Page 32 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Clumsier than the pigs he raises…or drunk…or just stupid.

I glanced back at Rowan. Though his jaw was tense, he hadn’t budged an inch. I mouthed “good boy” to him, and his face broke into a grin that made heat pool low in my belly.

I was shocked to see Muffin sitting up on his hind legs on the bed beside him, tasseled ears alert, snarling at the door, ready to fight. Apparently, Rowan was his ally against the pig farmer now.

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t risk drawing attention to my guest.

“I’ll treat you outside,” I said.

Elbort huffed. “In the cold? Figures.”

He followed me off the porch to the log I sat on to play with Muffin on nice days. A fine mist had returned, drifting in silver threads through the morning light piercing the treetops. It wasn’t horrible weather, but I already wanted to be back inside.

I unwound the burlap around his arm and swallowed a curse. The gash was bad. The top layer of muscle was torn, edges of the skin ragged. He hadn’t cleaned it properly either. If he got an infection from this, it wouldn’t be my fault.

“This must’ve happened hours ago,” I muttered.

“I was working.” He rolled his eyes. Elbort eyed the cabin in the calculating way he inspected everything, though there was wariness there now too. “Not all of us have the luxury of staying indoors, loafing around with…your new company.”

My spine, still suffering from the night’s horrible sleep, tensed. Awareness prickled along my skin and, against my will, I glanced toward the cabin.

Rowan was standing in the doorway, shirtless, wearing an odd-looking pair of black trousers. His magic had marked black swirls across his chest, making him look like a tattooed berserker rather than the nobleman I suspected he actually was.

Fate, apparently, also had a sense of humor, because Muffin was perched on his shoulder, tail up in the air, on high alert.

It took more effort than it should’ve to drag my gaze from his muscled torso back to Elbort’s festering wound. “Just…hold still.”

Elbort grunted as I laid my hands over the torn skin. My magic responded weakly, feeling like a thread pulled too tight and about to snap. Rest had helped, but I’d poured too much into Rowan these past days; the well inside me was still running low.

Elbort hissed. “Gods, woman, you tryin’ to burn my arm off?”

Oops. Flustered, I’d accidentally poured a bit of fire into the weaving.

But he didn’t have to know that. While my secondary gift of telekinesis was much stronger, I could also summon enough flame to set kindle alight or burn skin.

“An old cut like this will sting more than a fresh one.” My voice stayed even through the lie. “Don’t move.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t worn yourself out with that stranger you let inside the wards,” he grumbled, pointing his chin toward the porch where I could still feel Rowan’s piercing eyes on me.

My jaw clenched. “Enough,” I said firmly. I considered burning him a bit more on purpose but decided he wasn’t worth the magic.

“Or,” Elbort said, voice turning cruel, “is that how you’re earning these days? Entertaining men now? One step below healing for coin, I suppose.”

Below? How dare he insult women for doing what they needed to survive?

Even so, just a few sentences from this ill-educated pig farmer were enough to reopen the wounds I thought had healed. The whispers had haunted me for years.

Gods. My cheeks heated with embarrassment as pressure built behind my eyes.

Yes, I’d slept with two men in the village, but not for coin. I’d been lonely, and they weren’t married.

The hum of magic forced my gaze back toward the cabin. Muffin was bounding my way, fur bristling. Rowan filled the doorway, bracing himself against the frame with one hand, the other resting against his ribs. That, and the bandage, were the only indications he was injured.

Because, gods, his expression was murderous…

Even from a distance, I saw the black flood outward from his pupils, swallowing the violet in an unnatural bloom. He didn’t take a step forward, but darkness crept outward silently like vipers to coil beneath Elbort’s feet. Rowan’s magic came nowhere near me or Muffin, but I could almost feel the cold intent that emanated from them, causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin.

Rowan’s voice—a quiet, low growl—was lethal. He didn’t raise it. “Speak to her like that again, and you won’t have legs to walk home.”