"What do you think about becoming my slave?"
"..." I froze, my fork hovering midway to my mouth, and stared at her in disbelief.
"What?" I managed to utter.
Freya leaned back in her chair, a playful smile curving her lips. "You heard me," she said as if it was a normal request. "I want you to be mine, Loki. My protector, my confidant, and yes... my slave."
I take back everything good I thought of her.
She was as screwed in the head as Alvara!
I carefully placed the fork down on the porcelain plate. "With all due respect, Your Highness," I said, forcing my voice to remain neutral, "I don't believe that was part of our arrangement."
Freya chuckled. "Oh, Loki, you intrigue me. You carry yourself like a warrior, yet you possess the grace of someone who's accustomed to being admired. You're clearly hiding something, but I don't mind secrets—so long as they belong to me."
"I don't think you understand…I am here to protect you, not to serve as your property."
