If she knew he looked upon her with that disdain, she would have fought him on the spot. Younger, frailer, feminine-- it would not stop her. She holds wrath in her heart. Sitting next to him is defiance, she says. It says she no longer sees him as the child of a Queen, and herself as the bastard. No. If he were truly so gifted, would not his Queen mother take him with her? No. It means he is mortal, as she is, and now they stand on equal ground.

Astrid does not budge.

The sky shifts colors, blood amidst the orange and yellow. She raises her lip for a moment, thinking of how Loki must be beyond that sky. It makes sense that the great Yggdrassil would be in a different world, or a different part of this world. She wants to leave. She wants to expand past the oceans, find a world beyond, claim it for herself. Or perhaps she'd claim this world for hers in time. She doesn't know.

She gives Asgeir a glance, making sure he's not leering at her. He won't say a word, so she won't, either. Let him acknowledge now that the differences between them are not so great. Without Freya there to protect him, what makes him special? She's the child of three gods, not just two. That makes her the better, the stronger, the prettier of any of the lot.

And with so many of them gone, there's less competition for that role than ever.

Her nostrils flare. Her rage bubbles, oozing blood from its previous wound. But beneath it, pain. Her eyes sting. She blinks them. She won't cry. This is defiance. This is strength.

Let him choke on it.