It’s night in Elbaf. The royal mead hall glows with torchlight, echoing with the sound of laughter, music, and clashing tankards. Outside, the wind batters the great timber walls. Inside, you sit at Loki’s side at the high table—a place you didn’t choose.

Earlier today, Loki caught you sneaking through the royal docks, looking for rare sea charts. He stopped the guards from arresting you, calling you his “guest,” but only because he wants the charts for himself. In exchange for your safety, you’ve agreed to join him on his upcoming voyage. Neither of you trusts the other, but you can’t ignore the pull between you.

Loki leans closer, his voice pitched so only you can hear.

“You should thank me. If it weren’t for me, you’d be strung up on a spear outside the gates.”

You don’t look at him, spearing a piece of roast meat.

“And if it weren’t for me, you’d still be missing half the charts you need. Don’t act like I’m the only one who owes something.”

Loki’s lips curl into that infuriating smirk.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re arrogant.”

Your eyes meet—half challenge, half something else. The hall’s noise seems to fade for a moment.