A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 69: Pieces Fall into Place

Chapter 69: Pieces Fall into Place

Sniffing, Galadriel rubbed her nose, trying to make her way through the dark maze of the town house. Mor had dropped her right at the door but had returned with the Illyrians to the House of Wind for the night. Galadriel suspected it had to do with Rhysand's plans for tomorrow.

Kicking off her heels, she groaned at the sight of the stairs, stopping a good few paces before the bottom, contemplating whether the lounge would be comfortable enough to sleep on. With a ragged sigh, she leant against the wall and began to collect the scraps of her motivation.

Her attention drifted to Rhysand's office. Hoping that the extra few minutes would help clear her head, she shoved off the wall and went inside, lighting the overhead faelight, lighting the room in warm amber. The desk was a mess as it had been that morning, papers strewn about, his chair left crooked and untucked. She knew his habits. He usually kept this space clean and the sight of it not being so had Galadriel gnawing on her lip.

She peeked at the financial papers he'd been pouring over that morning, gaping at the absurd amount. No wonder he liked gifting her jewels—it was probably one of the only ways he could offload some of his wealth.

Galadriel placed that in the top drawer and skimmed her fingers over a dense pile of unrelated documents. An envelope slipped out. The invitation to the Summer Court gala, no doubt—the thick, textured paper folded in the proper manner was something she had become familiar with, dealing with Amoise's countless invites. Her thumb brushed the red wax seal.

She frowned.

Bringing it closer to her face and turning it so it hit the light, she inspected the insignia embellished in the wax.

Not a wave, the Summer Court symbol.

It was a mountain.

For a moment she thought she was going insane, wondering if she'd been seeing the Night Court symbol wrong, but no matter how she turned it, there were no three stars. She racked her mind for the other court insignias, but the only other one to bear anything similar was Dawn's twin mountains.

Unfolding the paper, her eyes scanned the contents. An invitation addressed to Rhysand and his court, dated for tonight.

Rhys lied to her? Though it hurt, little part of her was truly shocked. She'd known his tendency to hide things from an early stage. But why lie about this? She filtered through the beautifully scrawled ink to the address and the sender's curling signature.

Under the Mountain.
Amarantha.

It came to her, sudden and hard like a lightning strike. The mountain in the middle. The prison cells. The creature lurking in the dark that wasn't any manner of fae belonging to Prythian. Whatever was going on in that mountain, it was enough to make every nerve vibrate with warning. "Rhys," she whispered, a rancid acid building in her stomach as she let the letter fall back to the desk.

Galadriel put her hand to her mouth. Rhys had to know what he was doing. He'd told her the story of the war, how Amarantha had tortured him, slaughtered his entire legion. The revenge he desired.

He planned on coming home. She told herself that, once, twice. It wasn't a lie—she would have been able to feel it in her bones. Whatever he was doing, he was going to come back to her.

But the tears prevented that thought from calming her and she bent over the desk, palms flat against the wood, choking on distraught.

~

Azriel had spent most of the night scolding himself. He scolded himself for not giving her a compliment. Then for not giving her the gift he'd spent five meticulous hours finding and then for the way he'd left the night—unchanged. Cassian had informed him around a month ago why Galadriel had barely looked at him, though some part of him already knew. But no matter how many times he conjured the image of himself apologising, prepared the words, something shackled him and he just couldn't. Maybe it was because it wouldn't have been genuine.