She found herself slipping back into her normal facade rather easily, just as quickly as her king had slipped from her grasp. Vila bunched her hands in her skirts, tucking one foot behind the other and kneeling down into a curtsy before him. She had clearly disrespected her king, speaking so boldly, why had she even considered such a thing, that such a moment of intimacy was something more than a clever ruse of her master made to test just how bold she had indeed become in his absence.
Dropping her head low, refusing to meet the condescending gaze of her master, the veela backed off slowly, rising from her curtsy and gathering her skirts into a tight, nervous hold. This was quite unlike her, she mused, to be so bold and brash and selfish and to be played so easily into her master’s whims, even, if at this point in her life, that is what she believed she existed for, the whims of her king and the assistance of his ascension to the throne.
Vila kept a straight face, stood tall as she could with shoulders unarched, unafraid, keeping a respectful distance from Loki and a dignified posture about her, showing no surprise or disdain at the current change of events. The nymph ceased biting her lips, and instead began to roll the bruised flesh between her canines, flushing the area pink again with blood.
“Please forgive my assumptions, sire, they were quite brash and I was clearly out of line. I have no reason to believe I have a say in your affairs, you are correct my king, I am nothing but a servant. Shall I leave you to your plans now?” Vila was hesitant, she was walking on thin ice as it was, to upset her king again, no matter what sort of past she had with him, would certainly mean punishment. Any punishment the God of Mischief could muster left her terrified in so many more ways than an Asgardian justice ever could.
“Planning in safety is not time wasted, sire, however both Asgard and soon Midgard will be crawling with those out for your head. Might a servant advise you to move to a new location soon, my King?” Vila downturned her head once more, ducking into that familiar curtsy as she advised her lord of a more … careful plan of action. Not that her second sight was not fogged by a certain figure, she could see clearly the threats that faced them, both those on Asgard and those in transit to meet them here on Midgard. It would be time to move again, soon.
She listened to his musings carefully, remembering again the snippets of hurt flashing upon her master’s face, the moments of tension she had witnessed through visions between the Allfather and his adopted son, the moments through his battle with the Avengers, the insecurity and loneliness that played on his face. Vila let it slip, she should not have, but she did, just a simple mumble, but a statement she would wish to take back nonetheless. “I did, sire. I missed you.”
He knew he’d wronged her. Loki knew full well that his harsh behavior was entirely unnecessary, only hurting them both even more. Vila did not deserve to be treated so harshly, especially after she’d sacrificed so much for him. The trickster was aware of that, but his pride and humility made him silent, giving no room for apologies.
But as the veela spoke, Loki frowned, letting a tense sigh hiss through his teeth as he glanced to the side. His viridian gaze dropped to the floor momentarily, then flicked back at the oracle. No. He could not risk losing her. He had nothing, no one, besides her. Sometimes a little embarrassment was necessary.
“Leave me be.”
Again, he spoke without thinking. Fool, he cursed himself silently, glaring at the floor. Loki hated himself for it all. He only made more trouble, always. There was not even a family left to love him. At least, that was how he certainly saw things.
But her last words came as a surprise to him, making him draw his gaze back towards Vila. She had.. missed him? Even after what the two had gone through together, hearing such a phrase sounded strange to the Asgardian’s ears, especially after having endured such cruelties without her.
He did not wish for her to leave his side, after all.
Without thinking, he stepped forth, grabbing her by the arm, his grip unnecessarily tight. He did not want her to go, he did not want her to speak to anyone else but him, he wanted her and her alone.
“..Forgive me. I have been cruel to you, as of late. I’m afraid after.. these past ordeals, my mind has not been in the best of shape. I am sorry.”
Why was he acting in such a way towards a mere servant? Part of him asked himself that very inquiry, but Loki had begun to realize that there was more to their situation than simply them being a vassal and a lord, so to speak. They each had their own strengths and weaknesses, and, no matter how one would put it, he needed her. And so, the trickster loosened his grip, gently releasing her. He had so much still to learn.