A ray of sunlight warmed Loki's face as he ate breakfast with his parents, Queen Frigga and King Odin, within the impressive dining hall of Asgard Palace.

The heat would normally bother him, but after spending so much time in Jotunheim as the new king and braving nothing but freezing temperatures, he was grateful for the sun's warmth. However, as he idly basked, fully absorbed in the soothing sensation, he was interrupted by more of his father's sage advice.

"Gaining the title of king is only the start of becoming a great ruler; you must also demonstrate proof of your emotional maturity."

Odin took a sip from his golden goblet, quenching his parched throat while expecting some sort of engagement. But when silence ensued, he gazed at his son from across the table and noticed right away that he wasn't paying attention.

Agitated with the lack of conversation, Odin abruptly slammed his goblet down, causing Loki to jolt out of his hypnotic trance and awkwardly sit up in his chair. He peered sheepishly at his father in a more focused state of mind.

Satisfied that Loki was listening intently, Odin continued to impart his wisdom. "You must take a queen, Loki. If you do not have a bride, the realms will not take you seriously as a respectable leader."

As was customary whenever Loki paid a visit to Asgard, he attempted to calmly end the same repetitive topic.

"I don't need a woman posing as my wife to bring me respect, father. However, once again, I appreciate your consideration."

Odin sighed, having anticipated that his son would disagree with his wise counsel, but continued anyway, "Initially, it may feel as though she is being bought with the promise of high social status and wealth. An exchange for her loyal servitude in the form of a lifelong marriage to you, but perhaps over time, love will bloom. Don't you agree, Frigga?" Odin turned his focus to his queen, who was seated across the table.

She spoke softly, giving Loki a loving glance. "It is not unheard of for love to blossom from an arranged marriage, even after centuries; perhaps your father's success in finding a willing bride is the divinely orchestrated means by which you were destined to meet."

Loki responded with composure, restraining the urge to scoff at his mother's highly improbable statement.

"The gods have no one fated for me mother, let us not kid ourself. I have come to terms with my solitude, and will exercise sole dominion over Jotunheim. No amount of approval from the arrogant monarchs of other lands is necessary for me to feel confident in my ruling abilities."

"It is not about confidence, Loki," Odin Abruptly cut in, "We know you have an abundant supply. But it is about respect. You are my son and deserving of recognition."

"Loki, please, consider it," Frigga pleads.

Loki let out a long sigh as he slouched back in his chair, absentmindedly chewing on his bottom lip as he gave his parent's request significant thought.

It was not the first time they had brought up this topic, and admittedly, at first, Loki assumed it was a joke. But their efforts persisted with every visit to Asgard, and now the same monotonous speech seemed to wear him down. He surprisingly found himself contemplating it, and after a brief moment of careful deliberation, he voiced his concerns out loud.

"Would she live in Jotunheim? Most people can't tolerate the extreme winters. I would need to commission my people to craft her some opulent furs to keep her warm."

Frigga beamed; she knew that Loki would come around in the end. "Oh, I'm so happy for you!" She squealed.

Confused, Loki sat bolt upright and grumbled. "But I haven't agreed!"

Odin wholeheartedly laughed and affectionately patted his son on the back. "It sounds like a conclusion has been reached based on your mother's expression of joy. You don't want to dampen her excitement, do you, son?"

Loki's rational thinking urged him not to agree, but a glimmer of optimism had worked its way to the surface and was partly responsible for swaying his answer. Yet it was the gleam in his mother's eyes that made him relent. With a defeated expression on his face, he sighed heavily and leaned back against his chair.

Although he had always claimed to be accepting of his lonely existence, a tiny spark of hope that things wouldn't always be this way was hidden deep within him, and now he couldn't help but feel enthusiastic about his future with a queen.

~~~

After Loki returned to Jotunheim with the news that a queen would soon reside by his side, the council and palace personnel rejoiced. They moved quickly to have the royal quarters ready, with elaborate meals and costly hand-made gifts laid out as an indication of their desire to make her feel at home, regardless if she was a Jotun or not.

Seeing the excitement on his people's faces at the prospect of having a queen pleased Loki, and now he found himself thinking about the characteristics she possessed and what kinds of things she liked to do.

He mused over the idea of always having someone to talk to, sharing one another's dreams and aspirations, and simply enjoying each other's presence. And in spite of the nervous stomach he now had, he couldn't help but smile at the notion of travelling to Asgard to finally meet her.

Commuting by horse and carriage, he clutched in his hand the brooch he had personally designed depicting his crest: a serpent coiled into an infinity symbol, which stood for everlasting life and love. His talented artisans skillfully handcrafted it from pure Jotun silver and the most exquisite emeralds. However, right before it journeyed to Asgard with him, it was blessed by an elder Jotun, whose wisdom included foresight into some aspects of the future.

While she grasped the brooch, she purposely punctured Loki's palm with its sharp pin and drew blood. He was astounded when the tiny drop was swiftly absorbed by the metal, rendering a part of him forever intertwined with the jewellery.

Handing back the brooch, the elder Jotun proclaimed, "Only the one fated to hold your heart can wear this piece."

Loki carefully placed it into a small green box, intending to present it to his future wife at their first meeting. A token of his acceptance and desire for a successful marriage.

Travelling to Asgard felt longer than usual, partly because his mind couldn't stop the intrusive thoughts: What if she loathes me? What if she immediately disagrees the moment she sees me? What if I see her and instantly fall in love and it is not reciprocated?

He started to doubt everything and considered turning back as discouraging thoughts gathered in his mind. Yet his mother's voice of reason echoed in his head: "The gods made someone for everyone; your queen is out there." Her words revived the optimism inside him and brought it back to the forefront.

Asgard Palace soon came into view, and before long his carriage came to a halt right outside the royal entrance. With a shaky breath, he took a step out of the waggon, and with adrenaline high, he sprinted up the palace steps in eagerness, his little green box that contained the brooch held tight in his hand.

As he made his way down the royal corridors, a broad grin spread across his face at the sight of the entrance to the grand hall. The place of the arranged meeting

Hearing a woman's voice sent his heart racing as he approached and overheard discussions taking place through the slightly open door. He placed his palms against the door in preparation to push it open; however, the angry muttering of the word "Jotunheim" stopped him cold. He pricked his ears up and listened in on the heated discussion going on between Odin and two other people.

"I do not want to be associated with Jotunheim; I will take my title as princess of Asgard, but in no way will I ever be referred to as Queen of Jotunheim. I want nothing to do with that barbaric race."

"My daughter insists, we can't have her noble title of Lady tarnished. She'll have her own wing in the Asgardian palace to herself, far away from Loki, who must stay in Jotunheim."

"It is King Loki!" Odin interrupted sharply. "You will address my son by his birth title; he is not merely a commoner, and you, the father of the bride, will always refer to him as king, do you understand?" Odin's voice was commanding.

"Apologies, King Odin. I didn't mean to offend," Lord Sweely, a rich merchant with noble roots, replied.

"King Loki is aware that this is a prearranged deal, right? One that is purely symbolic. My presence and abilities as an influencer will improve his standing with the realms, while his wealth and status in Asgard will provide me with the life I deserve."

Odin was about to speak, but she continued her assertion. "I also have no interest in engaging in charity work or the political nonsense that would involve assisting the council members. I aspire only to live like a princess."

Odin, perplexed by her snobbery, quickly retorted, "Are you not aware that as a princess, your duty is to aid with charitable functions and offer considerable input on current realm matters and issues?"

She grimaced. "Well, I'd like to live the life of a pampered princess. Doing any kind of labour is something I flatly refuse to do. Oh, and when I have company around, I don't want to be bothered in my private quarters of the palace."

Deeply disappointed and feeling he had no other choice, Odin reluctantly accepted her terms. He wanted Loki to be honoured like any other king, and her being highly regarded as a noble influencer in the circles that royals often frequented meant he had to accept her conditions.

Yet, before meeting her, he had assumed that she would do her best to like and eventually love his son; however, it had now dawned on him that this was not the case. But at this point, it was too late. He had not only raised Loki's hopes up but Frigga's too, and in his haste and excitement to see his son married, he prematurely announced it to the realm's leaders. Retracting such a bold statement of betrothal would only serve to humiliate Loki, instigating further ridicule.

Odin had to agree; he felt forced to agree. And so he decided he would use her well-documented talent for spreading information and shaping the beliefs of those around her to Loki's advantage. She would use her new status as Loki's wife and a princess of Asgard to persuade the other realm's rulers that Jotunheim's king was not a barbarian and could be trusted with discussions of trade and other realm affairs.

Hurt was the first emotion that befell Loki, and while listening, he inadvertently clenched his green box so tightly that it crumbled in his hands, breaking the intricate brooch into two pieces. When he looked at his hand, he noticed blood surfacing from where the pin had pierced his skin. Now, feeling overwhelmed with not just hurt but disappointment and rage, he threw it to the floor. It rolled out of sight and under a small table that held a vase of flowers.

He abruptly turned around to leave, but a glimpse of his mother, beaming broadly as she made her way towards him, caused him to halt.

"Loki! You are early. Have you met her yet? She's lovely, isn't she?"

Loki furrowed his brow and wondered if she'd met the same woman he'd just overheard, as the snob he had just listened to had zero redeeming qualities.

"I have not met anyone, mother." The pain of rejection had rendered him numb, and his answer sounded almost robotic.

With excitement coursing through her body, Queen Frigga quickly took hold of Loki's arm and pulled him through the large golden doors and into the main hall. Once Loki and Frigga unexpectedly entered the room, Odin jumped to his feet, and the other guests followed suit.

Loki's eyes immediately went to his bride-to-be, putting a face to the voice he had just heard speak. Eyeing her from top to bottom, he noticed that her pretentious manners and ostentatious attire were a perfect fit.

She flashed her wealth in the form of fashion, jewellery, and almost clown-like makeup, which lightened her skin to a pasty white, accompanied by a bold lip colour. It was the current trend that had swept through the other realms and was now beginning to gain traction among the nobility of Asgard's female population.

Just a few weeks earlier, Loki recalled his mother complaining about the strange appearance of it and denouncing whoever started spreading such dreadful fashion over her realm.

Loki averted his gaze, unsurprised that he felt nothing but disdain for her.

"Ah, King Loki, I assume?" The man known as Lord Sweely stepped forward and offered a hesitant hand.

As Loki observed Lord Sweely's hand shaking, he knew the lord was too afraid to touch his skin, likely believing the rumours to be true. That at any moment he could transform into a murderous Jotun without control.

The cutting pain of rejection that Loki felt previously was quickly pushed aside and replaced with deviousness. He smiled wickedly at Sweely's terror and immediately took advantage of the situation.

Loki walked forward and reached across the big gap to shake his hand. But instead of simply shaking, Loki pulled him into a bear hug and pressed Lord Sweely's face into his chest. He purposely behaved and sounded overly enthusiastic when he greeted his apparent future father-in-law. "My dear father-in-law, what a fantastic day it is to meet you."

Loki, still holding him tightly, peered at Lord Sweely's daughter. "And you must be my bride." He attempted a smile, but it came out more like a sneer, making the woman nervous.

Carefully approaching, she introduced herself. "King Loki, I am Lady Magritte."

"A pretty name for such a pretty face." He bit back a chuckle, trying to keep a straight face while blatantly lying. Quickly, he pulled her forward, clutching both father and daughter in his strong arms.

Loki felt her squirm in irritation under his forceful embrace, and she quickly wrenched herself away while scorning, "You are rubbing off my expensive make-up!"

Frigga held in her need to giggle when she saw Magritte adjust her face by adding more ghostly white power.

"You have such lovely features; there really is no need for such excessive cosmetics," Frigga said.

Magritte looked at Frigga, offended. "This is all the rage I have, you know. And it is so popular because of me. I set the trend with my marvellous way of presenting it." She displayed a proud grin, but it shocked Frigga, as she finally found the culprit behind the awful new clown trend.

Magritte suddenly peered at Frigga with squinted eyes and examined her fine lines. "You could do with some powders; I have an even whiter shade to cover up those wrinkles. I will send you a gift basket. I'll have you looking youthful in no time. Just don't forget to mention my name when you receive the many compliments," she adds.

Odin looked down to contain his laughter, and Queen Frigga turned bright red, but she accepted Magritte's offer and replied, "Thank you, dear."

Loki immediately let go of the rat-like Lord Sweely and pulled Magritte into him, eliciting a squeal of fright and revulsion.

"It seems you have missed a spot. I can almost see the original shade of your skin. Your technique is a bit patchy." Loki spoke in a serious tone.

Her eyes widened in horror, and she jerked away, checking her appearance in her small compact mirror. "Where? My technique is flawless; I see nothing."

Loki was about to approach her to pin point exactly where on her face she lacked thick powder, but she held out her hands abruptly and warned, "We are unmarried, and thus being so close is inappropriate."

To appease Queen Frigga, she put on a phoney grin.

Loki nodded and grinned faintly. "Of course, marriage first, then intimacy later." He winked, relishing the gulp of anxiety she had just taken.

Magritte peered at Odin, appealing to him to remind his son of the contract's stipulations. Odin, noticing her startled expression, intervened instantly.

"Can I have a word, Loki?"

Loki knew Odin was about to take him aside and explain what he already knew—the sham marriage. However, he wasn't done taunting Magritte. He was in a playful mood, and it had been a while since he'd had the opportunity to let his mischievous side run wild on such loathsome targets.

Later, father, I feel a walk in the gardens is in order. It's a beautiful sunny day, and warmth and blue skies will be a rare treat when I cart my wife off to Jotunheim. The bitter cold and dreary climate are practically everyday occurrences in the ice realm. And I'd like to say it gets better, but it doesn't; our winters seem to be getting worse. But nonetheless, I will keep you toasty warm, Magritte, within my palace and between the sheets," Loki smirked.

Magritte instinctively put her palm over her mouth as though to stifle a nauseated gag. And the expression of outrage that appeared on her father, Lord Sweely's face, brought complete and absolute gratification to Loki.

"Have some decorum, Loki. You should save such comments for a private moment with your future wife." Frigga smiles, failing to recognise the sarcasm in his behaviour. She believes her son's expression of joy was genuine.

Sorry, mother, I'm just extremely excited to get my bride alone. Come, Maggy, may I call you Maggy?"

"I loath having my name shortened," she snapped, her face angry.

"My daughter loathes it!" Lord Sweely immediately asserted.

"Do you often parrot your daughter's words, Lord Sweely?" Loki mocked, but swiftly added, "Accept my apologies; I will do my very best to not shorten your name again."

Loki put his arm across his chest and performed a light bow as an act of repentance, but as he looked up at Magritte, he gave her a twisted grin, which caused her to shuffle back nervously.

However, now Frigga caught on to his sarcastic performance. She knew her son would never bow to a person unless it was done out of ridicule and mockery. Mischief almost always followed it.

Frigga's eyes narrowed, and Loki, sensing her focused gaze, turned to look at her with a sly smile on his lips, an idea popping in his head.