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“They're showing off for you,” Lysander murmured, correctly interpreting her wide-eyed stare. “It's not often they have a new audience to impress.”

“Consider me thoroughly impressed.” She chuckled quietly. “And slightly terrified.”

Lysander's laugh rumbled against her. “Good. A healthy fear of the fae will serve you well here.” His hand slid back to her waist, proper but still warm through the thin fabric. “Though perhaps you needn't fear all of us quite so much.”

His amber eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, Ava felt a strange magnetic pull—not the compulsion of fae glamour, but something more basic, more human.

Lysander was attractive in a way that transcended his otherworldly nature, with a warmth that stood in stark contrast to Serrik's cold intensity or Valroy's viciousness.

“I think I'll reserve judgment on that.” It took every ounce of will she had to keep her voice steady and not have it crack like a teenage boy’s.

“Wise,” he acknowledged with a small smile. “Though I hope to earn your trust eventually.”

“Why? What could you possibly want from me? ”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps I simply enjoy a challenge. Or perhaps…” His fingers traced a small circle at her waist. “Perhaps I see something in you worth knowing.”

It became hard to think with his fingers tracing a circle at her lower back.

The music swelled, and Lysander guided her into a spin that left her momentarily breathless.

When he pulled her back against him, they were closer than before, the space between them charged with a tension that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

That's when she felt it—the familiar cold prickle at the back of her neck, the sensation of being observed from a great distance. She knew that feeling now, knew who it belonged to.

Serrik.

Even across the boundaries between worlds, he was there somehow. His presence was like a phantom touch, ghosting over her skin where the tattoo marked her as his.

Not his, she reminded herself fiercely. Mine.

Lysander noticed her sudden tension. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she lied. “Just... overwhelmed. Probably too much fae wine.”

His expression softened slightly. “It's a lot to take in, I know. The first revel always is.”

If he only knew. But how could she explain the sensation of being haunted by a fae sorcerer locked in another dimension?

How could she describe the crawling awareness of Serrik's attention, his jealousy —for she knew with sudden certainty that's what it was—flowing through their connection like ice water?

Serrik might not be able to see what was going on, but he sure as shit could feel it. That much she knew. Because there was a fury boiling away from the shadows now, seething and cold as ice.

The music shifted again, and Lysander adjusted his hold accordingly. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of her back, the touch sending an electric tingle up her spine. The contrast between his warmth and Serrik's cold, distant presence created a dissonance that left her feeling unbalanced .

“You're quite the dancer.” Lysander tilted his head to the side slightly. “For someone who claims to be uncomfortable.”

“I didn't say I was uncomfortable.” Ava glanced away. He was too pretty. “Just overwhelmed.”

His smile turned knowing. “There's a difference?”

“A big one.”

Around them, the revel had grown wilder.

Some of the fae had abandoned dancing entirely for other pursuits—drinking from goblets that emitted strange colored smoke, feeding each other fruits that glowed from within, or engaging in more, uh, well.

They even made sex seem graceful and beautiful, the way they made love to each other in every fashion imaginable.

And every shape imaginable. It seemed the fae made love in all their forms. It was getting really, really hard not to stare, especially seeing as one of them might be a minotaur and?—

“Too much too soon,” he explained at her questioning look.

“Even for someone as adaptable as you.” Lysander guided her away from the more bacchanalian sections of the gathering, toward the edge of the clearing where the light was softer, the music slightly muted.

He motioned for her to sit down on an arrangement of pillows, far from where they’d been earlier.

Book was sitting on the cushions next to her.

Ava wasn’t even remotely surprised anymore.

When she sat, he fetched glasses of white wine from a passing waiter and handed her one.

She reminded herself that Valroy had ensured she was safe to accept food and drink from the party. So she took the glass and sipped it. It tasted vaguely normal. Small favors.

But the consideration of Lysander leading her away surprised her. “But—” She paused. “That guy was a giant minotaur and that lady was about to—” She paused. “Magic, I get it, but—” Now she was curious. Curious and a little— “Don’t look at me like that, it’s a physics problem.”

Lysander’s cheeky grin was far more charming than it should have been.

Dangerously so. “As I said, too much, too soon.” He snickered.

“Even for one as apparently open-minded as you.” He leaned in close to her, his hot breath washing over her cheek.

“But now consider me well and truly smitten, Lady Ava…if you find such things enthralling. You and I could find great enjoyment in each other.” He placed his hand on her knee.

Forward, but it could have been far worse considering what other people were doing to each other.

She felt it again—Serrik's presence, stronger this time, like a cold finger tracing the pattern of her tattoo. She shivered involuntarily.

Lysander noticed. “Cold?”

“No, just…” She hesitated. How much should she reveal? “The Web. Sometimes I can feel it responding to things.”

“To this?” His hand on her knee slid slightly higher, his eyes gleaming with interest.

“To—to everything.” It was an honest response. She struggled to try to define it. “Especially when…” She trailed off, not wanting to reveal the connection to Serrik.

But Lysander seemed to understand anyway. “When the exile reaches for you. He can sense what you feel.” It wasn't a question.

Ava stared at him, startled.

“Your tattoo.” Reaching out, he touched her collarbone, and the seven-legged spider there. “This is how he bound you two together. And he is trapped within a prison that is also a living creature slowly burrowing its way into your being. You and he are tangled together, Weaver—inextricably.”

“Does it bother you?”

He hummed, shifting closer to her, continuing to trace the lines of her tattoo as he did.

“Does it seem as though it does? If you choose to spend your time with me, that is your decision. He has no power over that. Should he wish to play the voyeur? Well…” His grin was the perfect image of mischief.

“Let him, I say. You and he are bound, as all things in the Web are tangled together.”

“You know a lot about the Web for a Master of Revels. ”

His smile turned enigmatic. “I know a lot about many things, Ava Cole. It's what keeps me alive in a court full of predators.”

“Aren’t you also a predator?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“That I am.” His lips hovered just a little closer to hers. “But harmless on my own, in the grand scheme of the Unseelie. No, I must be clever to survive.”

“Like a house cat. Small. But deadly.”

That had him grinning wider. “Deadly to smaller animals. Not to you.” His gaze flicked to her lips. “Never to you.”

Oh no.

Shit.

God damn it.

Fuck.

Fuckity-fucksticks.

Ava had to stop this. She had to.

But she didn’t want to.

“I…”

The music ended with a crescendo and a round of applause. The dance floor parted as Valroy and Abigail stepped forward. “Now that we are all gathered, my Din’Glai, a word before you all return to your festivities,” Valroy announced.

“Perfect timing.” Lysander hung his head with a grunt. He stood in one graceful movement, his cat’s tail swishing irritably behind him, and offered her a hand up.

She couldn’t help but laugh as she took his offered hand and let him help her to her feet. She’d get up on her own, except for all the layers of sheer lace. She didn’t want to step on her dress and flash somebody.

Not like they’d care if she tanked it and went full high-beams on somebody, but she knew they’d laugh . And that’d be so much worse. With a sigh, she picked up Book and tucked it under her arm. She had a feeling.

Just a feeling.

That she was going to need it .

Lysander offered her his arm again, and she took it. He guided her to a position near the front of the assembly.

Valroy's wings were extended to their full impressive span, his blue eyes surveying the gathered court with regal satisfaction. Beside him, Abigail was a study in contrasts—her floral gown soft where his attire was sharp, her expression serene where his was calculating.

“My court,” Valroy's deep voice reminded her so much of Serrik’s.

It was terrifying and powerful, yet alluring and seductive.

“Tonight we celebrate new beginnings and old returns. You have met our guest of honor—” His gaze found Ava, and the assembled fae turned to look at her with renewed interest. “The Weaver, whose arrival marks a turning point in our long history.”

Ava felt suddenly exposed under their collective stare, acutely aware of the revealing dress, the tattoo, how small she must appear to them.

“But she is not our only guest tonight,” Valroy continued, gesturing toward the edge of the clearing where the trees grew thickest. There was a slight twist to his lips.

“Some of you may remember him from his time here before circumstances…separated him from us, long ago. And, his companion, visiting as our guest tonight with my wife from the Din’Lae. ”

A murmur ran through the crowd as two figures emerged from the shadows.

Valroy’s grin turned sadistic. “Welcome home .”

Ava's breath caught in her throat.

Nos and Ibin.