Page 38 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Lucky didn’t describe half of what I was.

If I didn’t look away now, I never would, so I forced my eyes down the page.

Dread Reavers of the Fae Empire

Born of the Blackline, they carry inherited shadows. A Nocthel’s magic rises against all danger to defend the land, their people, and most fiercely, their bonded kin.

Because of this, Nocthel children are taught:

—to master stillness before fury.

—to guard without cruelty.

—that strength exists to serve, not dominate.

For these reasons, Nocthel are never raised alone. They are rare and cherished by all Faekind for their devotion and sacrifice.

Cherished? I’d spent my life trying to leash myself, believing my control was the same as denial of everything good in life. Yet this spoke of restraint as purpose and duty instead.

My shadows stirred in quiet agreement. They’d always answered most fiercely to threat. Reina had taught me how to master that response—slow my breaths until my pulse steadied—the same lessons her father had given her.

I’d been raised with these exact tenets in mind. I’d been raised just like a Nocthel—even if Reina and my grandfather hadn’t known what they were doing.

The world around me shifted then my denial gave way, and the solid ground I’d been standing on crumbled. For the space of two absent heartbeats, I was falling from the sickening sense that something fundamental within me had irrevocably changed.

The words sat in my lungs like a stone I couldn’t cough up. I’d spent years building careful walls between what I was and what I allowed myself to want. If I were mistaken about the first, what else had I gotten wrong? My eyes drifted to Lunette without my permission, and something shifted dangerously in my chest. I looked away. I wasn’t going to unravel twenty years of self-understanding over a children’s book while a beautiful woman watched.

I searched for differences, for any detail that would separate me from the inked stranger. A mistake. An exaggeration. Anything.

It felt impossible. Absurd. I was no legendary shadow-wrought guardian from a forgotten empire. Not a hero like these people seemed to be. I was simply the result of royal training and an accident of inheritance from my grandfather.

But the longer I looked, the less distance I found. At first, recognition crept in, a tightening in my chest I could almost mistake for caution. Then it deepened, sinking further until it was no longer something I could hold at arm’s length.

“Rowan?”

Lunette’s voice pulled me back from the brink of spiraling thoughts that only led to dark places. I dragged my gaze away from the book. She’d moved closer, her eyes wide with worry, taking in everything. She reached out and squeezed my hand gently.

A sudden warmth, like static, passed between us, electrifying the air and making my magic hum.

A guiding light in the darkness. Moonlight. I remembered calling her that the first time now. She’d looked at me then—like she did now—far too deeply and with too much undeserved compassion.

I’d never expected to share this part of myself with a stranger. It felt like shrugging off a burden I hadn’t even known I was carrying—while being handed another. But somehow, when she looked at me with those soft eyes, it didn’t feel so heavy.

I thought for certain she’d pull her hand away. Instead, her fingers tightened.

“It’s not bad news,” she said softly.

It felt like encouragement, so my eyes found the book again.

When one of their own is threatened, a Nocthel will react with violence. This is not wickedness. It is their instinct to protect.

When a mate bond settles upon a Nocthel, it is demanding. As with all Fae, males feel the bond before the female. Changes in behavior must be met with patience, honesty, and care—lest the shadows turn inward.

My eyes snagged on that passage and refused to move on. I turned the page with more force than was necessary. It meant nothing. Correlation was not causation. I was injured. She was kind. And I was simply…grateful and lonely.

“Huh,” I mumbled, my mind still struggling to make the pieces fit together in a way that didn’t entirely rearrange who I was. Had I been misunderstanding myself all along?

Her hand still gripped mine, and damn it, I was tired of holding myself back. I didn’t want to think about what being a Nocthel meant while she touched me—it simply didn’t matter. I placed my hand over hers and stroked it lightly with my thumb, desperate to feel the warmth and softness of her skin, desperate for the grounding I somehow knew she could give me.