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They descended a spiraling staircase that was grown from the limbs of a single, massive tree, each step illuminated somehow from within as their feet touched it. Ava concentrated on not tripping, all too aware of the sheer panels of her dress shifting around her legs.

The staircase opened onto a path lined with strange luminescent flowers that turned to follow them as they passed. More creepy flowers. Why always with the creepy, staring flowers?

Ahead, there was light and movement. Ava could hear music and laughter growing louder as they approached.

“Remember—” Bitty whispered from just behind her, “don't accept any food or drink unless it's offered directly by the king. Take it from the plates or trays yourself if you can. Don't make promises. Don't thank anyone. And whatever you do, don’t?— ”

“We're here,” Lysander announced, cutting off Bitty's final warning.

Fucking typical. She rolled her eyes.

The path opened into a clearing unlike anything Ava had ever seen.

Massive trees surrounded a glade bathed in the light of the too-large moon.

Their branches had been trained or had grown to form a natural cathedral overhead, intertwining to create a lattice through which moonlight filtered in dappled patterns.

Hanging from the branches were thousands of tiny lights—not lanterns or candles, but small luminescent creatures that pulsed and shifted in colors that ranged from deep blue to brilliant gold.

They were chattering at each other, like finches, as they flitted from perch to perch within their hanging cages.

They were fairies, she realized—the ones that would resemble the cartoons. Pixies, maybe? Teensy, beautiful women with flittering wings. Like Tinker Bell.

But in cages. If she looked at one long enough, she could just make out the shape of a collar and a leash keeping them tied to the center of their cage.

Unseelie. She had to remember who she was dealing with.

These were not kind people.

She had to focus on her steps to keep from tripping over herself.

In the center of the clearing stood a single enormous table, at least fifty feet long, carved from a single piece of black wood that gleamed like polished obsidian. It was set with silver and crystal, each place setting more elaborate than anything Ava had seen even in museums.

Around the table, dozens of fae lounged in various states of formality. Some were seated in chairs that appeared to have grown from the forest floor. Others perched on branches that had bent down to form natural seating. A few hovered above the ground entirely, wings or magic suspending them.

All conversation ceased as Ava entered the clearing .

That. Was the worst feeling. She’d ever felt in her entire life.

Dozens of inhuman eyes turned to study her—eyes that glowed like embers, shone like stars, or reflected light like those of predatory animals. The silence was absolute, pressing against her skin like a physical force.

At the head of the table sat Valroy, his wings extended dramatically behind a throne that was made of intertwined antlers. Beside him, to Ava's surprise, was Queen Abigail, resplendent in a gown that was composed entirely of living red flowers and vines.

“Ah, our guest of honor arrives!” Valroy's voice carried effortlessly across the clearing. “Come, Ava Cole. Take your place at my table.”

Lysander guided her forward, and Ava forced herself to walk tall, chin up, shoulders back, as if she belonged in this alien gathering. As if her heart wasn't hammering so hard she was certain everyone could hear it.

She clung to Book for dear life. Her hands would be a trembling mess if she didn’t.

The path to the table seemed miles long under the scrutiny of the court. Whispers followed in her wake, some appreciative, others openly hostile.

“So that is the Weaver…?”

“…less substantial than I expected…”

“…barely contained, look at how it spreads already…”

“…can bed her before she dies?”

“…won't last a week…”

She was led to a seat near Valroy's end of the table, directly across from Queen Abigail. Lysander pulled out her chair—which, she realized with a start, was slightly different from the others. It was crafted to resemble a spiderweb, the back forming an intricate spiral pattern.

A message, then. To her, to Serrik, to the court. She was the Web's vessel, and Valroy wanted everyone to know it.

As she took her seat, Bitty was directed to a smaller chair several places down, well away from Ava. Shit. That was bad for both of them. Lysander sat down beside her to the left .

The tiny fae shot her a worried glance before taking her place.

“Welcome, Ava Cole.” Valroy raised a goblet of something that shimmered like liquid starlight. "To your first night at the Din’Glai.”

The assembled fae raised their own glasses in a gesture that felt more like a challenge than a welcome.

Across the table, Queen Abigail's green eyes studied her with open curiosity. “You look lovely, dear.” Her voice somehow felt like the sound of a summer day out in the garden. Ava had no idea how she managed that. Abigail smirked slightly. “Though perhaps a bit…exposed for your comfort, I take it.”

“Yes, however...” Ava managed a tight smile. “The dress was a gift. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful.”

Abigail's lips quirked. “A diplomatic answer. You're learning already.”

“Indeed,” Valroy agreed, something like approval in his glowing blue eyes. “A toast, then—to new allies and old enemies, to ancient powers and fresh perspectives.” He fixed his gaze directly on Ava. “And to the boundaries between worlds, may they bend without breaking.”

Something in his phrasing sent a chill down Ava's spine, but she raised her glass—still empty, she noted with relief—in acknowledgment.

As if on cue, servants appeared from the shadows of the trees—fae of various forms, some nearly human in appearance, others barely humanoid at all. They moved with silent grace, filling goblets and setting down platters of food that defied description.

A tall, willowy fae with skin like polished elm wood bent to fill Ava's glass with the same shimmering liquid that everyone else was being served. She tensed, remembering Bitty's warning, and lifted her hand to stop the server.

“Only what I offer you directly?” Valroy grinned, catching her hesitation.

He made a small gesture, and the servant resumed pouring her glass.

“Your companion has advised you well. But fear not—tonight you dine as my guest, under my protection. Nothing and no one here will bind you or change you—no more than you are already changing, that is.”

Ava looked down at the liquid dubiously.

“It would be a grave insult to refuse my hospitality, Weaver,” he added, his voice losing the edge of gentleness it had before.

Shutting her eyes for a moment, she resisted the urge to shout at the bastard. She was in over her head. It wasn’t his fault she really didn’t get off watching historical dramas. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the goblet to her lips and took a small sip.

It tasted like nothing she could describe—like summer berries and winter frost, like laughter and the ache of an old wound. It warmed her from within, spreading through her limbs.

“Good, isn't it?” Abigail asked, something like sympathy in her green eyes. “I’ve almost forgotten what it was like to come here as a human. To see this all for the first time—taste it all for the first time. It’s…overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Before Ava could tell Abigail that she had more choice words for the situation than “overwhelming,” music swelled around them—not from any visible musicians, but instead from the trees themselves. She could almost feel the music more than she could hear it.

The feast began in earnest. Platters floated down the length of the table, carried by unseen hands of creatures that when she caught glimpses of them out of the corner of her eye made the hair on the backs of her arms stand on end.

They bore foods both recognizable and utterly alien.

Fruits that glowed from within. Meats that she swore moved on their own when she looked away from them.

Ava ate cautiously. There was no telling what was what. Around her, conversation ebbed and flowed, the courtiers now pointedly ignoring her—a different kind of test, she supposed.

To see if she would attempt to insert herself into their discussions or wait to be acknowledged.

Like fuck if she cared.

She chose silence, observing instead. Watching the power dynamics play out in subtle glances and carefully worded exchanges. She had no idea who any of these people were, and honestly—most of her didn’t give a shit.

“They're curious about you,” Abigail said softly, drawing Ava's attention back across the table. “About what you'll become.”

“Cool. Ditto,” Ava grumbled before she could stop herself.

The Seelie Queen's laugh was like spring rain. “Oh, Valroy. Where is Alex? They will get along so wonderfully.”

“The duke and his wife are on business until the morrow. By design.” Valroy wrinkled his nose.

Abigail smirked but said nothing.

More games. More bullshit. It took her a second to realize what was happening. “Ah. Gotcha. I get it now.” She put down the glass of wine.

“And what, precisely, do you get?” Valroy arched an eyebrow.

“I don’t know who this person is, but if you kept them away specifically because I might ‘like’ them, then the point of this evening is to keep me off balance.

The dress, the banquet, putting Bitty down there where we can’t talk to each other.

” She shrugged. “You’re trying to keep me on my back foot. Afraid. Easy to manipulate.”

Valroy’s grin never faltered. He didn’t argue against it. “And why would I do such a thing?”

Ava hesitated, weighing her words. The portion of the table that could hear her speak had gone totally silent, watching her. “Because you have an agenda. Everyone has an agenda. You, Serrik, Abigail—even Nos and Ibin, who I thought were my friends.”

“And what is your agenda, Ava Cole?” The question came from farther down the table from Thornwick, the antlered strategist.

Anybody’s attention she didn’t already have, she had now. All eyes turned to her once more.

Ava sat up straighter, conscious of the tattoos visible on her skin, of the revealing dress.

“Survival.” It was an honest answer. “Staying as much myself as possible by the time all this is over. Nothing more, nothing less. ”

A murmur ran through the assembled courtiers—whether of approval or disdain, she couldn't tell.

“A modest goal.” Valroy leaned back in his chair, his wine glass clasped between the talons of his claw. “Especially for one with such potential power at her fingertips.”

“Power I never asked for,” Ava countered. “And power that is going to eat my soul.”

“Few who wield true power ever asked for it.” This came from Ashta, the silver-eyed handmaiden. “It is thrust upon them by circumstance or destiny.”

“Or manipulation.” Ava couldn’t help herself. “Cheers.” She lifted her glass to the table and downed a mouthful of it.

A tense silence fell. Ava could feel Bitty's panic from down the table, could see Lysander watching her with newfound intensity.

Then Valroy laughed—a full, genuine laugh that broke the tension like glass. “She has you there, my court. Is that not, indeed, our favorite pastime?” He raised his goblet to Ava. “To honesty spoken amongst the Fair Folk—the rarest jewel of all.”

The court joined in the toast, some reluctantly, others with calculating interest in their inhuman eyes.

“Music!” Valroy commanded. “Let us show our guest the true splendor of an Unseelie revel!”

The forest itself responded, the melody changing to something wild and primal that made Ava's pulse quicken despite herself.

Courtiers rose from their seats, moving into the clearing as the great table itself split down the middle and reformed into smaller settings around the perimeter, creating a dance floor bathed in moonlight.

Lysander stood and extended a hand to her. He flashed her a charming, hungry smile. “Come, Weaver. The night has only just begun.”

Looking over to Valroy, she frowned. “I want to talk to you about what you know. That’s why I’m here. Not to party.”

“There will be plenty of time for that, Weaver. You will not lose yourself overnight.” Valroy shrugged dismissively. “You are also here to learn the value of the fae. Best you come to enjoy your time amongst them while you are human enough to appreciate it, yes?”

She wanted to call his bluff, to declare him a liar, and that her issue was way more urgent than he was making it seem. But she had no facts to back that up. Nothing except a twisting knot in her gut that said she should be screaming and yelling and pleading with him to tell her everything he knew.

“Come, Ava. There will be time for that.” Lysander placed his hand on her shoulder. “One dance, then perhaps the king will rethink his desire to have a conversation?”

“Yes, I will rethink my desire after your dance.” Valroy rolled his eyes.

That was something. Points for Lysander, she guessed.

Ava glanced down the table toward Bitty, who gave her a small, resigned nod.

No escape, then. This was her life now—dancing with the enemy, playing court politics with creatures who saw her as either a weapon to be wielded or a threat to be neutralized.

Fun.

She placed her hand in Lysander’s. His skin was so warm against hers. “Lead on.”

As he guided her to the center of the clearing, she could feel the weight of the court's attention, the hunger in their inhuman gazes.

The dance began, and Ava surrendered to the rhythm of the Unseelie Court, even as part of her mind remained fixed on the dream that had come before—and the dreams that would surely follow.