The garden wing was quieter than the rest of the academy, but I could still feel the whispers crawling after like smoke that refused to fade. Chains. Council. Punishnt. Power. The words clung, stitched into the corners of my mind.
And yet, here... sothing different pulled at .
Lanterns swung from wrought-iron hooks along the path, their light spilling over the gravel walkways. Roses blood in orderly rows, red and white, their scent heavy in the air. The sound of the fountain reached before the sight of it—water cascading over marble into a basin wide enough to catch moonlight.
She was there.
Freya sat at its edge, posture too careful to be casual. Her hands rested on her knees, fingers laced, but I saw the way her knuckles pressed white. The way her chest rose and fell, shallow and controlled, like soone rehearsing calm.
She was waiting for .
I stopped just beyond the lantern glow and watched her. Part of wanted to turn back, slip into shadows, vanish before she noticed. That would be safer. Cleaner.
But she lifted her head, eyes catching mine across the distance.
"You ca," she said. Her voice was quiet, but not surprised.
"Of course." I stepped forward. My boots crunched over gravel, announcing whether I wanted to or not.
Her eyes didn’t leave as I closed the gap. "They said the Council summoned you."
"They did."
"And you just—walked out?"
I smirked faintly. "Do I look arrested to you?"
She didn’t smile. "You look..." Her words faltered, eyes flicking over , searching. "You look like you’re carrying too much."
I stopped a step away, the fountain’s spray catching on my sleeve. The fireflies danced between us, golden sparks in the dark.
"You think you know what I’m carrying?" I asked.
Her lips parted. She rose from the fountain, slow, deliberate, as though every movent was a choice she had to make twice before committing.
"I know," she said softly. "That you pretend you’re untouchable. That you hide behind smirks and words and chains. But underneath... you’re breaking."
Her certainty dug deeper than any accusation could.
I should have laughed. Deflected. Said sothing cruel enough to drive her back. That was the smart move.
Instead, I whispered, "And what if I am?"
Her breath caught, visible in the cool night air. "Then let be there when you do."
Silence stretched between us. Too heavy. Too fragile.
Then—her hand lifted. Fingers brushed mine, tentative. Not a grab. Not a claim. Just the lightest touch.
I should’ve pulled away. I told myself to pull away. But I didn’t.
The chains stirred at my wrist, cold and alive, like they, too, were waiting to see what I’d do.
"Freya." My voice ca out low, rougher than I ant. "You don’t know what you’re asking."
"Yes, I do." Her eyes locked on mine, unwavering. "And I’m not afraid."
I swallowed hard. Sothing hot and unsteady swelled in my chest. Dangerous. Reckless. Alive.
"You should be."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I’m not."
Her fingers tightened slightly against mine, as if daring to break the contact.
I didn’t.
Instead, I lifted my hand and traced a strand of her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. My knuckles brushed the soft line of her cheek. She leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering half-closed.
My pulse hamred. My lungs felt too small.
And then—before I could think better of it—I kissed her.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t cautious. It was reckless, sharp, a leap I hadn’t ant to take.
Her lips parted against mine with a soft, surprised gasp—and then she kissed back.
Heat shot through , low and consuming. Her hand rose to my chest, curling into my coat like she needed to hold on. I slid my palm along her jaw, thumb brushing the smooth line of her cheek, then further, curling behind her neck.
Her body pressed closer, warm against mine, heartbeat quick as a rabbit’s beneath her ribs. Mine matched it, loud enough I was sure she could feel.
The kiss deepened.
Her lips were softer than I’d imagined, warr, alive in a way that undid . Every second felt stolen, forbidden, too much—and not enough. The taste of her breath mingled with mine, sweet and sharp.
The chains at my wrist stirred again, faint and cold, but I shoved them away. For once, they weren’t the ones binding .
I was bound to her.
When I finally tore back for air, my forehead rested against hers. Our breaths mingled, hers shaky, mine uneven.
Her eyes opened, glassy, shining in the lamplight. "Loki," she whispered. My na trembled in her mouth, fragile and certain at once.
I laughed, hoarse, unsteady. "This is dangerous."
"So are you," she murmured. Her lips curved faintly, trembling but brave. "And I’m not afraid."
I kissed her again.
Slower this ti. Lingering. A brush, a press, a savoring. She lted against , her body soft and sure in my arms. I pulled her closer, my hand sliding to the small of her back, feeling the heat of her through the fabric.
Her fingers slid higher, brushing my collar, tracing the line of my throat. The touch sent a shiver racing down my spine.
I deepened the kiss. She answered without hesitation, lips moving with mine, steady now, certain. Fire sparked low in my chest, spreading, consuming. Every inch of buzzed with her.
The world dissolved.
No Council. No whispers. No chains.
Only her.
When we finally parted, her breath shivered against my lips. She leaned into my palm, her eyes closed, her forehead still resting against mine.
"See?" she whispered. "Not everything has to be a ga."
Maybe she was right. Maybe.
But the kiss... the kiss was a move. A dangerous one.
And I’d taken it willingly.
She opened her eyes, pale blue burning with sothing I couldn’t na. "Then it’s my turn."
And she kissed .
This ti, I didn’t think at all.
The second kiss was different.
The first had been reckless, a storm I hadn’t braced for. The second was deliberate, hers, and that made it infinitely more dangerous.
Her mouth pressed to mine with certainty, not hesitation, and for a mont I almost forgot how to breathe. Her hand slid higher along my chest, fingers curling into the fabric near my throat as if she could anchor there, keep from slipping away.
She didn’t realize—I wasn’t the one slipping. I was falling.
The warmth of her lips burned through every layer of armor I’d built. My mind scread at to pull back, to rember the Council’s words, the whispers, the ga. But my body betrayed . I leaned into her, deepening the kiss, tasting the faint sweetness of her breath, letting myself drown.
The world narrowed. No roses, no fountain, no whispers. Just her.
Her other hand lifted, tentative, grazing my jaw, then cupping it as though afraid I might vanish if she let go. The touch was soft, reverent even, and it broke sothing inside I hadn’t realized was fragile.
I let my own hands roam—not far, not bold, but enough. One traced the line of her waist, the fabric warm beneath my palm. The other slid to the small of her back, holding her closer, feeling the tremor that rippled through her as she pressed against .
Her body fit against mine as if the space between us had always been a lie.
When she gasped against my lips, the sound shot through like lightning. I drank it in, the proof that this wasn’t just unraveling—it was both of us.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe her in. My forehead rested against hers, my thumb brushing the edge of her lower lip where I could still feel the ghost of her kiss.
Her eyes fluttered open. Pale, bright, unguarded.
"Loki..." she breathed. My na sounded different on her lips now. Not a question. Not a warning. Sothing else. Sothing that tied knots in my chest.
I swallowed hard. My voice was low, hoarse. "You don’t know what you’re doing."
She smiled faintly, her lips still parted, her breath warm against mine. "Yes, I do."
And gods help , I believed her.
The chains stirred faintly at my wrist, cold, a whisper of the bond that marked . A reminder that nothing was free, that nothing soft ever lasted. I should have listened.
But instead I kissed her again.
This one was slower, deeper, less fire and more gravity. Her lips parted to mine, yielding, searching, until I wasn’t sure who was leading who. Her breath shuddered into , carrying a piece of herself with it, sothing tender and unguarded that she’d never given anyone else.
I took it. Greedy. Starving.
Her hand slid into my hair, fingers threading through, tugging just enough to make groan low in my throat. The sound startled even , but she only pressed closer, as if she wanted more of it.
Ti fractured. Every second stretched.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, she stayed close—forehead against mine, her nose brushing mine, her lips hovering just a breath away.
I closed my eyes, let the weight of her sink into . For once, I let myself feel it. Not calculation. Not strategy. Just warmth.
"I should stop," I whispered.
"Then stop." Her hand stayed in my hair, anchoring . "But you won’t."
I huffed out sothing that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. "No. I won’t."
Her smile was soft, victorious. "Good."
And then she kissed again, quick and certain, as if to claim the truth of it.
I held her there in the garden, roses at our backs, chains at my wrist, the world waiting to devour .
But for that mont—for that fragile, stolen mont—it was only her lips, her touch, her heartbeat echoing against mine.
And I let it bind .
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