Page 33 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Elbort’s mouth opened then closed as he stared at Rowan’s black eyes. “Sh-shadowspawn,” he hissed. Then turned to me. “You brought a cursed demon into your house?”

Rowan took a single step forward—limping, yes, holding his breath, yes—but every inch of him radiated danger. Black smoke curled against the boards beneath his feet, looking for all the world like he was about to open a portal to the Otherworld.

“Leave,” I said sharply, stepping between them. Rowan’s magic moved to give me a wide berth. “Elbort, go.”

The pig farmer backed away, muttering curses, refusing to look at either of us for a heartbeat more. He turned to flee down the path, grumbling that I was a curse on the entire village.

Rowan didn’t move. But a shadow, as thin as a thread and quick as a whip, appeared out of nowhere and wrapped itself around Elbort’s heel mid-step.

It yanked, and he pitched forward with a yelp, sprawling face-first into the mud and leaves.

“Gods damn it!” Elbort sputtered, scrambling to his feet.

I was fighting too many emotions to name, but I still had to hold back a laugh. Only after the lane swallowed Elbort did the world and my anger rush back—rain pattering against the leaves, the faint tremor in my fingertips, my heart pounding in my ears.

I took one breath. Then another, slower.

It didn’t help.

I rounded on Rowan. “What in the name of the Divine Mother was that?”

If the gods still existed, I hoped she would take pity on me for the blasphemy.

Rowan’s thunderous expression didn’t shift. His eyes were still black. “He. Insulted. You.”

“I wasn’t finished healing him. And I didn’t ask you to defend me!”

“He shouldn’t speak to you that way.” Rowan didn’t budge, stubbornness back in full force. Even Muffin seemed to be on his side.

“I don’t care,” I snapped. “This is my village. My life. You don’t get to decide how people treat me, m’lord. This is my business.”

Rowan’s flinch was nearly imperceptible, but I saw it. He’d done it every time his eyes had shifted black. It was as if he was ashamed of it or expected me to be afraid.

Except this “demon” of a man had shown me more civility than the people who’d known me my entire life. I could never judge him for what he was, and in the same way, he seemed more fascinated by my ears than wary.

So I held his gaze.

Then, like a candle snuffed out, his expression shut down completely. “If that’s what you want,” he said quietly, bracing against the doorframe, “I won’t intervene again.”

I inhaled sharply, but the breath faltered as it left me, thinning into something uncertain. Still, I raised my chin and nodded.

Rowan slowly turned away and limped back inside without looking back. For a long moment, I stood in the drizzle, letting the mist cling to my lashes, hoping the cold would numb the fire burning inside me. I hadn’t been this angry in a long time.

My hands shook, but it wasn’t from exhausting myself for once. It was from the familiar pain of being exposed. This time, it had hurt all the worse because it had happened in front of him.

Muffin circled my ankles, mewling with displeasure. The long fur along his spine stood up like an angry crest.

“Shh,” I whispered, bending down to give him a good scratching. “I know. That was a lot.”

The cold drove me back inside before long. As the door clicked shut behind me, the cabin suddenly felt more cramped than before, tension clinging to the air thicker than the humidity outside—heavy and nearly impossible to breathe around.

Rowan sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, one hand holding the sheet over him, and the other pressed gingerly to his ribs. A rhythmic scraping sound coming from the floor made me look down. Shadows flickered restlessly at his heels in a way that looked like an unconscious habit.

But his ankles were bare…

Curiosity got the better of me. “What happened to the trousers you were wearing not ten minutes ago?”

“Conjured,” he grunted, discomfort plain in his strained voice.