A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 51: Temper

"Not here," he murmured, too quiet for the attentive ears that had gathered to watch how the young warrior handled the snapped bone. Shame from realising that the rejection of touch upset her, Galadriel tucked her hands beneath her arms.

The warrior eventually limped back up on one foot, crying with each hobble he took towards the fence. Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Inching her chin over her shoulder, Galadriel found Azriel lurking under the shade of a tree's belly, nearly invisible if it weren't for the bright azure beacons littering his body. There was no telling how long he'd been there. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Cassian didn't argue when she walked away before he could answer, headed towards Azriel since he looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

"We don't usually get blondes around here." The unfamiliar voice halted her in place. Cassian was back at her side in an instant, like a sudden mountain of muscle and leather and steel. Three males strode up to them, each baring grins that made her insides churn. Hazel eyes that were more brown than gold ran over her. The leader, tallest and leanest, took another step closer. "Exotic. I've always wondered if they scream differently when fucked."

Galadriel went stiff and didn't try to hide the fact.

Cassian snarled. "You watch your fucking mouth."

The leader cocked his head. "Why? Is that where you fuck her? Tell me," he said, eyes turning on her, "is the bastard brute just as vicious putting himself inside of you as he's said to be on the battlefield? Or is he soft and tender like the pride he claims to have? Either way, I'll be better."

Her cheeks went red hot. Azriel slid into place on her other side, casually playing with Truth Teller. "I'd let you try me out yourself," she said, "but this exotic bitch has standards."

The one on his left, with a wide-set jaw, said, "When you come into our territory, you don't get to speak like that. Our females do what they're told."

"High Lord Rhysand's territory," Azriel interjected, cooly flipping his knife. "You seem to forget that, no matter how many times we remind you."

"And where is he now?"

"He has bigger things to deal with than pisspots like you," Cassian growled.

"Including looking after his mate, it seems," the third crooned, smiling in a way that made her stumble a step back, knocking into Azriel's unoccupied arm which steadied her. "We heard about the special guest. The High Lord's mate dumped right into our camp with his bastard-born general and spymaster as her watchers. He's just asking for us to take her if you ask me."

"Nobody did." Cassian rested his palm on the pommel of the long knife strapped to his thigh, and then his fingers nudged hers, hooking around her index until her fingertip dusted the cold metal. She understood the message: she was to take it if they made one move forward. "But I haven't had the pleasure of ripping out a spine lately. I hang them over my mantlepiece. Yours must be made of goddamn iron if you thought coming over here was a good idea."

The middle's eyes moved on to Azriel next. "How about you? Are you going to threaten us too? Maybe with that silly little knife of yours. Or will your shadows haunt us in our bedrooms?"

Azriel tilted his head. "You took twenty minutes to approach from when you first spotted her, and that was without realising I was here. I think that says enough."

"Laird!" A fierce-looking male called the name from the right, all of their heads turning in its direction. A face newly familiar to her stalked toward them. Devlon, she pieced together, having spied Rhysand and Cassian talking with him out of the window in the cabin. "Get back to your damn stations."

The three males sent one last look at Cassian and Azriel—at her—before turning away without another word.

Devlon spun on Cassian. "I told you bringing that bitch here wouldn't do anybody any good. I'm not going to interfere again if there's any problems."

Cassian folded his arms across his broad chest and took a step towards the camp lord. "You will," he said. "Because any problems with Galadriel are my High Lord's problems. And if they're his, they're yours. Circle of life." Galadriel hadn't truly realised until now what, exactly, trouble she brought with her here. It was no wonder both Azriel and Rhysand didn't like the idea. "Get your soldiers in line and cut down the ones that aren't before I have to get my hands dirty and do your damn job."

To his credit, Devlon backed down. Whatever threats Cassian had used in the past, he'd clearly had to go through with them before, because Devlon said, "They're in line. Don't bring her to the training grounds, and you won't have problems. Females don't belong here."

Galadriel was glad when they returned to the cabin. Cassian hovered in the kitchen as she made them lunch with the food Azriel managed to hunt down. "I might just survive if you're treating us to actual meals," Cassian said. "Usually we eat stew. Lots of stew."

She didn't tell him that cooking was her distraction. Her small little escape. "It might have to be stew tomorrow if we don't get some fresh food."

He leant his back against the bench as she cut through a slab of salt-preserved meat, retrieving herbs when she asked for them. As she wiped her hands along her dark pants, a thick arm slid across the front of her chest. It held her in place as he kissed the crown of her head. "Az and I are sharing a room tonight so you can have the other to yourself, and I'm saying this with all modesty in mind because I know how this place must feel for you—if you can't sleep alone, the door is open."

In an attempt to shake off the unease he so obviously found in her, she said, "Modesty? I wasn't aware you knew the word."

He winked. "I sleep naked."