A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 27: A Muddled Mind

Cassian scowled begrudgingly at her. "But I just sat down."

"I brought scones over," she told him. "I want your thoughts."

"Fuck yeah," he breathed and didn't wait for another yank at his arm to rise, towering over her. They headed into the kitchen. He also didn't need her invitation to dig into the basket, stuffing his face with one.

"Did you want jam?" she asked, flatly.

Through a mouthful of crumbling scone, he gargled out, "With my second."

Certain that it wouldn't be a long time away, she searched through Rhys's pantry for a jar of plum jam, snatching up the jug of cream, the opening covered tightly with a thick cloth and twine. "What are you all meeting here for?" she asked, cutting her own scone in half and layering it with jam.

"Rhys wants to brief us before we head to Illyrian camps tomorrow." The surprise she felt must have darted across her face, because he added, "Didn't tell you?"

Galadriel shook her head. "Are you all going?"

Cassian sucked his fingers clean. "Amren is staying behind. We'll be gone for about a week."

"So I don't have to get up at dawn for an entire next week?"

"I fully expect you to train on your own while I'm not here."

She tilted her head. "But it doesn't have to be at dawn."

"That's when muscle builds best."

She snorted crumbs across the table. One caught in the back of her throat, throwing her into a hacking fit. Cassian thumped her back hard enough that her entire body shook, laughing as he did. "You're full of shit," she hissed, wiping her wet lips with her sleeve, stuffing the remaining bite of the scone in her mouth.

They hung around the kitchen a little longer, but knowing that Rhysand had called them down for a reason, she urged him back to the sitting room. Galadriel gave a quiet goodbye, having no need to stay, and Cassian's mood settled.

"Galadriel?"

Her hand paused over the doorknob, head twisting over her shoulder.

Rhysand meandered to her. "You should think about my offer."

She frowned. "Working for you?"

"We can talk it over. Why don't I take you out for dinner after I get back?"

"I don't... Alright." Perhaps the job he offered would be horrible. Maybe it would be one she deserved. But she knew him well enough that accepting the invite was the easiest way to drop it for now. "Bye, Rhys."

A smile. "Miss me while I'm not here."

She didn't deign to answer, waving blindly back at him as she sauntered through the front garden and into the lane, borrowed knife in hand. At home, a letter waited for her. It didn't require much investigation, the elegant script of 'Sahra' scrawled along the white envelope enough of a telling of who it was from. Leaving the knife on the table, Galadriel dropped into the chair at her desk, breaking the wax seal with a bronze letter opener.

Helion's letter was short but sweet. They hadn't talked directly since she arrived in Velaris, but Rhysand had let her know that he kept the son of the Day Court's High Lord informed of her wellbeing. She scripted out a reply that she would fix up when she was in a better mind for writing and placed his atop the short pile of her letters from Amoise.

There were only three. It was hard to write anything when it all had to be in code. She was content knowing that Amoise was alright, and that though Amoise hadn't heard from Lucien, she had an ear in the Spring Court listening out for any news regarding her son.

Alone and bored, it left Galadriel little other than to contemplate this dinner plan Rhysand had proposed to her. He wanted her under his watch, she concluded. She wasn't stupid enough to miss the ways that he had tried drawing her out in the past months—the invites, the drop-bys, and now the job offers. But she was missing the reason. He might not trust her, want her close so he could make sure she wasn't stabbing him in the back with Beron or something.

No... He would tear her mind apart if he had one inkling she was doing something like that.

But it left the only other reason she could think of—that he wanted to do these things for her. And the idea of it frustrated her. It tore through her mind in her sleepless hours. Made her question every gesture shared between them.

She allowed boredom to persist, to be her punishment. Galadriel sat at her desk, doing nothing but staring out the small window above it at the quiet lane that curved around the villa. Not even a bird flew past to reprieve her eyes. This was how it was supposed to be.

This little thing inside of her, savage like a parasite, grew with each day. It fed on her soul each time that she was faced with his smile, a kind gesture, the smallest acts he probably didn't even realise he was doing but she certainly did. He was a High Lord that people had spent their lives begging to ascend. One that was worth serving.

Galadriel hadn't given much care when she was a spy. She trusted Azriel, and he was her sole master. She didn't care about the male he served. Now that she knew, the failure felt so much worse.

A tear caught in the corner of her lips. "Fucking hell," she whispered, wiping it away with the ball of her palm.