A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 51: Temper

They came to a fence line made of shabby wood pikes. Cassian leant against it, squinting against the sun that managed to filter through the cloud. "These are the training grounds," he said, nodding to the circular fields in which those Illyrians fought, some with blades or staffs, others with their bare fists.

Galadriel propped herself up on the fence. "I thought you weren't supposed to take me here."

"This is practically the heart of the camp," he drawled. "If I don't show you this, then you're not really seeing Illyria." It didn't take much to figure out why. Grunts and roars overwhelmed her ears, as did the tangy scent of blood and vomit to her nose. One poor boy, yet to grow out of his lanky frame, was being dragged out by his ankles. "And I wanted you to see how easy I go on you," he added.

Galadriel couldn't find the words to respond and barely suppressed her desire to crawl into his arms for the protection they would give.

"I understand why you're pissed off at him."

She was grateful for the excuse to look away. "And why's that?"

Cassian flexed his wings in a stretch. "Rhys doesn't like telling the people he cares for things that he thinks will hurt them. But he does it all with a good heart."

Galadriel turned her back to the fence but the very quickly came to hate having her back towards the fighting and turned back around. "At first I was upset that he told you before me. It's... I didn't want you to know that I wasn't strong enough for it." His expression morphed into sympathy. "But I hate the fact more that it puts me above you. Above Mor and Azriel. Even Amren." Crossing her arms over the top beam of wood, she buried her chin in the crook of her folded elbow. "Azriel said it; you took an oath and now it extends to me. I didn't realise I'd become your duty."

"I suppose it's difficult for you to see how it can be both ways. Friend and ruler. I'm sure Beron doesn't host tea parties where they gossip about the wives of his governors."

"And you do?"

He shivered. "Mor has some interesting hobbies. But what I mean to say is, yes—it is different to consider you my High Lady. But it doesn't change my opinion of you. It simply changes the way I take things in. If you were only Rhys's mate and he was here, I'd be watching the group over near the firepit to the south more." Glancing over her shoulder, she found the group he noted: a loud congregation of about six Illyrian males, all with weapons stashed along their bodies. "Rhys would take charge watching your back," he went on. "But as my High Lady, that's now also my job. One that I take pride in." He leant in close to say that, as if it were a private admittance only meant for her. "Giving you this position—it was one of the largest gestures of trust he could ever give. To hand power over his court to you. The ordaining isn't official without your presence, but he wanted you to be given that respect regardless."

A deep cry broke her response off. Her eyes snapped to a nearby training ring, a male clutching his leg. A bone protruded from it, the snow-dotted ground around him already crimson. Galadriel flinched, her feet already moving to go help, but a firm hand on her shoulder held her back. The partner he'd been sparring with only stood at the edge of the ring, wooden staff braced against his shoulder as the other male writhed around in agony.

"What will they do?" she breathed.

Cassian's voice was low. "Wait till he figures out how to take care of himself."

"Did...Did you have to go through that?" She knew the answer but wanted—prayed—he would tell her something else. But when his hand only squeezed her shoulder, she wished she hadn't bothered. Her hand went to reach for his, but as soon as her fingers graze the ones clutching her, Cassian took his hand away.