The palace had been restored to its former glory. The throne room had retained its grandeur. The throne itself had occupied in it, Odin, the All-father. “Send in the prisoner.”
In the battle with the Dark Elves, the prisoner had murdered three royal guards, a few of the Einherjar, who were sworn to protect the crown. Such an act is treason.
The doors opened, creaking from the weight. The prisoner entered with their head bowed, their face and body covered by a dusty cloak. Behind the prisoner were four guards following in their wake, strikingly similar to that of Loki’s trial. Odin indulged in a smile.
The chains clinked as they came to a stop. He saw that the shackles were tight around the prisoner’s wrists. When all was silent, the All-father said, “Leave us.” The guards shifted, reluctant. “Leave us.” Odin repeated, this time with more finality. It was then that they did.
“Look at me.” He commanded.
The prisoner lifted their head, the hood dropped, allowing her golden locks to cascade and frame her face. “Amora,” He greeted.
“All-father,” She said levelly.
He smiled again as if concealing a secret. There was a green flash, of magic. Amora’s lips parted, realising.
“Hello,” he smirked. Loki was sat on the throne in front of her.
“Impressed?” He asked, still having hold of the sceptre.
She regained some of her resolve, “You’re meant to be dead.”
“I know, but death is serving me rather well.” He gestured around to the throne room. He clicked his fingers. They were now truly alone, even from the watching eye of the Gatekeeper.
His gaze seared into her, “That’s none of your concern…”
After a moment she said, “Let me out.”
“Why not?” Amora furrowed her brow.
“For the good of Asgard.”
She repeated the phrase incredulously then said, “Says the Frost Giant from Jotunheim.” He gritted his teeth and his jaw locked. She continued, “Or perhaps you’re doing this for Frigga. To make your dead mother proud, well it wouldn’t make any difference Loki – you’re still a monster!”
He dropped the sceptre and flew across the room, slamming her against a pillar. He held her by the throat.
Loki’s mouth was set into a snarl, his emerald eyes were sparkling with rage. Amora had the audacity to laugh. His fingers tightened, his palm pressed firmer against her flesh. Her eyes widened with unadulterated fear. After three seconds that seemed to last an eon, he dropped his gaze, then his hand, he turned his back, “You’re not worth it.”
She recovered, rubbing her throat. She forced a laugh out, “First time anyone has said that to me.”
“If you persist, it shan’t be the last.” Loki returned up the stairs to sit on his throne. He made an upward motion with his hand, the sceptre returned to his grasp.
“But really, why won’t you let me out? Imagine all the mischief we could cause…” She proceeded to pout.
Loki turned his head away, deep in thought. She walked forward and up the stairs to him. “When we were young, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.” She brought her shackled hands up to pull the tie that held the cloak around her. It pooled at her feet.
She reached over and took hold of his jaw, making him face her. She smiled as she watched him indulge to rake his gaze down her form; the seductive curve of her breast, her waist, her hips, and her flawless legs daring to come out from the slit in her skirt.
His gaze came back to hers. She stroked his jaw with her thumb, “You’d do anything for me…” He hummed in jest, remembering his own naivety, from long ago. His expression then changed, his mouth set into a hard line, “No,” He grabbed her wrist, “It is true, once I’d do anything for you, to achieve your approval, your affection. But today I say no.” He let go of her and through magic, transported her back to the bottom of the stairs, she was on her knees.
“So I am to rot in prison?”
He allowed himself to smirk, “If so, be it.”