A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 83: Shattered

Nothing came. Not for ten minutes, then twenty. Once half an hour had passed, she wondered if Rhysand was hurt, or if he had killed the second faerie and was on his way to her now. The mating bond was so mute, so numb that she couldn't pry anything from it. She worried her fingers until the skin around her nailbeds bled, the nails themselves cracked and short.

The knock at her door was polite, pleasant. Galadriel thought she imagined it for a time until it came again with a little bit more force. Swallowing tightly, she grabbed the brass knob and turned it. The faerie waiting on the other side was High Fae. A personal guard to Amarantha.

"You have summons," was all he said.

There was no point fighting that, no point asking what for. Galadriel dropped her gaze and let herself be taken. She'd been caught. Right in Rhysand's bed. She felt for the mating bond, and it calmed her just enough to recognise its presence, like a second heart beating inside of her.

The guard led her deep beneath the main palace, to a depth she'd only ever been at twice. Both times were when she'd been near the cells, entering the mountain. It was cold, her breath almost forming in front of her lips despite being somewhere near summer. She couldn't say the exact date for certain.

The room the guard brought her to was empty except for three things. One was a chair, plain and wooden. The second was Amarantha, her black dress simple and long, hair neatly coiled into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck that had pieces draping her face. The look in her eye was cold and daunting. Nothing like the crackling storm of her usual cruel delight.

The third was Rhysand, now dressed in his black suit. He was stiff, hands deep in his pockets, the dark fabric shifting enough to suggest he was fiddling. Most of all, he looked hurt. But no matter how hard she searched, she could not find signs of a physical wound.

The guard shut the door without a word, making Galadriel the final piece of this scene.

Amarantha tilted her head forward like she was a mother speaking to her child. "I thought a lot about you, Galadriel." Her voice was sickeningly smooth, like too-sweet and thick caramel sliding slowly down your throat. "You have your uses, but there are others that bring me more."

Galadriel resisted looking at Rhysand again. "I can do better," she swore.

Amarantha hummed, shutting Galadriel right up. She brought her fingers close to her face, inspecting them as she dug a taloned nail beneath another, picking at the non-existent dirt. Her hips moved like an entrance part of a sensual dance as she stalked forward, circling Galadriel. "I don't often bargain once I've made up my mind, but Rhysand can be very convincing."

Amarantha prowled close to him. Rhysand smiled down at the Mountain Queen, doing nothing as the pale hand slid down the front of his chest, over his pants before trailing off into the air. "I told you long ago that she was a favourite of mine."

Amarantha looked him dead in the eye. "You will have no one but me." Head over her shoulder, she pinched Rhysand's chin and said to Galadriel, "He understands that now. I want to make sure you understand it too."

Galadriel dipped into a curtsey. "Of course, he is yours."

This didn't sound like she was going to be killed. Rhysand's stillness said enough. But after ten years... After ten years, Galadriel wasn't entirely sure what Rhysand would do if her life was on the line. If he would think it was worth fighting for, or if their time Under the Mountain had readjusted what he held most dear. If the pressure of fighting for his court had become so intense that he would give her up for it.

She didn't blame him.

"Yet you seem to have forgotten that when you were found beneath him this morning, letting him bury himself inside you like the common whore you are."