Before we begin, I just want to thank all of you who are reading and reviewing. Your words and your time mean so much to me, and I can't thank you enough.

However, I find that I need to make the following announcement for several others: plagiarism is wrong. Stealing ideas is wrong. No, I do not own Loki or even really the idea behind this story (after all, it's pretty darn close to Beauty and the Beast and lots of other similar stories), but I have spent hours and hours writing this particular monstrosity, and I feel that gives me a bit of a right to be upset when I find that people are taking my words and claiming them as theirs. Plagiarism isn't always just copying and pasting. It's still plagiarism if you change only the names and the POV and the verb tenses. It's still plagiarism if you break it up into different chapters and add a different paragraph to my words here and there. I know that fanfiction is a notoriously murky place to deal with the lines between original ideas and plagiarism, but there's a difference between writing your own take on this concept and just tweaking my words to make them sound better (or to make them harder to Google).

I have been plagiarised more often since joining the Loki/Tom Hiddleston fandom than I ever have before, in over ten years (oh god I'm ancient!) of writing fanfiction. Twice now, kind readers have taken the time to comment or message me to tell me that another author is putting their name to this very story, with only a token attempt at changing it. It's true that I have no legal grounds to stand on in terms of fighting back, but ethically, it's repugnant. I came very, very close this last time to taking Captivation down and updating it only for myself. As it is, I have been hesitant to continue updating it here on .

If you are one of the two people I have had to contact about plagiarism, I hold no hard feelings towards you. You both have been wonderful as far as communicating with me and removing your versions of this story go. If you are still around, I am happy to have you as a reader. This is just a warning to others who might be tempted to do something similar due to ignorance about what plagiarism actually is. I know that people say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and, to a degree, it is weirdly pleasing to me that there are people who like this story THAT much, but it makes me physically sick when I see someone else get credit for all of the work that I've done on this story. Please don't do it. If you want to write something similar, I'd be happy to help you come up with something. Just...don't blatantly copy this story. It's kind of become my baby at this point, and I'm feeling rather protective over it.

But you're not here to hear/read me yammer on about this stuff: I know you're here for the story. So here we go.

You slept through the night as though Eir had given that sleeping draught to you instead of the prince, and when you opened your eyes in the cool grey light of the morning, you relished those few moments of peace before you remembered what had happened the night before. Loki had been so far from his usual, regal self—with his fits of rage, he was perhaps not necessarily the most dignified of princes at all times, but the stark contrast between the man you'd come to know and the...base creature writhing in his bed the night before was still chilling.

You turned your attention to the prince, but moved very little so as not to wake him. His bandages had held through the night, and he had bled through them in only a few places. His chest was rising and falling slowly but even that was enough to reassure you. He was still alive, then, and had not woken up in another fit. You wondered idly, in that strange place between wakefulness and sleep, whether he could have ripped himself apart last night. Worse yet, if he had set his mind to the gruesome task, could you have stopped him? You sighed to yourself and lifted your head to inspect his face, hoping that his color had returned.

But instead of his cheeks, your gaze fell on his eyes—they were open, and already fixed on you. Heat rose into your face as the two of you studied each other, and he reached to brush the fingers of one hand (with skin that was still chilled, though thankfully not icy as it had been the night before) against your cheek.

"My lady," he began, and his voice was rusty, disused, as though he had been silent for much longer than one night. You would have been alarmed (the silver-tongued prince speaking with a rasp in his throat?), were it not for the fact that he was lying beside you very much alive and well. "Did I dream, or did you bind my wrists with a stocking last night?"

His words, and the smile that accompanied them, fanned the flames in your cheeks and made you drop your eyes. "Forgive me, my prince. You—I was afraid that you were going to hurt yourself. I had to get the healer, and—"

But he placed one finger against your lips to silence you and, with a gentle but insistent touch, guided your eyes back up to his. He was teasing. Of course he was teasing. "I am feeling much better this morning, due to your quick thinking. Thank you, my lady."

You opened your mouth to remind him that it had been Eir who had saved him—Eir and her potions and mixes—but the door creaked open, and you looked up. Sindri tiptoed in, and faltered when she saw both of you looking at her. She curtsied as deeply as she could manage, weighed-down as she was with the heavy tray, but remained silent under the prince's cool scrutiny.

"This tea is from the Lady Eir," she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "I'm told you are meant to drink it all, both of you, to regain your strength." She cast an apologetic look in your direction. This poor child was an entirely different creature from the easy, charming Sindri you had come to know on your own. You could not blame her, of course: she was in the presence of the prince, after all. You tried to catch her eyes so you could offer her a warm smile, but she kept her eyes averted. Finally, she seemed to remember her assignment, and placed the tray on the stand beside the bed. She curtsied again, much more deeply this time, and started to back away from the two of you and out the door when Loki spoke again.

"Will you not share your lady's breakfast today?"

Sindri paled so fast you actually worried that she might faint, but you merely looked over at the prince. He was not smiling, but he was also not scowling, which...well, that was something, certainly. His face gave nothing away, and so you had no way of knowing whether this was an offense which would warrant some kind of severe punishment for the young servant or merely a raised eyebrow and a disapproving look. Either way, perhaps it would be best if you took the blame.

"Loki, we meant no harm. She is a growing child, and her labors are hard. I worry. And I insisted, every morning. Was she to refuse me? Please do not be angry with her." You knelt beside the prince on the bed in hopes of drawing his attention more fully to you. If he was going to lose his temper, it was much safer for him to lose it at you, and not at the servant who still hovered in the doorway. You could take it, whatever it was. You were starting to feel more secure in your position here: no one would send you away. If Sindri was expelled from the castle, where would she go?

But Loki just struggled into a sitting position and reached out one hand to finger the cloak which was still wrapped around your body. "Gentle pet," he said thoughtfully, hints of a smile gracing his face. "Is there any room in your heart for concern for your own safety?" He managed a smile that seemed to fall halfway between his smirks and the rare genuine smiles you had seen from him. The question, however, was absurd: how much time had you spent fearing for your life since your arrival at the palace? But you answered with a weak smile of your own. Loki turned his attention back to the girl. "Child. If I involved myself in the affairs of the servants, I would have little time for anything else."

Perhaps that was his way of assuring you both that your secret (such that it may have been) was safe.

"Are you hungry?" You asked her, after casting a glance in Loki's direction. He was leaning back against the pillows, apparently exhausted by the effort of merely speaking. That was worrisome. Sindri's eyes, however, did not waver from the floor as she shook her head vigorously. She curtsied so deeply it almost looked like she was kneeling.

"No, my lady, they feed us well in our quarters. Thank you, my lady. Will you require further assistance, or may I return to my other chores?"

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Loki interrupted. "I am very weak. I am not sure I will be able to lift my breakfast to my lips. You must stay and help me. Your other chores will be taken care of."

Once again, Sindri paled so fast that you worried for her health. But despite the way her hands trembled at her side as she straightened, she nodded slightly and approached the side of the bed. There could not have been a person alive who would have faulted the poor girl for her trepidation, given the prince's reputation. You looked at him with disbelief, and recognized a familiar glint there. He was teasing her. You groaned but played along.

"My prince, allow the girl to go back to work. If you truly cannot feed yourself, do not trouble her. I will feed you, sire."

There was a long pause. Some time ago, you might have feared the repercussions for speaking out against the prince, but knowing that it was a joke made it easier to be brave. Loki did not tear his eyes from yours as he addressed the girl standing beside him.

"How can I resist the offer of taking my sustenance directly from the fingertips of my lady?" He asked, curling the corners of his mouth into a smile. "Child, you are excused after all."

Sindri all but flew from the room, and when you were alone again Loki sat up to reach for his mug. "Do you think this is poison?" he asked, before taking a sip anyway.

"It is from the lady Eir, who has recently proven herself to be a great healer, so I doubt it." You raised your own tea to your lips. It was overly sweet but still somehow bitter as you choked it down. Certainly there were worse things in the world, but you would have preferred not to have to drink it. The prince laughed to himself.

"Darling, you do not know how deeply the lady Eir, as you call her, hates me. She may be a healer, but that would not necessarily keep her from assassinating me."

You remembered the night before, the way Eir had murmured and chanted above the prince on his bed, the way her warm dark fingers had skimmed deftly along his skin and bandages, working what must surely have been some kind of magic while you watched helplessly.

"She did not appear to hold any ill will toward you last night." There was another long silence as you reluctantly sipped your tea, and when you looked up at him again he was smirking at you as though he knew something you did not. "What is it, my lord?"

"Was that jealousy I heard in your voice, pet?" He sounded on the verge of laughter. It made your cheeks burn, but you tried to recover even as his eyes laughed and sparkled at you. Arrogant bastard.

"Of what, my lord? You were wounded, and the lady Eir fought hard to save you, harder than one would normally work to save someone they did not care for. I think that, without her, you would surely have died."
"And leave you here by yourself, sad and alone in the castle?" Loki shook his head and reached for you. His hand had been warmed somewhat by the tea, and a pleasant electricity flowed up your arm from where his fingers held you. "Never, pet. Death itself will not part us, remember?"

It was easy to speak such words, you mused, when he had not had to watch himself bleed and writhe and burn only hours ago. You scooped up some of the grain from one of the bowls and held it out to him, wishing more than anything to change the subject. Thinking about last night was uncomfortable for too many reasons. With a knowing look, Loki sat up and closed his mouth around the spoon, never once breaking eye contact with you. You looked away first, under the guise of finding pillows to prop the prince into a sitting position, and when you looked back to scoop up another spoonful, he closed his fingers around your wrist.

"What is it?" The sound in his voice made you feel the slightest twinge of remorse: after the night he'd had, the last thing you should be doing was making him worry about you, of all things. "Darling, look at me. What is troubling you?"

After a moment's hesitation, you finally dragged your eyes up to meet his. You might as well admit it now, you reasoned with yourself: he would only continue to hound you until he was satisfied that you were telling him the truth. It all came out in a rush: "You nearly died last night, my lord prince, and forgive me but I do not care how certain you are that you can triumph over death because you did not see yourself the way I did. And all I could do was watch helplessly. So please, do not be angry with me for not believing you this morning, just eat breakfast and regain your strength." You longed to let your gaze skitter away from his, but held steady until finally he released your arm and accepted the spoonful without a word.

The silence stretched between you, not quite uneasy but then again not entirely calm. Neither of you knew quite what to say to the other: your outburst had changed something this morning. Only halfway through the prince's breakfast, he closed his fingers around the spoon and gently took it from you. "Yours is getting cold," he said. "I have strength enough to finish now. Thank you, my lady."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat as you met Loki's eyes. How often had he looked at you with such tenderness? As you watched, mischief snuck into his face and he grinned at you.

"Unless, perhaps, it is my turn to return the favor? Shall I feed my pet?"

You scooped your own spoon up before he could and hurried to swallow a large mouthful of your own grain, which had indeed grown lukewarm. "That will not be necessary," you said around still another bite.

Between the two of you, the tray was soon cleared of every last morsel. Still you sat in silence. You would have liked to dress, but no one had brought anything for you, and despite your journeys through the palace you still had yet to discover the closet which held the gowns meant for you. And so there was really nothing you could do except sit there beside the prince in his bed as he appeared to doze amongst the pillows.

"Did you get chilled last night, my lady?" He asked without even opening his eyes. His hand reached out along the mattress until it found your knee, and then the edge of the cloak that you still wore. "You are wearing my cloak. Were the blankets not enough? I can have more furs brought to us."

"Ah, no…" Your hand sought his before you even realized what you'd done, and you closed your fingers around his. "When you took that turn in the middle of the night, I had already undressed for bed, and I did want to waste time putting my gown back on. So…I just took whatever was closest, and that just happened to be your cloak. I meant no offense, my lord." The lie came easily, especially compared to the alternative: telling him that it was your only defense against the prying eyes of his brother. You started to unfasten it, but his hand stilled yours.

"Please, wear it. I have no use for it at the moment, and I do so love you in green." He smiled faintly, but still did not open his eyes even as his words sank in. They meant nothing, of course, but you wracked your mind trying to remember if he had ever spoken similar words—words of love—to you before.

Instead of allowing your thoughts to spin out of control, you turned your attention to the prince's bandages, searching for any more blood. There was a fresh stain of bright red on the bandages over what had been his deepest wound, but that appeared to be the only problem. Your fingers hovered over the prince's chest, aching to somehow reassure yourself that the wounds were healing properly but unwilling to risk hurting him.

Just as you started to pull your hand away, maybe to slide off the bed and peek outside the doors to see if there were any servants nearby who might be able to tell you when your clothing was coming, Loki pressed his hand to yours, pulling it down against his chest. You tried to pull away, but he would not release you.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, voice just a little too shrill. "Stop, I'll hurt you!"

"I am not made of glass. Touch me if you want. Feel how solid I am. You act as though I were mere smoke, ready to dissipate at your lightest touch." His voice was sharp, insistent. "I am *here*, darling, alive and well. You must stop worrying."

You stopped struggling, and instead let your hand rest flat against the scratchy bandages that were wrapped around your prince's body. He did feel as solid as ever beneath your touch, but it still wasn't…right. Loki moved as though to catch your eyes, but you let your eyelids slip closed instead. It was too hard.

Before you knew what had happened, he had pushed you backwards onto the mattress. Your eyes flew open with surprise, and locked with Loki's. He was hovering above you, cheeks flushed with the effort of such quick movement and lips parted with laborious breaths mere inches from yours. Before you could scold him for such a stupid trick with such deep wounds, he pressed his forehead to yours and let out one last long, deep breath before his breathing returned to normal. One hand was braced against the mattress above your head, supporting the prince shakily, but the other gripped your hip through the thin fabric of your shift.

"How must I prove it to you? Because I am more than willing, pet, to do whatever I need to do—whatever will wipe that fear from your face." But the flush in his cheeks was fading, and it seemed as though he was losing more and more color with each second that ticked by, growing pale and thin before your very eyes. "Shall I make love to you? Replace that hollow look in your eyes with lust and longing?" He pressed one knee high between your legs, but in doing so he allowed you to feel the way his muscles were trembling with the effort of holding his weight.

You realized, with a cold pang, that this would not stop until you had relented, or he had collapsed. He was determined to prove his strength even as he taxed his ragged body beyond what little strength it could offer. Unable to bear it, you cried out and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his body down against yours and holding tightly to keep him in place. "Stop," you whispered, tears hot and stinging as they threatened to fall. "Loki, please."

After what felt like a very long time, you finally felt the prince sigh, his breath warm where it puffed against your ear, and he slipped his arm under your back to hold you as tightly as you held him. He drew in a breath, perhaps to speak, but was interrupted by the door creaking open.

"I would not recommend vigorous activity for at least another day or two." A dry voice came from the doorway, and you might have tried to throw the prince off of you if it wasn't for his bandages. Instead, you helped to push him into a sitting position and turned to look at Eir, who was standing just inside the door. Her arms were laden with supplies you vaguely recognized from the night before—pouches and bandages and rags. She stooped to drop some of them carelessly onto the table beside the bed, right on top of the tray that held your breakfast dishes, and gestured towards the two of you with an elbow. "See?"

You looked down at Loki's bandages: that same spot that had been stained with only the slightest hints of bright red earlier that morning was now blooming crimson, with blood oozing through the bandage and dripping down his side. Your stomach clenched and you hurried to maneuver into a kneeling position, ready to help. The prince reached out to touch you, though, his fingers brushing against the front of your shift. Acting on instinct you pushed his hand away before you looked down at yourself. The prince's blood glowed brightly against the white of the dress, and now you could feel it, cold and sticky against your skin.

"Sorry, darling," he said with a laugh. His tone was light and easy again, a stark contrast to the tension between you only moments ago. Without a word, you wrapped the cloak around you and slid off of the bed. Loki, on the other hand, stretched out on his back, throwing his arms to his sides as Eir began to organize her tools.

"Don't look so horrified my lady," Eir said, and though she seemed detached from the whole situation, there was a smile in her voice. "To be honest, I expected to see much worse this morning. Your prince has no concept of his limits."

"I've noticed," you replied before you could stop yourself. Eir looked up and for a moment her face held nothing but surprise, but then a wide smile burst across her features before she turned her attention back to the prince. She made quick work of his soiled bandages, slicing through them and then sliding them off of the prince in a matter of moments. She studied his wounds, and you crept ever so slightly closer, to look at them yourself.

Most of them had already closed up neatly thanks to whatever mixes and potions Eir had used last night, and were now nothing more than angry red lines in his skin. They would probably scar, you realized, but it was better than remaining open. The deepest wound, however, the one that had torn open this morning, yawned at you like a ghastly, toothless mouth in Loki's side.

"How good are you with a needle and thread, my lady?" Eir asked, and her words were nearly lost in the strange buzzing sound that filled your ears. What did that have to do with anything?

"I…I used to mend my father's clothes, and my brother's…and my own…why do you ask?"

Eir held out a needle. "Will you stitch this up while I go back to my room? It's not going to close up by itself, and I left some things behind that I need, thanks to the prince's foolishness."

Was she serious? The buzzing grew louder as you realized that, yes, she truly did intend for you to sew the prince together like an old sock with a hole in the toe. Through a fog, you felt yourself nod and move to take the needle from her. Maybe it would be just like mending a sock, you told yourself—or a shirt, more likely. Shirts were bigger. Or a long time ago, before he had lost it in a game of cards, your brother had owned a patchy coat made of the skins of animals from the forest: probably that would be the most similar. You studied the smooth edges of the cut and tried not to think about anything except the task at hand.

Slowly but surely, you stitched Loki back together, wincing every time you had to poke the needle through his skin. He was talking to you, saying something in a low voice, but you tuned him out until you'd finally reached the end of the wound. You surveyed your work: your stitches were even, as always, and it seemed as though they would help the skin heal together correctly, but then again, you weren't exactly a healer. You bit the thread to cut it (and cringed only a little when you tasted blood), and then stood up on unsteady legs. The buzzing had faded somewhat, but it was still hard to hear.

Eir had returned at some point, and when you moved away from the bed, she bent to inspect your stitching as well. "Well done, my lady," she pronounced, and brushed a wet rag over the stitches to wipe away the blood drying on the prince's skin. "That'll heal nicely."

"Good," you choked out, still backing away towards the door. You had to get out of there before the walls came down around you. Maybe it was the blood, or maybe it was seeing that the great threatening Loki was just as easily damaged as anyone else, but you felt sick. Your back hit the wall, and you groped blindly behind you until you found the door frame, at which point you hurried out into the corridors. Loki shouted something after you, but his voice was lost to the echoes that bounced around the cavernous palace as you made your escape.