Yes, My Prince

Request for fantasygirl2016

A/N: So the original title was "Cinderella Story," so kind of a giveaway.

I actually had a lot of fun writing it.

One would think that being the daughter of the Queen of Vanaheim would be the ideal life. Being a princess of one of the Nine Realms sounded like a dream to the lower class citizens.

Well, it wasn't a dream. At least, not for you. You weren't biologically a princess, and though you'd been adopted by the royal family, they certainly didn't treat you like family.

Your parents had been servants, brave ones at that, and they'd lost their lives in the last battle between Vanaheim and Jötunheim. The Queen had only adopted you for the publicity it brought. Human or Goddess, the public loved you when you committed acts of charity.

They treated you even worse than they treated their servants. You were in charge of completing chores for the entire royal family, which included the Queen, her two daughters, and, as much as they hated to admit it, you. You polished the palace floors and walls, washed the family's laundry, cooked and served them meals, and any other task that they deemed too tedious for high class goddesses to perform.

You were scrubbing the Queen's floor one morning when your stepsisters ran in, squealing like sows. The Queen sat on her bed, admiring her questionable beauty in her hand mirror.

"What is it, my darlings?" she inquired without looking away from her reflection.

"We've been invited to the Asgard Ball!" they cried in unison, their pitches rising with every syllable. You winced as the sound pierced your ears, but didn't make a sound as you continued your chores.

"Oh?" she questioned, finally looking up from her mirror.

"Yes!" the older sister, Tamina, cried.

"King Odin and Queen Frigga are trying to find a maiden for Prince Thor!" Lavina, the younger sister, added.

That caught the Queen's attention. "Well then! We must prepare you two to meet the Prince! How long until the Ball?"

"It is tomorrow night, Mother!" Tamina sighed dreamily.

Breya, the Queen, stood abruptly. "We must get you dressed!" she turned to you, only a glimmer of disgust in her eyes. You figured it was overpowered by her excitement. "You!"

You looked up at her. "Yes, m'lady?"

"You will assist my darlings in preparing for the Ball. You will help them with their hair and makeup, and ensure that their gowns are perfect," Breya instructed.

"Yes, m'lady," you nodded obediently. You grumbled on the inside – all the makeup and glitter in the world couldn't make your stepsisters prince-worthy. But you had a job to do, and disobeying only led to a lashing.

"Leave us. Go polish the kitchen," she instructed, waving her hand dismissively. You nodded again, grabbing your scrub brush and bucket of soapy water on your way out.

After finishing your regular list of chores (which was longer than you were tall), you were instructed to take your stepsisters' measurements and dress requirements so that you could sew perfectly custom dresses for the both of them. It was exhausting, especially matching the measurements to your sisters' tastes, but you eventually finished your work. You took the gowns back to their royal bedroom and helped each of them try theirs on, biting back sighs of envy and disappointment as they squealed in delight.

"Very good, (y/n)," the Queen stated simply.

"Thank you, my Queen," you replied with a bow of your head. You'd learned early on that the only acceptable titles with which to address your mother were "my Queen," "m'lady," and "your majesty." Stepmother or not, she refused to accept that she was even marriage-related to you.

She turned to you, looking you up and down. "Have your chores been completed?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Polished all of the floors?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Washed all of the laundry?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Scrubbed all of the dishes?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"If you can prepare a dress for yourself before we are ready to leave, you may attend the Ball."

Your eyes lit up. "Thank you, m'lady!"

She nodded dismissively and you ran to the cellar that was your bedroom. You pulled out some (f/c) fabric that you'd been saving for a special occasion. Of course, you'd never thought that said special occasion would actually arrive – it had become more of a symbol of hope than anything else.

Well, faith must count for something, since your chance was finally here. You gathered all of the fabric you wanted and took your own measurements, cutting the fabric and sewing the pieces together. You barely held back a squeal as the dress was soon finished. You quickly stripped from your filthy rags – the Queen thought you weren't of high enough class for real clothing – and slipped the dress over your head. A full-length mirror sat in the corner of the cellar, giving you a full view of your new dress. You twirled around, eyes fixed on your reflection. The smile that had claimed your lips continued to grow as you took in how well the dress accentuated your figure. Well, you were a little on the thin side, only ever eating scraps of leftovers, but you weren't bad looking.

You slipped on some black low-heeled shoes that you'd found in a box in the cellar and made your way upstairs. "M'lady, I'm ready!"

"Well," Breya replied, taking in your appearance. "That is quite a dress."

Tamina snickered. "Yeah, quite a dress for a peasant!"

Lavina laughed. "And where did you get those shoes? In the garbage?"

You tried not to let their comments get to you, regardless of how proud you were of your dress. You'd spent your entire life deflecting their insults, blindly following the rules and only crying when you were alone.

"I suppose we are all ready to go…" the Queen stated, trailing off as though she had a plan.

"Wait, Mother!" Tamina cried, pulling on the silk ribbon that you'd tied around your waist. It ripped easily, falling to the floor in shreds.

Lavina giggled and joined in, pulling on the laces that you'd looped across your back. Some of the back fabric ripped as well as the strings fell to the floor.

"No!" you cried in protest. "Stop!"

"Girls, girls," the Queen said calmly, holding her hand up in a "stop" gesture. The stepsisters ceased their destruction of your dress, leaving you with a few scraps of shredded fabric that looked like a more colorful version of the rags you wore before.

"Well," the Queen shrugged, "your dress is destroyed. I'm afraid you cannot go to the Ball."

"If you just give me a minute," you pleaded. "I could make another dress!"

"Well-"

"But Mother!" Tamina cried, cutting the Queen off. "We're going to be late!"

"We can't have that,"Breya shrugged. "You cannot go to the Ball, (y/n). We will see you in the morning." As she turned with her daughters to leave, she looked over her shoulder at you, eyeballing the scraps of your dress. "Clean this up."

With that, they left, leaving you heartbroken on the stairs in the remains of your once beautiful dress.

Upon returning to the cellar, you collapsed on the old mattress that was your bed and lied on your stomach. Your arms folded beneath your face, cushioning your tear-filled eyes. You sobbed into your arms, your entire body shaking with disappointment. You'd never seen so much as a scrap of affection from your adopted family, and Queen Breya allowing you to go to the Ball, if only for a moment, was the closest thing to affection she could muster. You'd been so excited, having never been out of the palace and wanting so badly to have a life of your own.

You were so wrapped up in your sorrows that you completely missed the flash of green light in the corner of the room, revealing a tall and lean figure.

"Why are you crying?" a soft, male voice asked.

You gasped in surprise, sitting up immediately. You scooted as far back as your bed would allow, trying to keep a distance between yourself and the stranger. "Who are you?"

"Prince Loki," he replied simply.

You gasped again. "Of Asgard? Odin's son?"

He nodded. You scrambled to get off your bed and courtesy respectfully. He chuckled. "You are royalty yourself, are you not? You were adopted by the royal family. You need not bow to me."

"I was adopted, yes," you agreed. "But the royal family does not treat me as royalty. I am a slave."

A frown crossed his lips and an unidentifiable emotion flashed in his eyes. "I was adopted as well. That is no reason to treat you as a slave."

"Thank you, Prince, but I cannot argue with the Queen," you replied softly, bowing your head shamefully. You watched as his feet stepped closer to you until he was just in front of you. His cool hand grasped your chin and tilted your head up to meet his eyes.

"We are equals, darling. You need not bow to me," he repeated softly, his breath ghosting over your lips. You stared up at him, unsure of how to respond.

"Now," he began, stepping back slightly. "We must prepare you for the Asgard Ball."

"I cannot go," you argued. "My stepsisters destroyed my dress, and the Queen has ordered for me to stay."

"You are part of the royal family," Loki countered. "King Odin would be most displeased to find that Queen Breya kept one of her daughters from the Ball. He wishes for every maiden, especially princesses, to attend."

"Are you certain that I would not get in trouble?" you whispered, worried for the penalties you could face if you disobeyed your stepmother.

"I will fight for your right to attend," he whispered back. "Now, envision your perfect ball gown, and I will create it for you."

You nodded slowly, surprised that the Prince was being so sweet to you. You imaged in your dress from before – a (f/c) number that reached the floor and hugged your figure, with a sweetheart neckline and off-shoulder sleeves. You imagined the skirt and sleeves to be just a bit puffier, like that of a traditional princess gown, with a large bow tied around your waist. A green light flashed around you, coating you in silver sparkles. You looked down as your ragged clothes changed into your dream dress, complete with crystal slippers. You twisted your foot to look down at the heeled shoe, looking back up at Loki with a furrowed brow.

"They appear fragile," he chuckled, "but they are safe and comfortable. They give you a more delicate appearance. You look like a true princess."

You reached up to your hair as you caught your reflection in the full-length mirror. Your (h/l) (h/c) locks were pinned up in an elegant bun with braids weaved around your head and a few curly strands framing your face. A simple crystal tiara sat atop your head, adorned with small emeralds that made your eyes pop. A gasp escaped your lips as you stepped closer to the mirror. You really did look like a princess.

"I cannot thank you enough," you whispered, still looking in the mirror. The Prince moved to stand behind you, a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Attend the Ball with me," he requested. "That will be thanks enough."

You turned to look at him. "Is that why you're being so kind to me? So I will go to the Ball with you?"

"Is that a problem?"

"I… I'm honored," you breathed slowly. "No one has ever been kind to me, not since my parents passed away."

He smiled and held out his hand as sparkles enveloped his body, morphing his tunic and pants into a handsome black tux with an emerald green bowtie. You gently set your hand in his. He pulled you close to him, a bright green light flashing around you, transporting the both of you to the outside of the Grand Ballroom in Asgard's palace.

He led you inside, most of the guests ignoring you as every other maiden in the room was fawning over the crowned prince Thor. A few of the older guests, parents and such, began whispering about the strange girl on Prince Loki's arm. They'd never seen him show an interest in anyone, always locked away in his chambers with his books and magic. It was quite a sight to see him offering a pretty maiden to dance.

"Care for a dance?" he offered softly, turning to stand in front of you. You nodded with a small smile, his left hand grasping your right as his right hand set on your hip. Your let hand rested cautiously on his shoulder as he pulled you closer, swaying softly to the music. Thor himself had stopped to stare at the younger prince, eyes widening. Even he had never seen Loki show an interest in other people.

"People are staring," you whispered shyly.

"Let them watch," he smiled. "They are simply jealous that they do not look as beautiful as you."

A blush claimed your cheeks as you looked up at him, never ceasing your steps. Queen Breya glared at you, infuriated that you attended after she told you not to.

King Odin began making announcements as Thor had chosen a maiden to be his queen. The rest of the girls in the ballroom let out moans and whines of disappointment, while the family of the chosen princess cheered and applauded.

You and Loki were lost in your own world, his emerald eyes boring into your own (e/c) orbs. The hand that held yours had moved to your waist, moving yours to his shoulder, allowing him to pull you closer. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in, capturing your lips with his. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist as gasps sounded throughout the ballroom. Even the royal family had stopped their announcements to stare in wonder at the maiden who had captured the younger prince's heart.

He pulled back just enough for his nose to still brush against yours. His satisfied smile matched yours as he looked into your eyes. "Be my Princess?"

"Yes, my Prince."

His lips pressed against yours again as the families cheered, glad that Loki had finally found a maiden, and you had a knew home.