Chapter 2- The Twilight Court

THE TWILIGHT COURT

Maerwynn’s POV

The city emerged like something out of a dream.

It clung to the mountains, glowing softly with an otherworldly light. The buildings looked like crystal, impossibly tall and delicate, and the towers shimmered as though spun from the night sky itself. The light wasn’t from the sun—not the kind I knew. This place lived in twilight, where day and night held hands, casting the city in a perpetual, silvery glow. Light veins carved into mountaintops, glowing against the midnight sky. There was beauty here, haunting and fragile.

Magic pulsed in the air, electric and alive. My heart skipped. The city didn’t just sparkle—it twinkled. Lights danced along the glassy surfaces, moving like stars had dropped down to play. The bridges stretched between towers like silver ribbons, floating high above the ground.

“Beautiful,” I murmured under my breath, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. My hands rested on the balcony railing of Valen’s glass castle, nails lightly digging into the cool surface. I couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop whispering the truth to myself.

I live here now. This is my home.

“You get dizzy after a while standing by the balcony,” Valen’s voice came from behind me, smooth and warm.

His chest pressed gently against the back of my head, his arms circling around my waist. I leaned into him, my body softening at his touch. He smelled like frost and something older—something magic. My tension slowly uncoiled.

“I’m trying to convince myself it’s real,” I said quietly, watching the silver-threaded sky stretch endlessly above the city. “It feels like I stepped into a dream I don’t fully belong in.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just held me a little closer, his chin resting atop my head.

“It’s real,” he said after a beat. “And you do belong, Maerwynn. The Twilight Court already knows it.”

A flicker of nerves danced in my chest. I twisted slightly to look up at him. “They know I’m here?”

He nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair from my cheek. “They’re aware. Word travels fast here. And… the Court has called a formal gathering.”

My breath hitched. “A gathering?”

“The High Houses,” he explained gently. “They want to meet you. The Lady of the Court. You’re no longer just a guest, Maerwynn. You’re part of this now.”

I pulled away just enough to fully face him, brows lifting. “They’re expecting me to—what, just walk in and impress a bunch of ancient fae who’ve probably lived ten lifetimes longer than I have?”

He smiled, soft but amused. “They’re expecting to see the woman who survived Lyria. The woman who stood beside a High Lord and never flinched.”

I looked back out at the glowing towers and drifting lights. My stomach tightened.

“I’m not sure I know how to be that woman anymore.”

His hand tilted my chin gently toward him. “Then let me remind you.”

There was something in his eyes—something fierce and unshakable. Faith. Not the blind kind, but earned and tested.

I swallowed hard. “What do I wear to impress a fae court?”

That made him laugh. The sound rumbled in his chest. “Something that doesn’t bite, preferably.”

I elbowed him lightly, and the tension broke for just a second. I didn’t say it aloud, but part of me was glad he’d be by my side when I stepped into that hall.

Because even though I was afraid… a little voice inside whispered that maybe I wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe I was becoming.

I leaned into his palm, his hand cupping my face so gently, like I might break under his touch. A smile grazed my lips as I shut my eyes for a few heartbeats. When I opened them again, he was smiling down at me, his golden eyes shimmering like sunlight caught in amber.

“Astrea and Asterin will attend to you for the court gathering,” he said softly.

My eyes lit up. “The pixies?”

He nodded, and I laughed—an actual giggle escaping me before I could stop it. The memory of their chaotic chatter and spark-dusted wings flooded back in a rush of warmth.

“I knew you’d prefer that,” he added with a small grin. “Might even feel more comfortable with them around.”

“You’re being awfully sweet and reasonable for a highly feared High Lord,” I teased, arching a brow.

“Only for you,” he said, his voice dipping low as he tilted my chin up.

His lips brushed mine—soft, slow, and feather-light. The kind of kiss that didn’t demand, but promised. My breath caught, and I melted into him, arms slipping around his neck. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss, but still gentle, like we had all the time in the world.

For a long moment, the world stilled. There was only his touch, the way his fingers skimmed my waist, the warmth of his body, and the feel of our hearts syncing in the silence.

When we finally broke apart, he lingered, his forehead resting against mine.

“I should go,” he murmured.

I frowned slightly. “Why?”

“Because Rhaenan is calling me,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Apparently, he’s threatening to combust himself in the Meteory if I don't show up soon.”

I blinked. “Wait—what’s the Meteory?”

Valen chuckled, stepping back but keeping hold of my hand. “It’s a training chamber. Enchanted with starlight and ancient spells. Helps amplify elemental magic. Also helps Rhaenan throw dramatic tantrums in a contained space.”

“So, basically a magical temper room?”

“Exactly,” he said with a smirk. “It’s like locking a firework in a bottle and praying it doesn’t go off before you’re ready.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You faeries and your chaos.”

He kissed the back of my hand. “Try not to miss me too much, Lady of the Court.”

“I’ll try,” I said, watching him step back toward the glowing threshold of the room, shadows and light dancing around him.

Just before he vanished through the archway, he turned one last time, golden eyes catching the glimmer of the city behind me.

“And Maerwynn?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t let Astrea dye your hair.”

I blinked. “Wait—what?”

But he was already gone.

***

The door burst open with a gust of perfume and laughter.

Astrea swept in first—long midnight curls bouncing, arms outstretched, her gown trailing sparkles that looked like stardust shaken loose from the sky. “Maerwynn!” she cried, beaming like she hadn’t seen me in years.

Asterin followed close behind, quieter but no less radiant. Her hair—silvery white and braided with strands of cobalt silk—was swept over one shoulder. She carried herself like a dancer who could break bones if she chose. “You’re alive,” she said, blunt as ever.

“I’m alive,” I echoed with a smile.

Astrea didn’t bother with formality. She crossed the room in two graceful strides and wrapped her arms around me. “You terrified us,” she murmured. “And you look different.”

“Wiser,” Asterin offered, leaning against the window frame. “Tired. Like someone who’s seen the void and kicked it in the teeth.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

A shrug. “I was preparing a eulogy.”

“Not a speech,” Astrea added. “A full-blown mourn-and-mock drama piece. We had props.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. The sound tumbled out of me in pieces, unexpected and warm. “I missed you both.”

“And we missed you,” Astrea said with mock offense. “Now. Let’s make sure you don’t walk into the Court looking like you just crawled out of a battlefield. Even if you kind of did.”

She turned toward the large trunk Asterin had dragged in and flipped the latch with a dramatic flourish. The lid creaked open, and inside—

Dresses. Dozens of them.

Fabric in every shade of moonlight. Gowns with embroidery that shimmered like dew. One dress had no seams. Another was threaded with spells that changed the color depending on the wearer’s mood.

“Which one bites?” I asked, eyeing a crimson thing that seemed to be breathing.

“Velvet,” Asterin said flatly. “She’s temperamental.”

“We’re thinking something bold,” Astrea cut in, already flipping through the gowns like a composer rifling sheet music. “Not too soft. Something that says ‘Yes, I survived death and destruction and betrayal and still have the nerve to walk into your sacred hall like I own it.’”

“No pressure,” I said dryly.

Astrea grinned. “This isn’t pressure. This is glamour. Entirely different.”

Asterin held up a gown of shadowy blue, the color of deep water at night. “This one,” she said. “It doesn’t beg. It commands.”

The fabric moved like liquid in her hands. It looked simple at first—sleeveless, high-collared—but the closer I looked, the more detail I saw. Faint constellation patterns stitched in silver. A line of runes hidden along the hem. Power disguised as elegance.

“She’ll make them nervous in that,” Astrea said, stepping back to admire the effect.

“Good.”

I nodded once and reached for the gown. I let the fabric pool in my hands for a moment. It felt cool. Alive.

Asterin’s gaze softened. “We were scared. I thought we’d lost you before we even really had you.”

I looked up. “You didn’t.”

“I know,” she said. “Now hurry up and get dressed so we can argue about earrings.”

Astrea clapped once. “We brought options.”

Of course they had.

As they prepared the next phase of this chaotic fitting, I caught my reflection in the tall glass near the wardrobe. I didn’t look like the girl who once carried water from Ferngrove’s stream or stumbled through fae woods with a bow and arrow as the only option to feed.

I looked like someone who might finally stop running.