Page 51 of Fallen Star

The ropes tying me to them dig into my arms. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me how powerless I am right now. And the wind snatches away any possibility of conversation.

The landscape shifts from forest to hills, the thunder growing softer behind us until it’s gone completely.

Somehow—miraculously—we outran the storm.

Eventually, we crest over a hill, and a black archway looms ahead. It’s like a giant version of Stonehenge, but with only one of the rock formations instead of many.

“What’s this?” I ask, unable to ignore the ball of fear in my throat. As if this single arch is trying to warn me away.

He doesn’t bother replying. Instead, he digs his heels into Nyx’s sides, coaxing her to continue forward, under the arch.

As we pass through, a ripple of magic washes over me, like a buzzing along my skin. It’s subtle, but undeniable. Like the air itself is taking note of my presence.

Then, it’s there.

The Night Court.

It rises from the earth like a dark crown, jagged and angular, yet impossibly graceful. Fog floats through the narrow cobblestone streets, which have short, sharp buildings lining the paths. And then, in the center of the town—nearly piercing the clouds—stands a palace that reminds me of a giant, dark version of Cinderella’s castle at Disney World. The moat surrounding the palace contains water as dark as night, and it’s like the stars themselves are twinkling from its depths.

It’s beautiful. Dangerous. And it buzzes with undeniable magic.

Powerful magic that chills me to the core.

“We need to walk through the town to get to the palace,” Aerix says the first full sentence he’s spoken in hours. “Don’t squirm. Don’t look at anyone. And most importantly—be quiet.”

His tone is laced with so much warning that I bite back a snarky comment about how being quiet isn’t one of my many charming personality traits.

“Understand?” he pushes.

“Yes,” I reply, unable to tear my gaze away from the looming palace.

“Good.”

Slowly, Nyx leads us down the hill and starts down the winding streets. The fog curls around her paws, and the buildings lean inward, like guards trying to trap us. It’s beautiful in a cruel, foreboding way. A place that seems alive with secrets waiting to devour the unprepared.

“It’s sort of like one giant Diagon Alley, isn’t it?” I say quietly, gazing around with growing unease.

“Diagon what?” Aerix asks.

“Diagon Alley,” I repeat. “I guess you’re not a big?—”

I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence regarding the fact that he apparently doesn’t read much.

Becausetheyappear.

The night fae, emerging like shadows, their attention snapping to us like moths to a flame.

No. Not to us.

Tome.

I try to follow Aerix’s instructions—don’t squirm, don’t look, be quiet. But it’s impossible not to notice how they shift and move as we pass, or how the air grows thick with whispers. It’s like watching a train wreck—horrifying, but impossible to look away.

Some of them have their wings out, while others have them retracted. They all have the same midnight eyes as Aerix, with sharp, arresting beauty—the type of beauty that makes it impossible to look away.

“Look what the darkness dragged in,” a melodic voice carries from somewhere to my left. “Fresh meat.”

“She’s a pretty one,” says one off to the right.

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