It was a celebration of Thor... and his successful union to a beautiful, powerful witch... and their lovely baby son... all glitter and gold and sugar and light.
Loki had needed a break. The numerous balconies that branched from the new great hall had provided him with a bit of a respite from the gleeful, glorious celebration. Typical Asgardian weddings could last for days, so he had to take things slowly if he wanted to survive the simultaneous glares (because he was himself) and handshakes (as if he'd been the one to marry). So tiresome. He hummed a sad old tune his mother had sung to him during his nursery days as he stared out into the cosmos that surrounded Vernal Asgard and the neighboring Alfheim. The Odinson's shoulders rose and fell, feeling a bit of self-loathing for being the pitiful thing he was, when he sensed something... uncomfortable.
He swallowed and turned, and when he moved to enter the grand hall, a familiar face struck him like a bilgesnipe. Who was this man? Why did he make Loki's skin crawl? And why was he eating cake? The nerve. "No..." he felt a deep-rooted dread in his chest and he felt inclined to turn heel and retreat back to his balcony, but instead, upon spying Eva and Nathaniel having a tete-a-tete, he merely vanished. Why did that kind, annoying face bring him so much despair? Hell. He had to figure it out - preferably before the queen did.