Steven could not hate his master... former master.

He had gone through the night as if in a dream, performing his duties swiftly and obediently but without passion. He wore Loki's colours and they startled him each time he passed a reflective surface, the green making his skin crawl. It was not the younger prince's fault; Steven did not hate Loki, he was even fond of him partially because of how much his master loved his brother. But he was not Thor, and that made him an undesirable master.

He watched his prince fade away as the boat began to sail into the Void, even the amazing sight of the branches of Yggdrasil laid out before him not garnering much more than a passing glance.

Anthony stood in pride of place at Loki's right shoulder as he commanded the fleet away from Asgard, his battle regalia shining and perfect. He glanced down, words soft. "Take Steven and advise him of his future, he must not look so sorrowful or talk will begin. My slave for long or not, I will not have it said that my property despises working for me."