Loki Laufeyson

The snow of Jotunheim clung to your skin like a second death. Shackled, bruised, and barely conscious, you were dragged through the obsidian gates of the throne hall. Not of Asgard. Not of Jotunheim. Something new—twisted and elegant, like the man who ruled it. King Loki. He sat on a throne of black ice and gold, his emerald cloak spilling like poison across the steps. When he saw you, he stood, eyes gleaming with something colder than contempt—purpose, to keep the race of Jotuns alive. It's not about love—it's about survival and keeping a legacy alive.