A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 27: A Muddled Mind

Galadriel smiled crookedly up at him. "You have a sweet tooth, yet you only eat sweets after dinner? You are confusing, High Lord."

"I've been told." He checked the tea as it grew dark, straining the leaves. She took it with milk; he did not.

There was a moment of pause—of awkward stillness—where she realised that accepting the invitation of tea meant that she was by extension accepting an invitation to linger, which hadn't been her plan. Drop off the baked goods and stealing a knife had been the extent of it. But Galadriel dusted her reservations aside and joined him in the sitting room.

She settled in the lone armchair closest to the unlit hearth.

"You could always take another position in my court."

Head whipping to Rhysand, she almost spilt the hot brew, a few stray droplets burning her fingers around the mug. She hissed, waiting for the liquid to calm before she let herself register what he had said. A job in his court.

Rhys fluttered a hand about. "I'm sure there's something for you to do. Secretarial work. Financial management. Research. Whatever you fancy."

"Research?"

"I'm always in need of information," he said. "Court histories. Magic. Healing. The library under the House of Wind is run by priestesses. It's their sanctuary and they decide who goes in and out of it, but I'm sure you'll have no problems with them."

She tried to consider it—really, she did. Galadriel shook her head, drawing her bare feet under her legs. As much as she would thrive in that sort of position—collecting evidence, corroborating stories, working directly for the high members of this court—it wasn't right for her to accept it. And Rhys shouldn't have offered.

Rhysand opened his mouth, maybe to argue or just poke around in curiosity, but a hard rapping at the front door severed the conversation.

"Bastard," he muttered, placing his drink on a narrow table. "He's going to break that door one day."

Galadriel smiled into her mug as he flicked his fingers, the front door clicking open. Heavy footsteps rumbled through the front foyer, Cassian's deep grunts battling Mor's demand for him to "Move out of the way, you great oaf."

"Oh ho." Cassian bared a wide grin as he entered the sitting room. "What's this? Having secret meetings without us, Rhysie?"

Azriel shuffled out from behind him, muttering and rolling his eyes as he perched comfortably on the spot window alcove. His shadows acted like a curtain, dimming the already dull light until it felt dark enough to light candles and the hearth. It was his birthday soon, Cassian had mentioned earlier. She didn't know what to get him, if anything at all. They hadn't exactly exchanged gifts before.

"It's the only way I can talk with someone else without you sticking your fat nose in," Rhysand drawled to his general. "Though I see I'm going to have to pick a more secretive spot."

"Don't rile him up," Mor grumbled, flopping into the seat next to her cousin, kicking off her heels. "He's been in a mood all day."

Cassian, unperturbed, claimed the second armchair directly opposite Galadriel. He grinned at her. She smiled back. Ever since she started joining him for training in the mornings, they'd begun to frequent the city together. Usually a night here and there drinking, sometimes just accompanying him when he needed something in town. Other times, he'd just show up at her door unannounced and rummage through her kitchen for food.

So when Mor claimed he was in a mood, she knew exactly what the golden-haired fae meant. And maybe because Galadriel hadn't had to deal with it for over four centuries, she didn't mind him in a mood. Throwing herself off the armchair, she pottered over to him and latched onto his wrists. "Come," she ordered, tugging on him.