Asgard's refuge."

"I apologise," She says, taking a few steps back. "I'll see you at dinner, cousin."

He nods his head stiffly, but a flicker shoots through his expression and a hand suddenly grips her by the wrist, preventing her departure.

"You will not ask these same questions of my sister. Is that understood?" He orders, despite his lost title. The fury in his eyes raises a fire tall enough to rival her own.

"I won't," Mel replies, her voice thick in her throat. "She doesn't need that kind of stress right now."

In her mind, all the times that she's done exactly what she's claiming she won't replay, but there isn't a single part of her that regrets them.

Calev nods once again and releases her from his iron grip. He stands and drinks the remainder of his water as he watches the little maid scamper away, rubbing her reddened wrist, until she makes her way back inside the golden walls out of sight.

-

-

Melinoe is not afraid of her cousin. As one of only two family members he has left, she doubts he would cause harm to her, but that rage in him tells an entirely different story.

It sings the tale of a man who has lost almost everything, including his hope, honour, and title. He is just a man now. He is not a Prince; let alone the King of Valens he should've become the day his mother and father fell.

She runs her fingers over the red lines on her wrist. He is just a man losing himself to grief.

Lost just like his sister who wanders through her life as a shell of the woman she once was.

It's as if both died alongside their parents that day.

Wrist already bruising, Melinoe wonders whether it would've been better for them all if they truly had.

But that thought is quickly pushed away. They are all the family she has left. If they'd died too, she'd be entirely alone in this foreign world. With no one to stand beside her as she navigates this new reality.

The reality where she is suddenly second in line to the throne of a devastated planet.

The realisation of her new prominence has her halting in her step. Second in line compared to three weeks ago when she'd not even been within touching distance. The cousin is never a serious consideration. But now, she is close enough to touch the title that could be her own. The title that now belongs to Corinna Col.

Queen Corinna Col, she supposes.

The frustration with her cousin bubbles up again. She must know that she is the new Queen of Valens and yet she remains in her chamber day and night. Sleeps away the day while her home drowns in the ashes of what once was.

Maybe when she's better, when the grief doesn't consume her as it does now, Corinna will wake up to her title and embrace it.

She will realise that Valens is rightfully hers.

She will realise what she needs to do and will act in accordance.

Until then, Melinoe will wait, though she's not certain how much more waiting for action she can do before it falls to her to do what is right.

"You are from Valens, I assume," A calm and collected voice asks from behind her.

Melinoe whips around on her heels to meet the face to match the voice and is forced to concede a step backwards in her surprise, her body hitting into the stone windowsill behind.

"Yes," She confirms, meeting his eye in a mark of respect for the Prince who, for one reason or another, has directly addressed her. Whatever his reason may be, she assumes from the glinting in his green eyes that it's nothing honourable.

"I thought so," He says, nodding his head. His confident aura is unmistakable. "I hadn't seen you around before. Well, not before Valens fell."

"My cousins and I are eternally grateful for your refuge." She bows her head and, when she lifts her gaze once again, she finds he's taken a few more steps down the empty corridor towards her.

"And you are?" He questions, his dark brows raising.

Surely, he'd heard of those who had escaped the fate of Valens and come to Asgard for aid. Or maybe he just doesn't know exactly which of the two royals she is.

This is a chance for a new perception to be made of her. A chance to break out of the shadow she's always been boxed into as the inferior to Corinna. The girl who should feel lucky to be given the position as personal handmaiden to the Princess.

"Melinoe Hawthorne," She answers, her voice carrying with confidence to mirror his. As if she'd absorbed it straight from his aura and taken it for her own.

A slick smile strays onto his mouth as he extends a hand to her.

"Loki Odinson," He introduces as her dainty hand slides into his and they clasp palms, shaking hands.

He has little need to introduce himself. They both know it. Mel has witnessed enough court politics to know this is a move of asserting dominance and she doesn't appreciate it.

Her teeth clench together behind her smiling mouth and her hand slides away from him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, but Corinna requires my attention. I should get back to her." The longer he looks at her, the more her polite smile strains.

"Very well," He replies, stepping out of her way and extending his hand out for her exit down the corridor.

Melinoe gives him one last respectful bow of her head for good measure before she strides off down the hall, eager to put distance between herself and the infamous god of mischief and lies.

-

1798 words
14.5.19

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