A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 67: Summer Thrills

Chapter 67: Summer Thrills

As though the Cauldron had decided to bless Cassian (or so he claimed), the day of his birthday was ungodly hot. Galadriel had planned on spending the day, boarded on the barge Rhys had hired out, drinking in the upscale taproom but when waiter staff offered to bring her champagne on the sundeck, she couldn't resist the idea of lounging about, sunning her skin which had become an almost sickly pale through winter. The loose cotton pants and matching cropped shirt kept her skin cool enough to enjoy the heat as she laid belly-down on a sunning chair. Mor sat next to her, fanning herself with one hand, the other balancing a crystalline flute. Even Amren had situated herself under a parasol, book in hand.

~

Rhys was pissed and he wasn't afraid to let his brothers know. Despite his daemati abilities, Azriel and Cassian had been around him long enough to know how to keep him at bay when they played cards. Azriel had the uncanny skill to keep his mind clear, as if he let his shadows do the thinking for him. Cassian's rather unsavoury tactic was to project elicit pictures that Rhys had no desire of looking in on.

So, for the fifth time in a row, splayed his cards along the table in defeat. "Pricks."

The corner of Azriel's lips lifted, the quietest of huffs as he placed his down next. Cassian hooted, greedily grabbing at the gold marks they'd poured into the centre of the table. "Another round?" he asked.

"Another round and I won't have enough to pay you salaries," Rhys argued. The barge wasn't hosting just his inner circle. He'd invited enough guests that the boat had a liveliness to it. Rhys had selected them carefully—faeries that they'd met through the centuries of courtly parties and gatherings that Cassian bothered to attend. "Mor's been too quiet, which worries me."

Cassian and Azriel followed him as he slipped from his seat, Cassian pocketing his money. "Amren could've drowned her," Azriel supplied. "I heard her threaten that about a week ago."

"They probably would have wrecked the boat by now if they were fighting," remarked Cassia, then tipped his head with a second thought. "Not that I'd mind watching that. We can afford the repairs, right?"

"You can," Rhys chuffed, motioning to Cassian's pocket full of gold.

Contrary to their conspiracies, once they hunted down the second half of their group, they found them in the epitome of languid. Rhys smiled at the sight of his mate, flattened against the length of a sunbed, toes pointed inwards to each other, her cheek smooshed. The sun made her skin and hair glow something close to gold. He traced every one of her curves with his eyes, no small amount of pleasure pooling inside him as he walked closer—softly.

He laid a hand on the back of her thigh, kneeling beside the bed, smiling at the little noise that told him she was just conscious enough to recognise him. "You are going to get burnt if you stay here."

"I'll heal."

"Yes, but you don't let me touch you until you do," he said. "And I've had a terrible morning. My brothers have taken all my coin." He lifted her hand, peppering kisses along the inside of her forearm, spying the growing tilt on her mouth.

"Our coin," she reminded him. Usually, it was the other way around.

"I'll need someone to care for me in my wallowing."

Cassian had managed to pull Mor from her dozing, the pair of them along with Azriel bearing fresh flutes of wine. Galadriel rolled herself onto her side, an imprint of the bed's woven canvas on her cheek. "Baby," she grumbled. "Such a baby, needing constant attention."

Rhys laughed but didn't deny it. "Come on, or Cassian will accuse you of ignoring him."

Galadriel let him pull her up. Magic carried music from the floor below to the sun deck. They danced and drank and danced some more. When his mate was too tired, she leant her head back against his chest, pulling his arms to hang over her front as they huddled under Amren's parasol, whose stern frown was enough of a sign that her patience today was thin. Such a simple, affectionate sequence of motions, bundling herself in him. He kissed the crown of her head, tightening his arms.