A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 3: The Bounty

Galadriel sighed. "And what is her voice worth in that place?" she lamented the solemn truth, not of her own, but of her friend's. "Her speaking on my behalf will only fuel Beron's anger and that will get us nowhere."

"I'm afraid you might be right." His lips inched higher into a more Helion-like crafting of his handsome features. "Are you less than eager to be removed from my presence?"

Rolling her eyes, Galadriel twisted back in her chair to the vanity, watching him from the glistening reflection of the mirror instead. He looked closer to an art piece, her room a carefully detailed background to the subject of her attention. "Your charms never worked on me, Helion. They will not start now."

"Alas, but having you in my bed will remove the ache in my heart and will assist you in forgetting your current woes."

Her own, pale red lips quirked in a moment of amusement as she allowed herself to think of such an event happening. Despite his enamour to the Lady of Autumn, it does not stop him from seeking the company of others that he believes will bring him pleasure. Amoise is well aware and holds no ill-thought as she has her own tie to another. There is a vast difference between sex and love. Between being full of lust to one's idea—one's body—than to know another and to feel something for the part inside of them that no one else bothered to look at.

Forcing her brows together, Galadriel tilted her head towards her shoulder to mimic a pout. "I'm afraid that I will not meet what you expect of me, my Lord. I have heard greatness in the tales of your thrills between the sheets of your bed."

It was his turn to roll amber eyes, eliciting a chuckle from them both. "You are not the only one. I made the suggestion to both the Spymaster and General of the Night Court whilst they were here and yet again they were too afraid to join me."

She couldn't stifle the snort. "You have asked Azriel to your bed?" The corners of her mouth twitched back downwards at the familiarity she named him with, but it went unmissed. "And Cassian?" she added.

"Do you not think they are desirable?" he countered in nonchalance, examining a small jewellery chest on top of a dresser that was not her own. "You saw them when they were here. The two with wings. People say things about the wingspans of Illyrians alluding to other lengths."

Her mouth dried. Yes, her mind muttered. He had been desirable. But those thoughts were forbidden. "You'd fuck a pig," she said to dismiss her other deliberations. Helion threw his head back in a great laugh.

"Believe it or not, dear Sahra, I do have high standards to who joins me in that way of company. You should consider it a compliment that I even made a mere suggestion of it to you."

"If I begin counting that company, I'm sure the compliment will seem less so."

Helion tightened his lips to smother something larger. The gold leaf circlet around his head glinted under a ray of afternoon sun that poured through her room. One day he would wear the golden crown of spikes, a resemblance of piercing dawn. If it fit on his head, that was. "Keep to yourself. And I'd recommend staying within this wing unless I'm accompanying you. Fifty-five thousand gold marks is enough money to turn even my own against me."

The Son of Day left her with a promise of a meal being sent to her room when it was prepared. Galadriel locked the door behind him, the soft fabric of her silk dress swishing between her ankles with each step. She crossed the room again and stood in front of the large open window that looked over the empty garden court. Donned in the gold, the High Fae female looked close to belonging. She would, she decided. Stay if it was an offer she was allowed to accept. If Helion simmered the threat of her bounty and Azriel saw it fit to ask her to remain in place. Where else could she go?

Her eyes shot down to the garden where a flash of azure appeared in the corner of her eye. But there was only a bundle of bluebells. Galadriel took a step forward, toes dancing to the edge of the glass panels of the windowpane to look closer down. She imagined him standing amongst them, waiting for her to notice than appear in her chamber through a whorl of shadows and smoke.

Her throat bobbed in a sudden new thought. What if was abandoning her? Detected and no longer in a prime position to hear and move about the nobles of the Autumn Court she may be unserviceable to him. Azriel would cut himself of her, cut her pay and her contact with him. No—he would visit her one last time to give her the order to never speak of anything she has done, or anything of him and his court. An order that would make the bond itch and be in place until the day one of them died. Then he would leave her to do as she wished, stuck with no true identity and a bounty on her head. Perhaps leaving her to Beron would allow him to tie his loose ends.

Galadriel gripped at her stomach, unable to stop the pounding in her skull as she was flooded with new possibilities. When the dinner arrived, she could not stomach to look at it. Helion was trying to find her safe haven but she would not be able to leave. How would she explain it? Unless he forced her away. Azriel's order was clear, she was to stay here but with the fickleness of bargains, someone may be able to take her out against her will. She could not leave by her own will, but what if Helion's warnings became true and someone took her for the reward of the gold marks?

Standing in front of the vanity mirror, Galadriel hiked the dress up from where it slit to her mid-thigh, to over her hip bone. The bargain was a whorl of dark ink spreading from just behind her hip bone to her pelvis, two tendrils bending onto the valley where stomach met thigh. It was a beautiful thing, yet as deadly as a dagger to her jugular.

She pushed the dress back into place.

Galadriel hoped, prayed, that Azriel would not do that to her. He had saved her from almost certain death that had claimed her family, trained her for seven years to be his spy then placed her in a prime positioning. She had been good—better than good—at her job. But he was also cutthroat when it came to the protection of his own needs and family. Galadriel found herself with that harsh reminder.

She was just a spy. Just a means to performing his job. Nothing more and no longer a means to perform that job.
He never gave her reason to believe anything else, never promised her something other than what he has already done to help her. Her pay was fair, her life had been cautious but smooth in the Autumn Court, tending to Amoise and her youngest son as he was born and raised.

Lying in her bed, food untouched, Galadriel fell asleep to her lonely thoughts.