A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 64: Alive

Chapter 64: Alive

Galadriel sat up, chest tight as the silhouette took up the space at the front of the tent. At first, she thought her ears must have been playing tricks on her, the form broad and winged, a red siphon bright as blood situated on the Illyrian's chest. But the male before her was not as tall or broad as Cassian, and she had never felt goosebumps cascade down her arms in an instinctive warning as they did now.

He took another step forward, into the soft glow of the lantern.

The butcher. The male with the scarred wings. The male who had cut the wings off another out of jealousy. She steeled her face, listening, hoping to hear Cassian's heavy gait outside. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the cracked voice echoed. Her eyes fell to his hand where Deiga's already blood-stained fingers clenched tightly around a leather belt. "Your mate destroyed my wings. Ordered them to put an iron rod so hot that it was red to my wings over and over and over again. When I passed out, they waited until I woke to continue."

Galadriel scooted to the far end of the bed, throwing the pillow forward as if it might act as a shield. "Cassian is not my mate," she said, the remnants of alcohol in her system wavering her voice which she strained to keep calm. "High Lord Rhysand is and you committed a crime. You cut the wings off another Illyrian and that is not Cassian's fault."

"Keiron didn't deserve her. I did that so she could see it too."

"And did she?" Galadriel's foot inched to the rugged floor, hitting the pack she'd stored at the head of the cot first before finding solid ground.

Deiga tilted his head. "The Lord of Bloodshed destroyed my wings. No one wanted me after that."

The world was tipping slightly, pulsing in and out in a drunken haze. "Punishment to fit the crime. They would have done it even if he wasn't there. Do not bla—" she took a steadying breath, head swarming "—blame the consequences of your actions on him." The hand she'd raised between them at some stage dropped. "Do not hurt him."

"He took my life. I'm not foolish enough to think I can take his."

"Then what do you want?"

Deiga stared at her, nothing but distant and cold fury in his hazel eyes. "To take exactly what he took from me."

Galadriel leapt back as he launched forward, her back slamming against the lip of the table. It tipped back and she fell with it, head slamming against the ground. Deiga clamped a hand around her ankle. She kicked the other, but her drunken aim and lack of control over her muscles left her shots lousy. Mother above, Cassian had taught her this—taught her how to twist out of a hold like the one she was in now. She scrambled for the memory, dug through her mind like a hare scurrying for shelter from a fox.

Deiga dragged her into the middle of the tent, her nails clawing uselessly at the rugs which burned at the friction against her bare stomach, shirt dragged up to her chest. "Cassian," she cried, but realised she had barely blabbered the word and heaved a deep breath to call again. "CAS—"

She choked on the word, a palm slapping over her lips. The vile stench of raw meat filled her nostrils as he pulled her head back, caving her spine in, hot breath hitting her ear. He flipped her over, settling his knees on either side of her hips. Galadriel wriggled herself but he'd clenched his legs on her too tightly, her feet helplessly kicking at air. Fisting her hand, she threw a punch and though the blow landed on his lower jaw, he didn't relent.

He wrestled one of her arms down, trapping it between her side and his knee but didn't bother with her other which she spent all her effort throwing at him, punching and scratching and pulling. The moment he lifted his hand from her mouth, she went to scream, but he had the belt around her neck before she could utter a sound.