She stares at it all in awe.

A hundred faeries clustered around the middle of the clearing, dressed in brilliant, alien finery. By the look of it, these were probably the nobles of the court. Their hair hung long a flowing or was styled in impossible fashions atop their heads. Satyrs, easily recognized by their shaggy goat legs, and furry little men padded back and forth, serving drinks and trays of food. Slender hounds with moss-green fur milled around, hoping for dropped crumbs. Elven knights in silvery chain armor stood stiffly around the room; a few held hawks or even tiny dragons.
In the center of this gathering sat a pair of thrones, seemingly grown out of the forest floor and flanked by two liveried centaurs. One of the thrones stood empty, except for a caged raven on one of the arms. The great black bird cawed and beat its wings against its prison, its beady eyes bright and green. Puck! However, in the throne on the left...
King Oberon sat with his fingers steepled together, gazing out at the crowd. Like the rest of the fey nobles, he was tall and slender, with silver hair that fell to his waist and eyes like green ice. An antlered crown rested on his brow, casting a long shadow over the court, like grasping talons. Power radiated from him, as subtle as a thunderstorm.

She stares at it all in amazement.

Over the colorful sea of nobles, their gazes met. Oberon raised one eyebrow, as graceful as the curve of a hawk's wing, but no expression showed on his face. And at that moment, every faery in the room stopped what it was doing and turned to stare at her

This makes her a little uncomfortable.

"Great," Grimalkin muttered, "Now they all know we are here. Well, come on, human. Let's play nicies with the court." Grimalkin trotted into the crowd.

She follows.

Fey lords and ladies parted for them, but whether out of respect or disdain, it was hard to tell. Their eyes, cold and amused, gave nothing away.

She stares at the ground, uncomfortable from everybody staring at her.

They reached the foot of the throne. Grimalkin bowed. Kind of.