Chapter 41: A Surprise; A Gift
Galadriel didn't bother looking her best anymore, even in the home and presence of a High Lord. For the second time, she had lost every article of clothing except the clothes on her back and now she simply took whatever hung in the wardrobe. Each time she opened it, new pieces were draped on the hangers or neatly folded on the shelving. At first she had thought it was the wraiths' doing, finding her usual style of flowing dresses, and light blouses and coats, but every now and then a daring dress would appear between two others, fitting of Night Court attire. She knew it was him, and never gave him the satisfaction of wearing one.
Rhys had given her the bedroom she first stayed in, the familiarity a small blessing. Though, she did miss what was becoming the usual morning spent with Cassian over breakfast after he'd trained. Apparently, her situation wrought enough sympathy that he didn't badger her to join.
"Any plans for today?" she asked Rhysand over a plate of toast. In the few days that she had spent here, he had already tuned into her habits, joining her in the small sunroom for breakfast and lunches where he could.
"The others are coming over later," he replied, sinking deeper into the woven chair with a charming smile as if he very well knew the way the angle the sun would hit him at would bathe him in gilded light. "But if you're asking about work, I'm taking the day off."
Galadriel dusted off her hands and flicked her hand. The plate disappeared. Both Rhys and Amren supplied her with the advice to use magic wherever she could. Small things so it leaked from her like a constantly draining vat. It would help prevent it from building up and spilling over, they told her. She still wasn't sure why she had to, since the power shouldn't be in her in the first place but for now she had to accept that it was.
Rhys seemed in a brighter mood than he had the past few days and she had the inkling that something had transpired which she was yet to learn about. "How would you feel about going somewhere tonight?" he inquired, breaking those travelling thoughts.
Her lips narrowed in a purse. Despite her returning energy, her desire to flutter about the city, to go to a dance hall with Mor or visit a tavern with Cassian hadn't returned with it. Not while she still felt like the leash of control over herself was out of reach. The skin on the back of her neck prickled with the heat of a phantom flame.
"A night in, then," Rhys said, though she hadn't spoken aloud. Galadriel waited for a sigh of displeasure or another bait to lure her out, but he continued on as if it had never been an offer. "I hope you're at least up for drinking then. You know Mor will complain if you're moping about all evening."
"Not that I need a reason to drink, but is there an occasion for it that you have neglected to inform me about?"
"Maybe." He sipped at his glass of orange juice. "It's not that important—just a little tradition I do every year."
Galadriel racked through her mind for any note of importance of the date, but there was nothing she could come up with. Rhys did speak of it as something unofficial though, an anniversary more than a holiday. "Anything in particular I need to know about it? Do you usually go somewhere?"
He shrugged the question off. "Sometimes. Depends on my mood. But drinking is always involved."
"I'd be more surprised if it wasn't."
That made him laugh.
Seeing as she hadn't yet removed her cotton nightwear, Galadriel returned to her room and searched through the newest haul of clothes the High Lord had gifted her. Once, months ago, she would have scolded him for it. Forced him to return everything. But after the villa, after everything...She didn't need to face the truth that they were gifts from him, that he thought of her when he went into the city. They would just suddenly be there in her wardrobe and when she wore something new, Rhys would merely dart eyes over it then give her a compliment or tease depending on his mood, and nothing more came of it.
He snipped any strings attached before she could think to find them.
Nuala came to help tie the ribbon lacing on the back of her pale blue dress. The wraith was so silent that Galadriel kept having to check over her shoulder to see that she was still there. "What so special about today?" she asked. "Should I be preparing for something?"
Nuala glided in front of her, as quick and silent as mist on the wind. She had a funny expression: amusement stirred with something else. "It is the High Lord's birthday," she said. Galadriel blanched, recoiling slightly as the information struck her with the blunt force of a rock thrown at her head. "My sister and I enjoy these nights. The shadowsinger lets us leave our duties early to spend the afternoon as we please. Most of the city celebrates in some fashion in his honour."
An entire city honouring Rhys's birthday. Her mate. Not that important he had said to her just an hour ago. A little tradition, he told her. Did he want her to stutter and fumble in front of him later when she would no doubt realise after his family showered him with gifts? Embarrass her for not having anything for him?
"Thank you."
Nuala disappeared with a soft yet cunning smile, as if she could read the thoughts now floating around Galadriel's head. Setting a heavy thump in her stride, Galadriel headed downstairs, hooking a cotton bag over her shoulder.
Rhysand, as she anticipated, careened out of the sitting room. Leaning against the wooden threshold, he eyed her shoes—her bag. "Going somewhere?"
"Into the city," she replied cooly. She kept her mind trained on thoughts of food—where it usually went if she had nothing else to think about. "Might look at getting something for Mor for Winter Solstice since you seem sure she'll be getting me something." She knew what he was thinking even without daemati power; she hadn't wanted to go anywhere just an hour ago. What had changed?
Before he could dig deeper into her mind, Galadriel swept past him, closing the front door behind her.
It took her longer than she thought it would to find him something. High and low she had searched, eventually settling on a package of oils the apothecary told her were for muscle relaxation. Galadriel also spent some time hunting a gift for Mor but didn't find anything and with a glance to the sky, knew she had spent too long in the city. By the time she was on her journey home, the sun was on its descent.
Chatter spilled into the foyer of the town house, informing her that all of his Inner Circle were present for the event of celebration. She held his present in hand, not bothering to wrap it, and went straight for the High Lord standing by the hearth.
Straightening at her sudden approach, his eyes flickered down to her hand.
"Happy birthday," she said, holding the pouch of oils out between them.
He carefully smiled, ignoring the conversation ensuing around them. He knew he'd been caught out. "Thank you. I didn't expect anything."
"Of course you didn't." Tilting her head, she added loud enough for them all to hear, "You never told me what today was." A low whistle of taunt sounded from behind her—most certainly from Cassian. Rhys glared in his direction. "Why not?"
Rhys parted his lips to speak, but stopped himself short. Pressing off the hearth, he slid an arm around her shoulders, leading her from the sitting room. Only because she wanted to hear what he had to say, did she allow him. In the quietness of the hall, with false privacy, he said, "You're upset."
"How very observant of you," she growled.
"Why?"
Thrusting an arm in the direction of his family, she said, "Because it's your birthday and you didn't tell me. I hadn't gotten you anything, I hadn't wished you a good day. I want to celebrate it with you and you left me out of it all."
A hint of a smile showed, soft and sincere. "I wanted to spend today with you too. Which is why I didn't tell you yet."
"I could have gotten something earlier," she pointed out.
"You've been lost these past few days, Galadriel. Few weeks if we're being honest here. I didn't want you to worry about getting me something. If I had realised this was why you left this morning—" he grazed a finger over the pouch he still hadn't taken from her "—I would've stopped you. I thought you just needed a break from me."
"Well." The frustration burned out. Shoulders sagging, she lifted the present between them again. "I did find out. And I did buy you something."
He took the pouch from her, pulling the drawstring neck apart. Peering inside, he extracted one of the oils, reading the label. "For muscles?" A cocky smirk at her. "Might need some help rubbing this on."
Crossing her arms, she said, "If you share with Cassian, I'm sure he'll oblige."
"I think I'll manage, actually."
Swinging past him to return to the sitting room, she glared up at him. "Too right." But when she heard his laughter at her back, she smiled to the ground before her feet. Taking residence on the armchair closest to the alcove, she bid the others a hello, ignoring their obvious attempts to draw attention to everything they'd just overheard.
When Rhysand returned—his hands empty—he veered toward her on his path back to the hearth. Leaning down, he whispered, "Thank you," and brushed a kiss over her hair. The heat of the roaring hearth—that was the reason for her blush bleeding across her cheeks. Not him.
Whatever rift between them had existed, had passed on like driftwood in a tide; sure to return soon enough, on another beach, but later and unthought of now.
~
Rhysand sensed Mor approaching long before he saw the flash of his cousin's golden hair. He fiddled with the empty flute in his hands, forearms braced on the guardrail of the upper balcony looking over the garden from his bedroom. "I'm almost certain I locked my door."
"No, you didn't," Mor contented. Leaning against the railing next to him, she tipped her head pointedly. "And we both know why not."
Not deigning to answer, he tipped the flute up and let the last few dribbles of wine fall onto his tongue. His birthday, as always, had been spent laughing, ignoring the issues plaguing his court. It was one of the only nights of the year he allowed himself that much. In answer to Mor, he said, "She's sleeping already."
"People wake up, Rhys," Mor sang, as if she knew all.
"What do you want Morrigan?"
With an elegant sigh, his cousin turned around, resting her back against the railing. Moonlight gleamed off her gilded hair, making it look illuminated like a faint sun. The moon turned Galadriel's hair almost white, as if her love for day was the only thing keeping her from belonging to the night completely. "You didn't tell her about your birthday."
"No," Rhys concurred. "She had too much on her mind. I didn't want to add to it."
"You're worried that inserting yourself in her troubles will make you one as well."
He sent a sharp look to her. It was uncanny how well Morrigan knew him, how well she could read him. He tested the block around his mind just in case. But she was The Morrigan. Bearer of Truths, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound. There was no lying to her and getting away with it.
His thoughts migrated on to the female of topic. He'd been close to getting through her walls completely before her panicked flee to Autumn. It had been an effort to not storm into the Forest House himself, demand his mate back. If they'd kept her, he would have had the right to declare war. After all, it was the court that held her, not a singular male to battle as Autumn customs allowed.
"She's not someone you can push," Rhys told Mor. "You push and she pushes you back."
She rapped her nails on the painted wood, the sound like a warning bell to those around her, of the thoughts clicking through her head. "Then when, exactly, do you plan on telling your mate that amongst us she has the rank of a High Lady?"
"When I know she won't be terrified to hear it."
I'm not vibing with this chapter a lot. And for the second time, I've written Rhys's birthday as winter rather than autumn. He just feels like a winter child. Anyways, double update cause I really don't like this chapter and it doesn't deserve a single post status.