Chapter 3- Bearer of the Aether

MAERWYNN POV

It was Astrea and Asterin who escorted me to the meeting room when we were done with all the dressing and “pimping,” as Astrea called it—just like the first time I arrived at Valen’s estate in the countryside. There was something poetic in that, like a circle.

I smiled at the memory of the first time I met Valen, seating across that long dining table and assessing me. I'd hated his guts back then.

And an even bigger smile bloomed as I looked down at the gown hugging my body—a midnight blue creation that clung to my skin like it had been poured on. A daring slit cut high along my thigh, revealing a generous length of leg with each step. Dark, sinuous vines curled up from my sandals, wrapping around my calves like enchanted ink. I looked dangerous and divine and out ofnthis world. The pixies had really worked their magic.

“I still say you should’ve let me do a smoky glamour on your eyes,” Astrea muttered as we walked.

“You would’ve added feathers,” I replied.

“Exactly.”

We reached the corridor that stretched toward the Court’s great hall. The doors were tall enough to make gods feel small—carved from ancient wood, inlaid with silver  and gold threads that seemed to pulse with faint magic. I paused just before them, suddenly breathless. Can I do this? I mean, I've faced a bunch of Algiths before but there are no creatures more wicked than your own kin. But they weren't my kind afterall.

Voices rose from inside the chamber. Not ceremonial tones. Not greetings or announcements. Argument. Tension. They echoed faintly through the thick doors, muffled but sharp. A low male voice, clipped and urgent. Another voice—female, biting and cold.

My heart kicked.

Asterin stepped closer and took my hand—firm, grounding. Her eyes met mine, steady as steel beneath their shimmer. “You’ll do just fine,” she said.

I nodded, swallowed, and the doors opened.

The sound inside vanished like someone had snapped the air shut. Silence fell over the chamber the moment I appeared in the doorway.

I stood still for a breath, letting the silence stretch, letting them see me.

Fae, elves, pixies, and other Highbloods stared back—rows of elegant, alien faces framed in moonlight. Some curious. Some skeptical. Others unreadable. You could tell the amount of power that was in the roo. The aether in me was oddly drawn to the magic that filled the air.

I searched the room slowly, anchoring myself in what was familiar. There—Rhaenan, arms crossed, already smirking like he’d bet someone I’d show up late or not at at all. Calia, regal and poised and her lips turned up in irritation as always when she looked at me but her held something like approval when she stared at my attire

Caelora, perched on a raised seat with her chin in her palm, studying me like I was both art and puzzle. She smiled when she notices me staring at her.

And then I saw Valen.

He rose from his seat, golden eyes locked on mine like I was the only person in the room. The rest of the court followed—rising slowly, ceremoniously. He wore a black and black outfit with a golden cape falling down his back like the noble being he was. His hand extended toward me, palm up, waiting. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. He just smiled lightly at me.

That said everything.

I lifted my chin and stepped forward.

Confident. Measured. I didn’t rush. I let the silk of my gown trail across the stone floor. Every movement was deliberate—controlled and practiced before I'd even done it. I was no one’s prey here. I was a presence. I was Valen's Mate. The Highlord's Mate.

Whispers rippled through the room as I passed.

“Is that her…?”

“…the Aether?”

“She walks like a goddess”

" Her ears are so small and ugly"

" hmmph, wretched human scum"

I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes on Valen.

The murmurs didn’t rattle me. If anything, they steadied me. This was no longer about proving I belonged. I didn't have a choice and so did they.

When I reached him, he didn’t break the gaze. Just took my hand in his right hand, eyes flicking down briefly to the slit in my gown, to the vines that curled up my legs like living ink. His lips twitched at the corner, but he said nothing still.

The court had fallen silent again, watching, waiting as he raised his left hand.

Then eveyone bowed.

I wasn’t sure who they were bowing to—Valen or me. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

For a breathless moment, I just stood there with his hand in mine, still feeling the heat of his palm, the weight of all those eyes. They bowed like they’d rehearsed it, as if a silent order had passed through the room and snapped their spines into place. Some dipped their heads with genuine reverence. Others did it slowly, reluctantly, with sour expressions that didn’t quite mask their disdain.

Valen leaned in slightly, voice low, meant for my ears alone. “You’re doing fine.”

Was I?

Because all I could think was: Is this it? Have I finally crossed the line between being tolerated and being something they can’t ignore?

Then, without a word, he turned and gently led me forward. His fingers still laced in mine, he guided me up the steps of the dais, toward his throne. I hesitated for just half a heartbeat—long enough to feel the pressure of the room watching, weighing, judging.

But Valen didn’t hesitate.

He released my hand only to brush his fingers lightly over the curve of my back, guiding me down into his seat like it had always been mine. The throne was colder than I expected, carved from obsidian stone, veined with gold. It was a seat meant for kings. And yet here I was.

He didn’t sit beside me.

He stood.

At my side.

One arm draped casually over the back of the throne, the golden fabric of his cape spilling beside me like liquid sun. It was a subtle message, but it echoed louder than anything he could’ve said.

He stood beside no one but me.

Gasps rippled across the chamber. A few of the courtiers even blinked and straightened, clearly unsure if they’d just witnessed a breach of protocol or the beginning of something entirely new. Eyes darted between us. Some wide. Some narrowed. Awe and confusion mingled in equal measure.

Valen’s voice carried across the chamber—steady, unapologetic.

“You’ve met her before, or heard her name in whispers and gossips,” he said. “You’ve feared her. Doubted her. Questioned her right to stand among us.” He paused and let the words settle in like ash. “Now you will know her.”

He glanced down at me—not with pride, not with amusement—but with that rare, solemn intensity that made the air feel heavier.

“This is Maerwynn of Ferngrove,” he said. “Bearer of the Aether. Flame-forged in trial and war. And mine.”

He turned back to the court.

“My Lady. My equal. My High Lady.”