Loki would never deny his mother's cleverness, her resourcefulness. He would never easily dismiss her strength and her fortitude and perseverance and any other time he would be eager to give her the praise her hard work deserved.

But not this time, not when Loki could feel whatever plans he had for his own future slipping from between his fingers.

To agree to such a match would put the throne of Asgard forever out of his reach. The first claim to the kingdom may not be his to take, but with a Frost Giant claiming her right as his betrothed, any claim at all would be a thing of the past. The people of Asgard would never accept such a Queen, much less a King who tried to ascend the throne with one of the monsters they had been taught to hate.

He blinked, trying to clear his thoughts enough to sort the surge of emotions that rolled though his body like the most violent of waves, unable to stop his feet from the step backward they decided to take away from her. "Do you truly think so little of me?" He asked, his voice etched so deeply with the betrayal he felt that it would be a wonder if he could ever shake it again. "Do you wish to make a mockery of me through the entirety of the realms?"