A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 6: The Thief and Hewn City

Chapter 6: The Thief and Hewn City

There wasn't much Galadriel had intended to have packed to leave. She ran with nothing but the clothes of her back and the soot on the trimmings of her dress from the unused cellar she hid in. But Helion insisted that she take some of the dresses offered to her in the short few weeks of stay as a final extension of his gratitude.

"The colours might lighten up the Night Court," he had also said, looking first over the dress she held than her hair which was equally as light. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had all been dressed head to toe in black and though Galadriel was sure there were other colours amongst their wardrobes, it was clear that darkness reigned in the court of night.

Rhysand and Azriel were given a room each to remain the night in, so she was able to sort out anything she needed to here. After the dinner she hadn't spoken to them, and they had made no effort to reach out to her either. Galadriel was sure Rhysand, despite his bravado character, was at least a little peeved at her attitude towards him. But certainly not as annoyed as she was. Galadriel simmered in her bath at the image of that haughty spark and the crooked smirk of his lips.

That was Azriel's High Lord? The High Lord her services provided for? "Arrogant, pruned bastard," she seethed, flicking harshly across the water's warm surface. It was not as hot as it would have been if she had gotten in right away, but baths always took her some time to get into.

There were many stories of him, none of them pleasant. Galadriel hadn't given them much thought, trusting Azriel blindly. He saved her life, after all. She owed him that trust, and nevertheless, he paid her greatly for it. She supposed that would stop too. The nice little addition to her account each week that let her by more cloth and threads than a handmaiden should be able to afford.

The tips of her fingers were numb from the years of sewing, the tip of the needle constantly prodding at them until it felt like she was wearing a glove.

The scrape of sincerity she felt for Rhysand's offer flushed away now that she wasn't being drawn in but the twist of his tone. He probably would be making her his personal attendant, sending her on time-wasting tasks, constantly reminding her that she was no longer where she ought to be. Reminding why she was there. But Galadriel refused to be ashamed of her choice.

She removed herself from the bathtub, wrapping a warmed towel of peach around her and ventured back into her private chamber. Shrugging on a nightgown and twisting her hair into a bun for the night, it was still another hour before sleep came and claimed her with an encapsulating hand of black.

~

"Are you a thief or simply forgetful?"

Azriel and Rhysand, who were dressed as impeccably as they were the day before, looked to Galadriel in confusion as Helion crossed his arms. Her shoulders dropped, knowing exactly what he was referring to. And she was hoping to get away with it. "You have the senses of a hunting hawk," she gibed, opening the cream satchel at her side where three dresses were carefully folded within as well as a book she purposefully did not return to Helion's private collection. Latching onto the leatherbound book of some of the strangest spells ever recorded to be use in Prythian's history, Galadriel pulled it from her bag. It was an interesting read, but she had only gotten half-way through. She tipped it into his awaiting palm. "Forgive me?"

He gestured to her with the book. "I'm placing a bounty on your head for thievery. How much do you say you are worth?"

Galadriel tilted her head. "Well, it must be somewhere above fifty-five thousand gold marks if you want my head to be brought to you rather than Beron. And who knows, I may just collect one in the Night Court as well."