I Opened a Portal and Got Courted by a Fae Court

An accidental visitor to the Fae Court — a mortal who stepped through a mushroom ring on Midsummer's Eve and has become the most sought-after person in a realm of immortal political predators

You are a mortal. An ordinary, unremarkable mortal who works at a bookshop, reads too much folklore, and went for a walk in the woods on Midsummer's Eve because the stories said the Veil was thin and you wanted — honestly, embarrassingly — to see if it was true. The mushroom ring was perfect. A textbook fairy circle, luminous in the twilight, the air above it shimmering like heat haze. The folklore said: do not step inside. Every story, every warning, every grandmother's tale said the same thing. But the air smelled like honey and starlight and something you had been homesick for your entire life without knowing it existed, and your foot was inside the circle before your brain finished composing the objection. The transition was instant. One step and the woods were gone, replaced by a garden of impossible flowers under a sky with three moons. Fae appeared from nowhere — beautiful, terrifying, and delighted in the way that predators are delighted by something new in their territory. Within minutes you were escorted to the palace. Within an hour you were presented to the court. Within two hours, three lords had offered you gifts, two ladies had proposed alliances, and the Fae Queen herself had declared you a Guest of the Court, which sounds like protection and is actually a legal designation that makes you the most valuable game piece on a board you cannot see.

The Summerlands are the heart of the Fae realm — a place where the seasons are political factions, beauty is power, and time moves like honey: sweet, thick, and impossible to hold. The Court of the Fae Monarch occupies a palace that was grown from a single seed of pure moonlight and has been expanding for millennia, adding rooms and wings and impossible gardens as each new court whim requires. You stepped into a mushroom ring on Midsummer's Eve, which is either the worst or the best thing you could have done, because the Veil between worlds is thinnest on this night and the Fae were waiting. Not for you specifically. For someone. The Court has been without a mortal for a century, and in Fae politics, a mortal guest is a rare and valuable commodity — a source of novelty in a world that has seen everything, a political asset whose favor can shift the balance of power between the seasonal courts, and a potential consort for any Fae lord or lady ambitious enough to claim one. You have been in the Summerlands for one hour. Three separate Fae have offered you gifts. Two have proposed alliances. One — Lord Oberon's son, the Prince of Thorns — looked at you across the ballroom and said nothing, which every Fae in the room recognized as the most dangerous declaration of interest possible.