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CHAPTER FOUR

“ I look ridiculous. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You look beautiful!”

“My tits are hanging out.”

“No they’re not.”

“Bitty. If I lean over, it’s all over.”

“Well, a lot of fae wear no clothing at all, so…”

Ava shut her eyes for a moment and tried not to either lose her temper or break out in laughter. Bitty was just trying to do her best. But this had all become such an absolute farce at this point that Ava was pretty certain she was on the edge of a total nervous breakdown.

She didn’t know what one felt like, but she was confident that one generally shouldn’t feel the urge to smash all valuable objects within range while crying, screaming, and laughing at the same time. That felt a little like she needed a vacation. Or a therapist. Or a therapist while on vacation.

But here she was, instead. Standing in front of a mirror staring at herself in the most ridiculous dress she’d ever worn in her life.

It’d be a Halloween costume if it weren’t seemingly well made.

But it was embarrassing. The whole thing was more sheer than not, and she was absolutely convinced that it had been given to her to wear just to make her uncomfortable.

It was made of layers of black lace, and the midsection laced up in the back to act almost like a corset, pushing her breasts together and up, hence the concern. But the center of it remained sheer, down to her navel.

Now, to be fair, she didn’t have that much on display.

She’d never been a very top-heavy girl, so to speak, but still.

It was the principle of the thing. The sleeves were off-the-shoulder, also black lace, and were only delicate, thin drapes of fabric.

The skirt was made of several layers of sheer black lace, matching the top—and she really wished she’d shoved a pair of her leggings into her bag when she’d been kicked out.

But she’d have to just live with the fact that in the right lighting, everybody would be able to see her whole ass. She sighed. At least she still had underwear. That was a benefit. The layers of the lace bodice kept her from being fully exposed, but it just…felt…wrong.

“Can’t I wear normal clothes?” She frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

“But you look so beautiful!” Bitty tugged her away from the mirror by the wrist. “Let me do your hair.”

Ava allowed herself to be led across the room to a vanity, but not without a whine.

Bitty chuckled as she urged her to sit down in front of the smaller mirror. “It would be seen as an insult to refuse the king’s gifts.”

“Right.” Like she cared. She also knew the dress was designed to show off her tattoos.

Which had, as both Valroy and Serrik predicted, grown since she’d gone to bed.

Fuck. She was trying very hard not to focus on that.

It was no longer just the long, leading straight lines from a spiderweb that reached down her right arm from the center points.

A few of them now had a few of their spiraling, jagged shapes arcing outward.

And there, on her collarbone, the seven-legged spider done in the style of a Celtic knot .

A reminder of what she was becoming.

And the creature who was to blame for it.

Bitty's tiny hands were surprisingly deft as she wove Ava's curly hair into an intricate style, lifting sections and pinning them with what appeared to be small silver branches tipped with acid-green moonstone.

It was Serrik’s color. She tried not to be bitter about that. Or think too hard about the statement Valroy was making by giving it to her to wear.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Ava was trying her best to distract herself from the near-naked reflection staring back at her.

“I was a handmaiden once.” Bitty’s wings fluttered slightly.

“At first, the Seelie thought perhaps my magic was just…dormant. They gave me two hundred years for my gifts to appear. In the meanwhile, Queen Abigail employed me in her court. I was quite good at being a handmaiden, actually. One of the few useful things I could do.”

Ava frowned. “You don't need magic to be useful.”

Bitty chuckled. “In Tir n'Aill? As a fae? That's precisely what you need. Everything here is about who is manipulating whom. Who has power over whom. It’s all a game. And I have no ability to play any such games, which makes me not only useless, it makes me rather inconvenient. Dangerous, even.” Bitty secured another section of hair. Her tone shifted immediately back to being bright and optimistic. “There. Now you at least look the part. Even if you won’t stop tugging at your dress.”

Ava studied her reflection. Despite her misgivings, she had to admit the effect was striking.

The elaborate hairstyle, with a few tendrils framing her face and the rest swept up in complex coils, made her look ethereal—less human, more like the fae themselves.

With the revealing dress and her visible tattoos, she looked like some exotic, dangerous creature.

Maybe that wasn't so far from the truth anymore.

Just think about it like you’re going to a Halloween party. That’s all this is. It’s just a costume .

A knock at the door made them both jump.

“Your escort awaits, Weaver,” a melodic voice called. It was Lysander, the amber-eyed, catlike fae who had appointed himself her guide.

“Just a minute,” Ava called back, then lowered her voice. “Quick question—if I trip and fall on my ass around these people—like, metaphorically—how quickly will I be eaten?”

Bitty's expression was deadly serious. “Metaphorically…? Don't trip.”

Letting out a breath, Ava sighed. “Awesome. Love it.” Standing, she touched up her lipstick—which was a dark, almost black shade of green, and prepared herself to go. She really did look like an Addams Family reject.

Taking a deep breath, Ava crossed to the door and opened it to find Lysander waiting in the corridor. He was dressed in what she could only describe as autumn incarnate—fabrics in shades of russet, gold, and deep bronze that shifted and rustled like fallen leaves with his every movement.

His eyes widened appreciatively at the sight of her. “My lady Ava.” He bowed low. “You are…a vision.”

“I’m more of a vision than I’d like depending on how direct the lighting is.” She tried not to sound too bitter about it, but knew she failed spectacularly. Stepping into the corridor, she squared her shoulders and braced herself for what was about to happen to her.

Lysander laughed, the sound like warm brandy. “The Unseelie appreciate beauty in all its forms—especially when it's dangerous.” His gaze lingered on the spider tattoo at her collarbone. “And you, my lady, are most deliciously dangerous.”

“You have no idea.” She winced, thinking of Serrik's warning.

The Moonlit Court will devour you if you show weakness.

Well, she wasn't going to be weak tonight. Because, as always, tucked under her arm was Book. And something told her—a thought, itching in the back of her head like an important errand she was trying not to forget to do that day—that Book was just dying to show off and make an impression.

Which meant trouble.

And, potentially, falling trains.

Bitty hovered nervously behind her, dressed in a simpler but equally formal gown of pale silver that complemented her iridescent wings.

“Shall we?” Lysander offered his arm.

Ava hesitated only briefly before placing her hand on his sleeve. She was surprised at how warm he felt to the touch—like his body temperature ran hotter than hers. The fabric of his suit coat was incredibly soft.

Everyone was hiding secrets from her. She was becoming a monster. She should be pitching a fit. Breaking everything in sight. Using Book to burn the place down. But here she was…letting herself get dressed up to go to a party.

Playing the game.

Why?

Path of least resistance? Was that it? Losing her mind and going on a bender seemed like it wouldn’t do any good moving her forward. But she felt like she should be more upset. More afraid. More something. Oh, she was terrified. But she wasn’t curled up in a corner, screaming.

Maybe it was because everything was so bizarre, it had transcended a new level of nonsense. She was already drowning in shit, what was a little more?

Or maybe it was the influence of the Web.

She pushed that thought out of her mind and focused on what was ahead of her.

As they walked through the twisting corridors of the Din'Glai, Ava noticed the palace itself seemed different in the evening—more alive, more aware. It blended in and out of the forest, sometimes being more trees than structure, spaces more defined by furniture or pathways than any kind of walls .

Serrik’s home, the strange baroque estate, resembled a palace that had been abandoned and overgrown with trees and vines.

This was the opposite. The Din’Glai resembled a forest that had been overgrown by a palace.

She’d never really considered such a thing was possible until she was staring at it.

It was…ghastly, but beautiful, all the same.

Strange music drifted from passageways they passed, beautiful, but foreign and almost dissonant.

“Where exactly is this gala?” It was a stupid question. She didn’t really know where she was. Honestly, the silence was bothering her, and she was trying to memorize their route in case she needed to find her way back alone.

“The Evergrove,” Lysander replied. “A special place where the veil between realms grows thin on nights like this. Our king hosts his most important gatherings there.”

“Is that inside or outside the court?”

“The Din'Glai extends beyond mere walls, my lady.” There was that smile again, charming and predatory all at once. “The palace, the grove, the forests beyond—all are part of our king's domain. The court is both a place, and a people, and a…state of being, I suppose.”