Chapter 7 : THE FROZEN THRONE
The mirror showed Loki's face.
Loki studied it in the early morning light, tracing features that had become familiar over twenty-four impossible hours. High cheekbones. Green eyes. Skin that looked Asgardian but wasn't—skin that could turn blue with the right trigger, or the wrong touch.
He raised his hand and concentrated.
The transformation came easier now. Blue crept up from his fingertips, spreading across his palm, crawling toward his wrist. The color was deep, almost luminescent, marked with raised lines that formed patterns his academic mind wanted to catalog and study.
Frost Giant heritage markers. Probably hereditary, possibly indicating lineage rank.
He let the blue spread further—past his wrist, up his forearm, approaching his elbow. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. Cold, yes, but a comfortable cold. Like returning to a room set at the perfect temperature.
In the mirror, his reflection was half-monster, half-prince.
No. Not monster. Different species. Different biology. The Asgardians' prejudice against Frost Giants is cultural, not logical.
He released the concentration, and the blue receded like frost melting in sunlight. Within seconds, his arm was pale again—the disguise that had protected him since infancy reasserting itself.
Odin's spell, probably. Or Frigga's. Someone bound this transformation when they adopted me.
He flexed his fingers, watching the muscles move under unmarked skin. Yesterday on Jotunheim, a Frost Giant had grabbed him during the chaos of retreat. The contact had been brief—just long enough for his skin to shift colors before he pulled away. No one had seen.
But I felt it. I know what I am now, not just intellectually but physically.
A knock at the door interrupted his examination.
"My prince?" A servant's voice, hesitant. "The All-Father requests your presence in the throne room."
His stomach tightened. "When?"
"Immediately, my prince."
Loki pulled on clothing—green and black, the colors that Loki's memories associated with identity. The horned helmet sat on its stand, gleaming in morning light. He ignored it.
Odin wants to talk. About yesterday, about Thor, about what happens next.
Play the grieving brother. Play the loyal son. Don't give him any reason to suspect.
The palace corridors felt different this morning. Quieter. Servants moved with their eyes down, avoiding his gaze. Guards stood straighter when he passed, their expressions carefully neutral.
Word had spread. Thor's banishment wasn't a secret.
The throne room loomed ahead, its golden doors standing open. Einherjar lined the walls in formal positions. Frigga sat to the left of the throne, her face composed but pale. And on the throne itself—
Odin looked old.
Not elderly—Asgardians didn't age like humans, didn't show their millennia through wrinkled skin and bent spines. But something had shifted in the All-Father's bearing. A heaviness that hadn't been there yesterday. A weariness that seemed to press down on his shoulders like physical weight.
Loki crossed the chamber and knelt before the throne. The formal gesture came automatically—Loki's muscle memory serving its purpose.
"Father."
"Rise." Odin's voice was rougher than usual, stripped of its commanding resonance. "We have matters to discuss."
Loki stood, keeping his expression carefully neutral. Frigga's eyes found his—a flicker of concern, a question he couldn't answer publicly.
"Your brother's exile will last until he proves himself worthy of Mjolnir." Odin shifted on the throne, and Loki noticed his grip on Gungnir tightening like the spear was the only thing keeping him upright. "Until that time, Asgard remains without an heir apparent."
Here it comes.
"I understand."
"Do you?" Odin's single eye fixed on him with uncomfortable intensity. "You accompanied your brother to Jotunheim. You participated in an invasion that nearly restarted a war dormant for a thousand years. You stood beside him as he defied my direct command."
"I went to protect him."
The lie tasted like copper, but it was close enough to truth to pass inspection. He had gone to observe, to position himself, to experience the heritage revelation on his terms—but he'd also ensured Thor survived the encounter.
Odin studied him for a long moment. Something flickered in that ancient eye—calculation, perhaps. Or something deeper.
"You've changed," the All-Father said finally. "Your mother noticed it first. Heimdall confirmed it. Even I can see the difference."
Careful. Very careful.
"Watching my brother fail has been... clarifying."
"Has it." Not a question. "And what clarity have you gained?"
That I'm not actually your son. That everything I thought I knew about this family is built on lies. That the original Loki spiraled into madness when he learned the truth, but I refuse to follow that path.
"That power without wisdom is dangerous. That Thor's greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. That Asgard deserves better than a king who starts wars for pride."
Frigga's breath caught slightly. Odin's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air between them—a recognition of words that cut closer to truth than expected.
"You speak of your brother's failings," Odin said slowly. "Do you speak also of your own?"
"I have many failings, Father. But recklessness isn't among them."
"No." Odin rose from the throne, and the movement cost him—Loki could see the strain in his shoulders, the way his hand trembled slightly on Gungnir. "Recklessness was never your sin. Yours was always something colder."
The words hung in the air. Loki felt his jaw tighten but kept his voice level.
"And yet I'm still here. Still loyal. Still standing before you while Thor learns humility on Midgard."
"Are you loyal?"
"Have I given you reason to doubt it?"
Odin descended the throne steps, each movement deliberate and heavy. He stopped close enough that Loki could see the fatigue etched into his face—lines that hadn't been there yesterday, shadows under his eye that spoke of sleepless hours and difficult decisions.
"You've given me many things to wonder about, Loki. Your sudden calm. Your willingness to join Thor's foolish expedition. The way you stood in Jotunheim, surrounded by Frost Giants, and showed no fear."
Because I'm one of them. Because the cold that terrified everyone else felt like home.
"Fear is a choice," Loki said. "I chose not to make it."
"Did you." Odin's eye narrowed. "Or did something protect you that protected no one else?"
The question landed like a blade—precisely aimed, designed to draw blood. Loki felt his pulse quicken but kept his face still.
He suspects. He's always known what I am, and now he's testing whether I know too.
"I don't understand your meaning, Father."
A long pause. Odin's gaze bored into him, searching for cracks in the mask, for tells that would betray hidden knowledge.
Then the All-Father turned away.
"Perhaps I'm seeing shadows where there are none." He climbed back to the throne, and each step seemed to drain him further. "Go. Attend to your duties. The realm requires stability while Thor is absent, and stability requires the appearance of normalcy."
Loki bowed—the formal gesture, the obedient son. "Yes, Father."
He was halfway to the door when Odin's voice stopped him.
"Loki."
He turned.
"Whatever you're becoming..." Odin's voice was barely above a whisper, exhaustion bleeding through royal composure. "Remember where your loyalties lie."
With Asgard. With Frigga. With the brother who doesn't know he has one.
Not with you, old man. Not anymore.
"Always, Father."
He walked out of the throne room with measured steps, feeling Odin's gaze on his back until the golden doors closed behind him.
Frigga caught up with him in the corridor outside.
"That was dangerous," she said quietly, falling into step beside him. "He's suspicious."
"He's always suspicious of me."
"Not like this." Her hand found his arm, squeezed gently. "Something's wrong with him. Did you see it?"
The fatigue. The trembling. The way he could barely stay upright.
"The Odinsleep," Loki said. "It's coming."
Frigga's eyes widened. "How do you know that term?"
Because I've studied Norse mythology for four years. Because I've watched movies about your family. Because I know exactly what happens next in this story.
"I've read the histories. The All-Father enters a regenerative sleep when his power depletes. It's been centuries since the last one, but the signs are there."
"You're right." Frigga's voice dropped lower. "He's been pushing himself too hard. The confrontation on Jotunheim, Thor's banishment, the spellwork to bind Mjolnir—it's draining him faster than he can recover."
Which means regency. Which means power.
And which means opportunity.
"How long?"
"Days. Perhaps hours." Frigga's grip on his arm tightened. "If he falls into the Sleep while Thor is exiled..."
"I become regent."
The words hung between them. Frigga's face showed a complex mixture of emotions—concern, calculation, something that might have been hope.
"Would you accept the responsibility?"
The original Loki used the regency for revenge. For schemes. For a confrontation with Laufey that nearly destroyed both realms.
I have different plans.
"Yes," Loki said. "I would."
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