A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 7: Snide Remarks

They passed through the great gates of the palace which were actually stone carvings of the same beasts that prowled along the colonnades in the throne room and painted in many of the artworks. Between the beast gates, were vines of moonflower and jasmines. A strange, yet befitting floral arrangement for the Night Court. Galadriel hadn't expected to see many flowers here.

The city itself was not a stream of halls and corridors, but a true city within a mountain. There were streets and stores, roads and apartments. There was even a large stream and a bridge that ran across it. Pillars were carved to look like they had vines of night-blooming flowers across them. It would be a wonderful city, if not for the truth behind its reputation.

"I need something," she told the High Lord as they passed one store in particular. Inside were arrangements of shoes, from thin strapped heels of onyx that curled up to one's knee, to boots of a similar height. Galadriel, with the High Lord watching over her shoulder, only bought a pair that were to her sizing but did not try them on in the usual way of testing. They would not fit as perfectly as they should if she had gotten them properly tailored as Amoise always insisted, but her good pairs were left behind in the Autumn Court and she only had the sandals currently worn with her.

With the simple heels in a cloth bag, Galadriel looked up to the High Lord as they wandered back onto the street. His dark brows were raised, as though silently (and derisively) asking her if there was anywhere else she would like to stop and divert him from the path for. "Go on," she muttered at his dry humour.

But her tour was near ending.

"Try and find your way back to your room so I know you've got a memory. As long as you do, we'll arrive just in time for lunch with Azriel and my cousin."

She didn't know who his cousin was, nor was she bothered to ask. It would just be some cynical response anyway. Racking her mind for the paths they took, Galadriel took charge in leading them both back up to the palace. They made it past the magnificent, yet dread-enticing, front gates and through a few turns before her memory began to fail her. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

Her head swivelled over her shoulder. Rhysand sauntered a pace behind her, hands in pockets with an eased, crooked smile. "You've known this place your entire life. I've been here less than a day."

"It is not your memory that I'm judging you on." He leaned forward with an extra step to disintegrate the space between them. "It's that permanent scowl you have that I find so entertaining."

"Believe it or not, it's not permanent. In fact, it's been a rather recent addition that I intend to disappear."

"Oh? And what is currently keeping it here?"

"Have you not figured it out yet?" With another peek over her shoulder, she found Rhysand still smiling, but it wasn't quite the same as before. It was sharper, thinner. "Which way?"

"Left." Galadriel's shoulders twisted with the tight turn. "You know, you've only known me a day and I can practically see the judgement bleeding from you."

High Lord, she hissed to herself again. "I'll try to restrain myself from now on. But you didn't make the effort for a good first impression."

"Neither did you."

"I didn't want to make a good impression."

"You wanted me to rescind my offer." Galadriel's feet stumbled across the stone floor at the true strike of his assessment. Rhysand made the stretch of step to walk by her shoulder. "Don't look too surprised. You're easier to read than a book made for children, even with those walls in place. Good job by the way, very sturdy." At her prolonged silence, during which her inner thoughts were swirling with sudden doubt, Rhysand continued. "You're stubborn, I've gathered that much, but you're also very loyal to my spymaster. He said as much. You found yourself unable to say no to him, so you hoped that I would step in and do it for you. Perhaps you're still hoping I'll be annoyed with you enough to send you on your merry way back to Helion. I just haven't figured the why yet. Am I correct?"

Galadriel jolted to a sudden stop and he moved in front of her. His shoulders were loose yet broad, lips pulled wide in a Cheshire grin as though he had it all figured out. In some ways, he did. And she hated him for that. Galadriel was supposed to be unreadable. A spy. But her emotions had been getting the better of her lately.

And Azriel complimented her loyalty?

"Does it matter? I'm here now."

Rhysand brushed along his perfectly pristine sleeve. "My offer will not be revoked on account of your snarky tone towards me because I know it's just an act. You don't have to bother with it anymore."

Galadriel laughed. "It's not an act." She hadn't wanted him there that night, wanted him to take back the extension of sanctuary—yes, that was true. But he was still an arrogant prat. And Beron... Well, she had put up with Beron for so long that Rhysand's title of High Lord did not scare her. Which is why she had to keep reminding herself who he was. "Do you have any sense of self-awareness?"

Somehow, they reached her door. Galadriel pushed right into it, but alas he followed behind. Chucking the shoes down, her heels dugs into the polished floor as she spun around, facing him with that scowl he found so amusing.

"I am starting to get frustrated with you, I'll admit." As though she should take it as a warning. "Keep provoking me and I might take you right back to Beron myself. Have a nice little extra sum in my credits account."

Galadriel blinked at him, then looked away.

He was right. Part of her did want him to send her back to Helion. How could she want to be here? It was the Court of Nightmares which was terrible enough, but she was also here because of a mess-up. And that made this place a punishment.

"Right." Rhysand clicked his tongue, stepping back into the threshold. His face had darkened but she noted a considerable effort to conceal it. "Clearly you're not in the mood for entertaining lunch so you can stay here and I'll send you some scraps over."

"What?" Galadriel frowned and headed towards the door. Her stomach had been growling for a good two hours by then and it only made it worse by having the prospect of good food being taken away. Launching towards the door, Rhysand backed out and shut it right before her. Galadriel shook the doorknob, but it was locked. With magic. She banged her palm on the thick door, the sound reverberating. "Rhysand!"

"You can come out when you stop insulting me!" rang from the other side, already from a distance.

"Bastard."

~

Galadriel sat frumpily on the edge of her bed, glaring at the floor. She couldn't even winnow out. Once she finally broke from her own enchantment of frustration, she stood and turned around. And—

And there was a plate on her vanity. Steam still curled off it like a silver dance. Potatoes, two large slices of meat, vegetables. Her walk towards it was slow, wondering if it would disappear like a sick trick. Yet she picked up the silver, gleaming fork next to it and stabbed a potato. As real and there as it could be.

And burnt her tongue.