Nine hundred and twelve days ago the All-Father had removed the shackles and gag and confined him to this white crystal prison. No ceremony of judgment. No trial by his peers. As if, indeed, a thing existed for a Jotun stolen and raised to believe he was Asgardian. Simply his not-father and his not-brother escorting him to this crystal box encased in magic negating spells. Attention riveted on the amalgam of ancient stone and sleek crystal, he'd jerked when they approached it. Its aura had radiated wrongness. It had pulsed towards him, sucking at his power. He'd wanted to whimper. And hated that. Hated his weakness. A real Asgardian wouldn'