Chapter 47: Don't Let Go
Amren had gone home for the night. Mor's bedroom door remained open, spilling golden light into the otherwise dark hallway but it was quiet from inside. Both Cassian and Azriel's bedroom doors were closed, but Galadriel could hear the low murmurs from inside Cassian's when she passed it. "What are they talking about?" she asked Rhysand back in the kitchen.
Rhys braced himself on the marble bench. "Prying, are we?" he taunted. "How many of my private conversations have you listened to?"
"Only a few." With a trained smile as she passed him, she added, "You put wards around the ones that are really private. Though I never see you with anybody and your bedroom is a strange place to have meetings."
She had meant to get a reaction out of him, but when he smirked at her and said, "Are you looking for an invitation to join? Because you have it," it was her that blushed and stammered. Chuckling, he poured her another glass of wine. She'd taken drinking steady and even now on her fifth of the night she barely felt the effects. Although, with a glance at the clock, it was more like a very early morning. "To answer your question, Cassian is telling Azriel that he might teach you how to wrap your own weapons next time you train."
"As long as it's not in the morning. He'll have to drag me."
"I think he's probably going to wake after you. He's dragging his own feet around," Rhys muttered with a glare up at the ceiling. "You don't seem particularly tired."
"I'm not," she admitted. "Today was long, but it was...easy." Everything fit in place. She hadn't spent a moment worrying or in dizzying confusion. She wasn't thinking over her every interaction with Azriel or Rhys. Even thoughts of her new power had been shoved to the back of her mind. "Is there really more presents in my bedroom?" she inquired.
Rhys arched a brow. "Would you like to find out?"
Taking that as a positive, Galadriel huffed and pushed off the bench, striding upstairs for her bedroom. Rhysand trailed behind her, resting against the threshold of her doorway when she went in. There it was. A pile of small presents on the foot of her bed, all wrapped in that same black and silver packaging.
"All jewellery?" she asked, leering back over her shoulder.
"Some pieces I've seen you stare at when we pass them, others that I know will look beautiful on you." Another veiled confirmation, like not outright admitting it would save him from her lashing of his spending on her. "Don't think of them as presents, if it helps. I'm just helping you fill your jewels stands and boxes."
But Galadriel shook her head. "No. Presents make it easier. Amoise gave me gifts. It's when it's not for special occasions that I—" Not knowing what she was even saying, she cut herself off.
Rhys kicked off the door, slowly edging towards the bed she sat on, perching on the edge of the mattress. "Luxury can be hard for people that didn't grow up with it," he said softly. "Some go overboard, spend money on things they don't need. Others still feel like that luxury is above them and refuse to buy things they are now allowed to. Let me buy these things for you if you won't buy them for yourself. I know what I can afford. And I can afford to adorn you in every jewel that you lay eyes on," he said, hooking hair away from her face so she could see his smile. "Truthfully it's a mark of pride for me to see you wear things that I've given you."
"Like a label screaming that I belong to you?" she deadpanned.
"Not at all," he defended with a sudden roughness. Galadriel laughed, telling him that she was teasing. He brushed his nose against her temple. "Open them. Anything you don't like Amren can have. A firedrake, she is."
One by one she did just that and soon a sea of gems lay before her. They were of all shape and colour and size, but most notable were the pieces with diamonds which seemed to be the Court's chosen gemstone. "You know," she whispered, "I think my father intended me to be married to Tamlin when I was older."
"I'm thrilled to know that's what you're thinking of right now." He had been pressed against her the entire time she'd been unwrapping and examining the jewellery, laying kisses on her shoulder, raking his nails up and down the length of her thigh.
"I just..." She sighed and let the necklace she'd been holding drop back onto the blanket. "I would have had this. The jewels, the oversized bedroom, a seat next to a High Lord. The Tamlin I knew wasn't a bad person. He treated me well. But I can't imagine myself being happy with him. No matter how many times I envision it." Shrugging, she smirked at him. "Maybe it's because he wouldn't be able to take me flying whenever I wanted."
Rhys's arm slid around her waist. "Is that your way of asking?"
Biting her lip, she nodded. Rhys laughed and scooped her off the bed. Shrieking a bit at the suddenness, she wrung her arms tightly around his neck. The locks on her middle window unlatched and a non-existence gale flung the panes open.
As he stepped onto the sill, her eyes flickered to his back. And noticed that he didn't have his wings out.
Her scream was stolen by the wind of the short fall as he leapt out of her window. But with a heavy beat, those great black shapes appeared and they were in the sky before they splattered on the ground. "I hate you," she growled into his shoulder.
It was snowing lightly, flakes clinging to her lashes as they flew over and through the city. It was quieter than it had ever been, even at this late hour. Everybody must be in their homes with their family as they had been, curled up in front of their burning hearths. They flew around for a while, just breathing in the sight, enjoying the calmness and the company. Eventually, he flew them higher, towards the mountain. At first, she thought Rhys might be so tired that he was going to fly them into stone, opening her mouth to say something, but then she saw the shallow ledge.
It was barely large enough to seat them both but Rhys kept her in his arms as he carefully landed and dropped to sit at the edge, legs dangling over. He situated her on his lap and Galadriel immediately pressed into his chest, feeling like she was on the very verge of falling over, trying to bring her feet up to kick her way further back.
"You believe I would let you fall?" Rhys asked, an arm around her stomach.
"I think you'd catch me," she said, "but yes, I think you'd let me fall first."
It was cold on the mountain, her breath fogging, but she didn't ask for that cocoon of warmth. Lifting her hand, she watched as the snowflakes caught on her skin, sitting there for a moment before melting. "It's beautiful, but I don't think I'd like the Winter Court."
"I wouldn't like living in any of the seasonal courts," he replied. "Eternal summer and winter. I'd go insane with no changes."
"Autumn and Spring weren't so bad. There were warm and cold days. Droughts and floods. I didn't feel like I was in Autumn for two hundred years, but I can't decide if it felt like a lot more or a lot less. It depends on the day."
"I'm still not past you calling me old," he said. "Beron is over twice my age."
Galadriel twisted her chin over her shoulder. "Five centuries is a long time. If you were mortal, you'd have that many great-grandchildren that you would have lost count."
He traced her jaw. "How unfortunate for them that they don't have forever to find the one they belong to, to have those children with."
Her eyes lowered. "Even we don't have forever. We're immortal, not invincible."
"I still found you though."
They stayed on that ledge until their fingertips froze over and the ambience of the hearth and the enclosing walls of the town house called stronger than the protection his magic could offer. Rhys flew them back down to the front door, not able to squeeze through her window with his wings. Galadriel entered first, dropping her hands from her arms.
They went upstairs to the bedrooms and like he had before, Rhys followed her to hers. Opening the door, Galadriel peered in—over the jewels, the bed, her clothes from the day before strewn over the back of a chair because she told Cerridwen not to bother cleaning anything up.
"Are you going to go in?" Rhysand asked from behind her. "This is your room."
Galadriel folded her arms over her stomach and turned to him. "It's too cold in there. Where else can I stay tonight?
The shift that came over him—she'd never been able to see his thoughts so clearly. "Are we making this change permanent?"
"Is that a decision I have to make at this moment?"
"Just wondering if I should have your things brought over, is all," he answered. "I'll leave them here tonight." Reaching behind her, he grasped the handle of her door and pulled it shut, knocking her into him at the same time. He led her to his bedroom, the door to the grand room open already in welcome. Instantly she was hit with the lingering traces of his scent, like he was all around her.
She stood there, just past the door for a while, taking it in. Beron's room, the few times she'd been in there to serve Amoise, had been more like a mini palace in its own right. There was no telling where his bedroom ended and the private meeting area began. Or the dining space. Or the small library.
Rhysand's room, however big, remained a bedroom. A space to unwind and relax. Separate from everything else.
A weight pressed against her back, hands settling on her hips. He kissed the contour of her neck and shoulder. "First Tamlin and now Beron," he murmured into her skin. "What will I have to do to have you think about me?"
"I'm sure there a few things you could do," she whispered.
"Is that so?" One of his hands began moving northwards, his palm flat along her naval then sternum where it settled. "How about now?"
Galadriel closed her eyes. "Beron has these stables—" her voice hitched as his other hand slid down her thigh, fingers creeping into the inner walls of muscle over her dress skirt "—that he keeps all his horses. Even his sons aren't allowed to ride them. They're beautiful horses but he never goes riding anymore. It's a shame, really. Amoise tells me he used to ride quite often before he was High Lord."
Her breathing turned a little ragged as that first hand moved higher again, curving under her breast. The material of her skirt began to creep up, cool air hitting the skin of her calf, then her knee. He bunched the material in his hand then locked it in place by his forearm so he could return to massaging the inner flesh of her thigh.
"You might think he hates every High Lord," she went on, "but apparently he actually admires Hel...Helion's father. He doesn't trust anybody on his council, especially not his sons or cousins. He lives in this constant state of paranoia even though he pretends not to" Her throat bobbed as that large palm finally cupped her breast, squeezing hard. Sinking in him, she was at least met with the knowledge that her arousal wasn't a singular experience. "I can't keep talking about him," she breathed out.
Rhys kissed a spot right under her ear, sucking a little. "Good. That was the goal."
The sound she let out as his lowest hand moved under the bunched fabric of her skirt might have mortified her at another time, but all she could do was grip his forearm and focus on the sensation of his fingers moving against her.
"In those meetings I'd have by myself," he said into her ear, "this is what I would be thinking about doing. Probably at times I shouldn't have, as well. Tell me you've thought of me too."
"I have." A smile grew, her eyes still shut. "Punching you, that is." His fingers pressed harder against the spot that made her seize and clench her thighs around his hand. "Maybe that as well," she added breathlessly. "Both scenarios pleasure me."
He kissed her ear. "How did it go—the second scenario? What did I do with you?"
It was hard to hear him. Even harder to respond. "It would go like this. Then... Then you'd pull me onto the bed an-and we'd undress each other. No magic. You'd touch me some more and I'd touch you back. We'd—we would bring each other close to the edge but it would have been too quick so we'd both pull away. Then..." She broke off, eyes opening as the hand at her chest slipped beneath her bodice, skin meeting skin. But at the cost of losing that touch, Galadriel turned and looked over his shoulders. At the wings still there. "Then you'd trust me," she finished.
He read her thoughts—but he wasn't in them. She knew that whatever desire she held was on her face, hotter and brighter than the sun. "Touch them," he ordered. "See what it does to me."
She did; going right for the spot where she had touched them for the very first time and he'd pulled her hand away. With no such restriction in place this time, Rhysand shuddered as her fingers brushed over the membrane. His hands went back to her hips then further back, pulling her flush against him so she could feel the way other parts of him responded. He kneaded her rear as she explored without restraint, finding the spots that made him jerk against her.
Eventually he grabbed her arm, pulling it down. "If you keep going, this is going to be a very short night," he bit out. "Do you mind if we skip to the part of your plan where I undress you?"
"I think we're already out of order anyway."
"Great."
He had her legs around his waist in the next instant, then her back against the bed. He hovered over her, an ecstasy running amuck through his wild gaze. Her chest moved in laboured pants as his hands ran down the undersides of her thighs, tightening the way they sat over his hips. Leaning down, he dusted his lips over her neck, breath kissing her ear. "Don't let go of me."
Last chapter was a fav of mine so I'm glad most of you enjoyed it!