A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 48: The Rings

Chapter 48: The Rings

Surprisingly, Galadriel woke before Rhysand. It was about an hour after sunrise—so about one and a half hours after he usually woke. But as she lay in his bed, the blanket pulled tight under her neck, he was still sleeping. There was a softness in his face, an almost child-like one, as though the wears of his life were washed away by sleep.

Galadriel could feel his bare thigh beneath hers, the sole of her foot pressed against the back of his calf. One of his hands was loosely lain over her waist, fingers lazily brushing the small of her back. His wings were gone now, though she had fallen asleep to the sight of them.

She had every desire and intent to remain where she was until the late morning, but some time ago she'd heard the light footwork of the spymaster going up the narrow stairs to the rooftop terrace. Moving as silently as she could, Galadriel peeled herself off the bed and bumbled around the room. Summoning clothes from her room, she dressed in thick winter pants and a bulky coat with fur trimmings. And a scarf.

The town house was dead silent other than the barest of creaks her footsteps made up the staircase. The doorknob to the terrace was cold, stinging like a biting asp. It was a relatively small space, enclosed by a thick fence that made up part of the roof. But the terrace had a small metal-frame table and seats and a few plants around the perimeter.

Azriel took up one of those seats and sunk deep into it, his eyes on the horizon. He glanced over the length of his shoulder as she arrived, stern-faced, but it broke just a few seconds after taking her in. Whatever it was about her, he laughed. It was a joyous but complex sound as if there were layers she couldn't quite hear or see yet.

"What?" she asked indignantly. However nice it was to hear his laugh, it wasn't nice to be laughed at so early in the morning.

He swallowed his laughter, feeding it into a smile. "You look warm," he said. Galadriel rolled her eyes, manoeuvring to the free seat. He slid a white mug over the table, dark cocoa steaming from within. "I just made it."

Not in the mindset to argue, she cupped it, internally moaning at the warmth. As she sipped from it, she noticed the book open in his lap. One of the books she'd given him yesterday. "I thought you'd like that one the most," she mused. "I kept seeing it in a bookshop I love visiting." And she'd wanted to buy it for him every time she passed it, only finally getting the excuse with Winter Solstice.

"Picus is a fine writer," he agreed. "He has a way of making even the most... bizarre things amusing." He looked at her, at her hand. "Do you like the ring?"

Flexing the fingers, she examined her bare fingers. "I do, I just haven't had the chance to put it on. You seemed a little worried yesterday about it," she noted cautiously.

Azriel looked ahead again. "I hadn't told Rhys my plan for your gift. I thought that it would be better, but now I realise catching him off guard like that was probably not the best move on my part."

Galadriel shrugged. "It's just jewellery. He can't be pissed at you for that." Sighing lightly, he shook his head but didn't answer her. She frowned. "Are you and Rhys alright?"

"You don't need to worry about that."

"I care about both of you. If there's something happening and it's because of me, I'd like to fix it."

Rubbing his scarred hands together to warm them up, Azriel bowed his head before looking at her. Galadriel waited patiently, not breaking away to give him an escape from answering. "Rhys's mother gave him a ring when he was young. A ring to give the person he wanted at his side. She gave it to the Weaver for safekeeping but died before she could retrieve it for him. Rhys and the Weaver don't have the best relationship, you could say, and he's been figuring out how to get it back for the past few weeks. So far he's been unsuccessful. I think he's planning on sending either me or Cassian in, if not himself to steal it."