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Chapter Text

The sharp knock on the window startled Magnus so much he almost fell out of his seat. In his defence, it was a completely unexpected sound considering it was well after sundown—that and the fact that his rooms were on the third floor of a heavily guarded fortress. Bewildered, he walked over to the window and cautiously pulled back the heavy drapes. He was met with the face of Queen Loki’s son, Alex, whom he was fortunate (or perhaps unfortunate) to recently be acquainted with. The prince gave him a mischievous grin and motioned for Magnus to open the window. 

Magnus stared, eyes wide with exaggerated astoundment. “Prince Alex, I… was not expecting to see you so soon after the ball.”

Alex laughed knowingly. “Why are you remaining so courteous when I’m literally climbing in your window? I think we’re beyond that now.” 

This was not Magnus’ first close encounter with the Prince of Jotunheim, but he was still amazed by Alex’s utter disregard for social etiquette. Simple niceties like entering through the front door rather than the window to his private chambers. Alex pulled himself up to perch on the windowsill so they were face to face. Audacity was practically his middle name.  

“Well, while we’re on the subject of your needlessly dramatic entry—how on earth did you scale the wall? You would have to be some sort of spider to manage that. Perhaps a gecko.”

“I have my ways.” He jumped to the floor and lowered himself in a mocking bow. “Your majesty .” 

Magnus shut the window behind him to block out a gust of night air. “I wasn’t informed that you and your mother were staying in the castle.” 

“We’re not staying here. I’m hiding.”

“What is it? Is she angry that you couldn’t sit still during her five-hour war council meetings?” he grinned virtuously. “I will not aid and abet someone who doesn’t take his country’s affairs seriously.” 

“More like I don’t want to marry a duchess that I’ve never met.”

“Is this the same duchess you were complaining of last night?”

Alex had mentioned some rich unmarried aristocrat or another. Apparently, Queen Loki was quite determined to have her children married off posthaste. Her children had different ideas. 

“Not sure. Didn’t catch her name properly.”

“Dear me! You’re quite a terrible fiance, Prince Alex.”

“Oh Magnus, don’t be bitter just because I’m not your fiance.”

That one caught Magnus off guard slightly. He hoped very much that he wasn’t blushing.

“No clever comeback?” A victorious smirk formed on Alex’s face.

Magnus laughed, brushing him off cooly. “I can’t keep up that pretentious act. I don’t know enough big words.”

“Well, no need to get yourself worked up with jealousy.” Alex walked right past Magnus and threw himself onto the bed, putting his feet up. “I’ll have to hide out with you for a few days. By the time my mother realises I’m not in the carriage with her, it’ll be too late to turn back and I’ll miss my meeting with the Duchess.”

“That’s not a great first impression.” 

“Yes, it’s a shame. I doubt she’ll be keen to marry me after I stand her up.” A smug grin played upon his lips. “You have a nice room,” he said, surveying the ornate furnishings languidly. “Plenty of natural light from the south-facing window. I could get comfortable here.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Well of course you’re welcome to stay. Since you’re such a polite and respectful guest.”

His friend snicked and stretched his arms above his head, reclining onto the pile of lush blankets and pillows like an emperor. Relaxed, he shut his sharp, wily eyes. Magnus scoffed and walked towards the door to call for his chamberlain. 

“I’ll have Hunding make up the guest room for you.”

Alex sat up, alarmed. “No! No one can know where I’m hiding,” he insisted. “I’ll sleep in here, on the chaise longue.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I’m afraid it’s not very comfortable.”

“I’m not a spoilt baby. I can deal with it for a couple of nights.”

“If you say so,” shrugged Magnus. He reached for the bell. “Hunding can bring some blankets up instead.”

“Don’t tell him I’m here!” hissed Alex, making a skittish run for the curtains and ducking behind them.

Hunding appeared at the door as soon as the bell rang. He made an ineffectual attempt to straighten his hat which was on backwards—Magnus wagered that it had probably been like that for hours without him noticing. Trying to obstruct Hunding’s view of the Alex-shaped figure behind the curtain, Magnus requested some spare linen. 

“Your bed has already been made today, sire.” Hunding nodded contently as if to pat himself on the back for his own diligence. 

Magnus scrambled for a believable lie. “Yes, but, uh- it’s quite cold. In fact, I’ve narrowly avoided catching a chill these past few nights.”

“Heavens! I am sorry to hear your quarters have been unsuitable, sire. Perhaps there is a cold draught from the window? Allow me to check that it is properly insulated…” 

He started dutifully towards the window, reaching for the drapes. The colour drained from Magnus’ face.

“Oh no, Hunding, that’s not necessary! Just- um- I’ll be quite alright with an extra coverlet. Could you bring one up?”

Hunding nodded. “Ah. Of course, I’d be happy to.” 

He turned and headed back towards the door, adjusting his crooked hat again. Magnus let out a discrete sigh of relief. But to his chagrin, Hunding stopped in the middle of the floor, seeming to remember something. 

“Just one thing, sire—did you have a guest over earlier?”

Magnus stiffened, chewing on the inside of his lip. 

“I’m sorry to say I did not see them out when they left.”

“Um, no. Nobody has been here, Hunding,” said Magnus in a slightly strained voice. 

Hunding cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “Oh. Apologies—I must have thought I heard people speaking,” he chuckled. 

“No, no. That was just me. Talking to myself.” He stretched his face into his best ‘nothing to see here’ smile.

“Talking to yourself, sire?”

“Yup. I was, um, composing some poetry. You know me. Very passionate about…rhyming…and such.” 

Hunding gave him a concerned look, as if he was severely ill. Magnus scratched the back of his neck. His ears were going as red as the curtains. 

“Well then.” Magnus made a feeble gesture towards the door. “Don’t get distracted from your task, Hunding! Leave the extra linen at the door, I can lay it out myself,” he said cheerily through gritted teeth. 

The chamberlain snapped to attention, scrambling to stand up straighter and fiddle with his hat again. Magnus resisted the urge to reach up and fix the damned thing himself. 

“Of course, sire. Goodnight.” 

Hunding made a slapstick display of bowing so low that his hat fell off. He replaced it sideways this time and tottered out of the room. Magnus shut the door behind him, pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. 

“I didn’t know you had a flair for the literary arts,” snorted Alex as he emerged from behind the drapes. 

“Well, I’m just the refined, intellectual type. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Magnus said dryly.

Alex burst into a fit of laughter. “I mean, what kind of lie is that? ‘Oh, I was just composing some poetry. Typical Friday night’. I can’t believe you came up with that—” he had to lean against the wall for support as he gasped for air “—it’s hysterical! Who on earth is ‘passionate about rhyming’?”

“Hey! Don’t disrespect the supple medium of verse, you fool. Or I’ll make you sleep outside instead,” joked Magnus. 

“Fine by me,” snickered Alex. “I’d rather that than have to witness your prowess in the ‘supple medium of verse.’”

Chapter Text

The sliver of brash morning sunlight between the curtains managed to fall right onto Magnus’ drowsy eyelids. He made a little noise of demurral at being rudely awoken, rubbing his eyes. 

When he opened them, the first thing he saw was Alex’s face about five centimetres away from his.

Magnus bolted upright. “What on earth are you doing?” he spluttered. 

An utter disregard for social niceties like not sleeping in your host’s bed. Typical. Alex flailed his arm about, clumsily slapping Magnus in the face. 

“I’m sleebing. Shhh.” He buried his face into the pillow. 

“Not in my bed you’re not.” Magnus shoved his shoulder to wake him. “Hey. What happened to spending the night on the chaise longue?”

“I was uncomfortable.”

“Maybe I was uncomfortable waking up with you breathing on my face,” retorted Magnus, rolling his eyes. “And I specifically remember you saying you could deal with it.”

“I may have to take that back. Don’t worry, I put this barricade of cushions between us so it wouldn’t be weird.”

“Somehow, the fact that you thought of doing that makes it more weird.”

“Sorry,” shrugged Alex. “I won’t do it next time.”

Magnus gaped at him, face turning a little pink. “What- there won’t be a next time—”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Prince Magnus?” Hunding called softly through the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sire, but His Majesty King Frey and his guest Queen Loki of Jotunheim have requested your presence in the Grand Hall for breakfast.”

The playful smirk dropped from Alex’s face in an instant. He looked up at Magnus, eyes wide. 

“Oh, and the Queen asked that you bring Prince Alex with you as well.”

Alex shook his head and shot him a look that said don’t you dare answer that door. 

Magnus gave a gesture of defeat back. Well, what else do you expect me to do?  

Turning his back on Alex’s flurry of silent objections, he scrambled towards the door and opened it a crack. 

“Um. Prince Alex isn’t with me, Hunding,” he said in a totally convincing, and not at all suspicious manner.

Hunding shrugged, either unconcerned by Magnus’ agitation or simply oblivious to the entire predicament. Probably the latter.

“Her Majesty was quite certain you know where he is.”

“How long do I have to get ready?” Magnus grimaced, feeling a strong urge to kick something. 

“I’d say about four minutes, sire. They are already waiting for you,” said Hunding pleasantly. 

“Fantastic,” he grumbled, withdrawing into the room and shutting the door in the chamberlain’s face. “Well, I have good news and I have bad news,” he smiled grimly as he turned to Alex. “The good news is we have four minutes to get ready to face our parents. The bad news—”

Alex blinked, running a hand through his tangled hair. 

“I. Am. So. Dead.”

~

The presence of Queen Loki in the Grand Hall concocted a special sort of dread which simmered and surged in the pit of Magnus’ stomach.

Their footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, all the way to the King’s table at the head of the hall. Alex trailed behind him, head hung low. Besides their torturous walk to the gallows, the room was deathly still. Deathly silent. 

His father made eye contact with him, but not one of his harmonious, angular features moved a muscle. Not even a twitch of a greeting. He was an imperious statue, with his serene marble skin and silver-blonde hair falling lavishly around his shoulders. 

Loki exerted power over the room simply by being there. She was turned towards Frey as if in the midst of confiding a secret, but her sharp amber eyes flicked over to Magnus and Alex as they approached. A shiver ran through Magnus like a branch of lighting. They were almost identical to Alex’s, except there was a cruelty in them. Magnus wanted to avert his gaze, but he couldn’t. The Queen’s face seemed to shift whenever he looked away, wreathed by her copper hair in an intricate updo of knots and braids which gleamed like snakeskin. 

After what felt like a year-long journey, they stood before the table. It was Loki who addressed them first, not Frey. She gestured to two empty places set for them—more an order than an invitation. 

“Sit.”

Her voice was smooth but it had an acidic undertone to it. Magnus felt goosebumps rising on his arms, and wondered when the temperature in the hall had dropped so much. He glanced over at Alex, who didn’t meet his eye, lowering himself into his allocated seat. Magnus had never seen him so silent before—it felt unnatural. 

Frey smiled. A delicate ripple on a glassy lake. Its dilute warmth was artificial.

“I am impressed by your craftiness in evading the guards, Prince Alex. It seems we will need to make some improvements to our castle’s security.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

If Frey noticed the sarcasm in Alex’s voice, he did not react to it. The tension hanging over the table diminished a little. 

“Yes,” said Loki pointedly. “I certainly will be keeping my son under tighter watch from now on. I am sorry for his misdemeanour, Frey.” 

Alex scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced with a glare from his mother. Frey nodded severely. 

“I am ashamed that my son has played a part in delaying your journey,” he said, looking only at Loki. 

Magnus watched their stiff exchange with irritation. His father couldn’t even bother to direct his supposed disappointment towards him. Not that this was such a surprise. King Frey’s emotions were reserved for political advancement—not his children. Magnus wished they would just get to the point. Zoning out, he scanned the table laden with a great deal more food than the four of them could eat. He tore off a piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth, willing time to pass quicker. 

“...thankfully, If we leave right after breakfast we can still make it to Fensalir before nightfall.” Loki directed a sardonic smile towards her son. 

Alex did not appreciate the gesture. “Right after breakfast? No way, you can’t make me go!” He slammed his knife down with a furious clatter. 

“Alex,” she warned with a flash of seething wrath in her voice. “Now is not the time for one of your pointless outbursts.”

“I’m not going to Fensalir with you!” he spat, crossing his arms. 

“It is far too late to refuse your invitation now.”

“Fine. I’ll go under one condition—Prince Magnus can come with me as my companion.”

Magnus, who had been anticipating a screaming match, looked up with a startled expression. He glanced at Alex out of the corner of his eye. What are you doing? 

“What?” Loki laughed. “Oh Magnus, I’m so sorry he’s dragging you into this.”

Alex’s stubbornly defiant expression urged him to say something. Magnus coughed, (it was at this moment that a piece of bread became conveniently lodged in his throat). 

“Well- uh- if you are happy to take me, I will come.” He glanced uncertainly at his father. “It’s important for me as Prince to be acquainted with the sovereigns of neighbouring regions.”

Frey nodded at this, seeming pleased with his answer. 

“Yes, a good idea. Perhaps you can establish the potential for an alliance with the Duchess. Alfheim would benefit from a connection to the royal family of Asgard.”

Jumping at the opportunity to gain influence. Of course. Magnus tried not to look at him too disdainfully.

“Well, certainly Magnus is welcome to join us…” Loki sounded a little surprised that Frey had agreed. A few more drops of bitterness seeped into her voice. 

Alex grinned in triumph, eyes glinting like an entertained cat. 

“Brilliant. I’m so pleased everything worked out nicely,” he said, ignoring his mother’s ruffled expression. “Magnus and I will just pop upstairs to pack his things. Ta-ta. ”

He slipped out of his chair and grabbed Magnus by the arm, pulling him to his feet. Magnus gave a curt bow.

“Father. Your Majesty.” 

He avoided the vicious glare that Loki fixed the two of them with. 

~

“That was great, huh? Now you get to come on a little holiday with me.” 

Alex strode over to Magnus’ wardrobe and started rifling through his clothes. He practically spilled an entire drawer of shirts out onto the carpet, seemingly sorting them into a ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘absolutely not’ pile. Magnus chose to temporarily ignore the fact that Alex was severely crinkling them, and that someone would have to pick all this stuff off his floor later. 

“Well yes, but you’re still going to be engaged to the Duchess of Fensalir,” Magnus pointed out. He sat himself down, amply bewildered by this turn of events. 

Alex waved his hand, unconcerned. “I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.”

“Don’t you mean cross—”

“For now, my main obstacle is your lack of fashion sense.”

“My clothes are fine!” protested Magnus, adjusting his doublet a little self-consciously. 

Alex wrinkled his nose. “That drab getup is not fine. Out of all colours, you chose blue-grey?”

“And how is that your problem, exactly?”

“I can’t bring a plus one that doesn’t match my impeccable dress sense.”

Magnus snorted. He would probably describe Alex’s dress sense as ‘garish’ rather than ‘impeccable’, but each to their own.

“You probably shouldn’t bring a plus one to your own engagement at all.” He rolled his eyes but secretly, he was pleased that Alex considered him worthy of being his plus one.