A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 8: A Shovel to Grovel

Chapter 8: A Shovel to Grovel

Her awakening came quite rudely. It involved her sheets being stripped away from her lounging body by the yank of magic. Galadriel's eyes shot open, filtering through the chamber until she found the High Lord standing before her, arms crossed. Her fist curled around her pillow.

"How nice of you to deign me with your presence," she growled, rolling to face away from him. It had been a day since anyone had bothered to see her, other than a momentary check-in performed by Azriel the previous night that lasted with one sentence spoken each before he left. Her door had remained locked, meals appearing at orderly times. "You locked me in here."

"You needed time to cool off without endangering yourself." His boots scuffed the ground with a few short steps. "Besides, there were rising rumours about your appearance. I was dealing with those, and you wouldn't have stayed here if I told you to."

"I might have, you wouldn't know for sure now. I do know how to follow orders." She could practically feel his eyes rolling.

"Are you going to join us for breakfast?" Galadriel waited a moment, then half-rolled back over, her light hair falling away from her face as she regarded the High Lord's face. His arms were crossed loosely, weight rested mostly on one foot. His eyes flickered over her exposed body (her sheet bundled near her feet). "On the condition that you behave, of course."

"Don't lock me in here again."

It must have been spoken with the conviction that she felt, because Rhysand's eyes softened and he nodded. "It was not my best idea. But I promised you safety and the situation here was...tense. I didn't want to snap at you either."

Galadriel slid from the edge of her bed, the shimmering pearl-coloured nightgown from the Day Court lengthening around her thighs. "Then maybe you should have locked yourself away."

Before she could glide past him, a large, warm hand grasped gently at her elbow. Rhysand leaned closer to her. "I'm sorry. Truly. I see how distasteful that was of me and I won't do it again. You have my word."

Galadriel eyed his hand, noting the drift of his scent under her nose as she still lent close. "You haven't given me a good reason to trust you on your word yet," she pointed out, soft in tone despite her protest.

"Then trust me on something more." The spot on her elbow was left with an unnatural coolness once he dropped it, but he turned his palm on offer to her. "A bargain. I'm sure you know how they work. On my word as High Lord, and as an honourable male—" she snorted and he grinned— "I will never again force you to remain in a place that you do not desire to be in."

Galadriel considered the offer but shook her head. "I'll settle on your word. I know Night Court bargains come with tattoos and I like my skin the way it is. But thank you... For offering." He rolled his fingers to his palm before turning it over and placing it into his pocket. "I believe you said something about breakfast."

"Yes. And though I think you look deliciously stunning in that nightgown, it would be wiser to dress for the occasion."

Her chin tipped. "Delicious? Are you planning on eating me or something?" She regretted not thinking over her words as Rhysand's smirk grew almost unbearably wide. "Forget I said that." Galadriel waved her hands through the air between them. "Out. I need to change. But don't leave without me!" He only waved in acknowledgement over his shoulder, shutting the door with a soft shudder.

Extracting a dress from the wardrobe, Galadriel examined it before putting it on. A pale green with a double-layered skirt. Beautiful and ill-fitting to the Night Court. It was perfect. Slipping into the silk-like fabric, she placed her feet in the new heels that she had cured her boredom by wearing in the past two days.