A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 85: Little Thief

Chapter 85: Little Thief

For two years she was forbidden to see him.

It had been two years since she looked upon his face, into his eyes. Only in her dreams did he ever appear, barely a shadow of his Illyrian form. He talked to her, but she'd forgotten everything he said.

Amarantha held a tighter rope than ever before when it came to Galadriel, restricting her to a few halls and rooms. Even her bedroom had been moved. All she did every day was clean and serve at those horrendous parties. Every meal was eaten at the wonky table in her bedroom, usually alone but sometimes with Atticus. Atticus was a difficult companion, veering through phases where he barely left her side to not seeing her for weeks at a time. It drove Galadriel insane trying to figure him out, but no matter how adept he was at it, her skill set in observation and deductions had waned plentiful.

Sometimes a letter would be waiting for her, tucked beneath her pillow. It took her weeks to realise they were there, hearing the crinkle beneath the padding when she laid down her head. A handful of those folded notes had been placed there. When she opened the first, she almost couldn't bring herself to touch the rest. The elegant scrawl hurt too much to read.

The messages themselves were nothing of significance, as if they were mere ramblings of his consciousness, and only pieces, as if half the thoughts were missing. Some urged a response—a question or something he knew she would find humorous. But she could never bring herself to pick up an ink pen and write back.

She burned each one in the small hearth her new bedroom had.

Since that night when she felt the mating bond open, became overwhelmed by his agony, she hadn't felt the barest hint of his existence other than the eternal tether tied to her being. It reminded her those months before she admitted its existence to herself. Before he roared it in her face and forced her to acknowledge it.

Galadriel heard enough about what he did for Amarantha's court. Horrendous things that made her the insides of her stomach curdle.

But every day, she reminded herself of three things, and she remembered who she was, who he was, and her home.

~

Galadriel wasn't exactly being dragged out in chains, but she may as well have been with the three dark faeries surrounding her. Amarantha's cronies. They broke through her bedroom door and dragged her out before she even had a chance to put on shoes. The cold stone stung her bare feet.

"Where are we going?" If someone was going to kill her, they would have done it by now. Boldness had become brazenness. Amarantha liked Galadriel alive, and the faeries inside the Mountain seemed to know it.

"Throne room," one replied, its voice hoarse like hissing stone. Galadriel regarded the faerie—it looked like an insect. Its long wings were translucent and thin, certainly not strong enough for flight. Perhaps a defensive mechanism. His eyes were beady and jarring too.

Indeed, they led her along the familiar path. Galadriel hadn't been to the throne room in months, and only then for a small audience that she was required to tend to. Perfect and silently.

Only the slightest thread of dread wove through her. Emotion, she'd come to realise, saved itself now. She barely felt anything at all unless her barriers were being pushed. And those days were rare. But the further these faeries led her, the more she could hear the buzzing of a stuffed throne room, the harder her worn heart started to beat.

When Galadriel entered, even with her bare feet silent against the polished marble floor, the throne room went still and quiet. Something inside her withered with so many eyes upon her, like a flower curling up when the sun left.