A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 12: Velaris

The smoothed cobblestone street led in either direction. Gathering the breath that she had lost, Galadriel peeked over her shoulder as he came to stand at it. "Which way?" Rhysand pointed to the right and then began to lead her down the street. They walked and she kept her eyes on everything. The Autumn Court had been beautiful in its own right, but there was something so much more inviting about these lanes. It didn't take long to realise why.

The people greeted their High Lord and his new companion with smiles and nods. Galadriel frowned back at first, looking to Rhysand as she expected him to be scowling at them. They would do the same for Beron whenever he deigned to the marketspaces; people would bow and scurry out of the way. But it was the power and aggressiveness that he arrived with that made them do that. The fear of what would happen if they did not. Yet Rhysand smiled back, greeting the ones that wished him a good morning. Some even wished it to her, but Galadriel was too off put to return the gesture and settled with Rhysand replying for her.

He leant down to her ear. "These people will not bring you harm," he whispered.

She shifted her shoulders as they stiffened. "I-It's not that." He didn't ask anything more.

Rhysand gave her a proper tour, explaining the streets, the districts, and a brief history of the city. He pointed out his favourite shops. They entered the Palace of Bone and Salt which buried her nose the pleasures of fresh bread wafting from the bakeries as the morning crowd swarmed. When her pace slowed in front of one, Rhysand chuckled in her ear and turned them both towards it.

It annoyed her how easily he led her without having to even say anything, but her stomach growled in calling. Inside was empty, but the heat of the ovens out the back of the building told her that someone had to be around to tend them. Sure enough, within a minute a young High Fae male came jogging towards them, dusting his hands on a white apron.

He had bronze hair cut short to his head, but long enough that it was dishevelled from what she could imagine as dealing with the city's morning rush. He was handsome, but had a youthful, almost boyish face. "High Lord," he greeted smoothly. Rhysand said something of a greeting. "And I'm afraid I haven't seen your face around here yet, miss."

She looked him once over again. "Galadriel. And I'm starving."

The baker laughed and rolled his neck. "Well then, what excites your tastebuds? I have scones, pastries, a loaf of raisin bread?"

Galadriel guessed they had a fair bit of walking left to do and though the idea of raisin bread seemed most inviting, she settled on scones. Of course, then she had another decision of which type and eventually chose the ones with raspberries to indulge upon

When it came time to pay, Rhysand said: "Just put it on my house's credit."

"I have my own money."

Rhysand tucked his hands into his pockets, raising his brows at her. "Is that so? We'll go ahead then."

Her lips parted, then dried. She had no marks on her person; not silver, not bronze and certainly not gold. Which was fine back in the Autumn Court where she'd have it credited and be given the bill at the end of each week to paid it off directly from her account. But she had no access to that money anymore. All of it, two hundred years' worth of savings, lost.

Unable to admit her realisation aloud, Galadriel folded her arms tightly across her chest and turned her eyes away. Rhysand nodded in confirmation of putting it to his credit, signed, and took the package of two scones from the baker's hand.

Back on the street, he handed the package to her. "You can use my family's credit for as long as you need to."

"I don't want your money."