Page 42 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I absolutely did not need to hear that he felt amazing right now. Not while certain parts of my anatomy had latched onto the idea of what they could do with his anatomy. My heart hadn’t thumped like this since I was a teenager sneaking glances at the blacksmith’s son.

I turned so he couldn’t see my face. Behind me, the mattress shifted as he sat up. He groaned quietly.

I spun back immediately, healing instincts overriding my embarrassment. “Don’t move. Let me help.”

See, I can be professional. Dignified was something I’d have to work on.

I caught him by the shoulders. Our faces ended up far too close—close enough that I could see every fleck of gold in his eyes, close enough that if I leaned in even a little our lips would meet.

He swallowed. I didn’t move.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly, voice low and intimate. “Just stiff.”

Stiff. Benevolent gods help me!

My heart couldn’t decide whether it wanted to burst out of my chest or crawl under the floorboards. I had to move before I said something ridiculous. In my haste, I nearly tripped over the chair I hadn’t moved back to its place at the table last night.

Heat flooded my chest, neck, face, everywhere. “Breakfast! I’ll…make breakfast.”

Avoidance was my strongest survival instinct.

Perfect. Excellent impression of sanity.

I started busying myself with tying an apron on over my bedclothes then checking the hearth, shoving logs into it with unnecessary force. Violence solved nothing, but it made me feel productive. I tried not to think about how much magic I’d burned last night, tried not to worry about how the wards might suffer because I was pouring so much power into Rowan. Yet, a small, selfish corner of my heart rejoiced at the risk of sacrificing the village’s protection for him.

Muffin jumped down from the rafters and scratched at the door until I let him out for a morning hunt and bathroom break.

I resolutely did not pay attention to Rowan stretching on my bed. Couldn’t blame him since I’d squashed him into a corner with my forced cuddling. My hands shook as I reached for the flour to make pancakes, and of course I dropped the spoon, which clattered loudly onto the floor.

I heard the rustle of sheets and Rowan chuckling lightly under his breath.

“It’s early,” I snapped weakly, bending to fetch it and almost knocking my forehead on the counter. “I’m not…coordinated yet.”

“I can see that,” he said, amusement warm in his voice. The grin he gifted me with was enough to make any woman’s knees buckle.

I would forgive him for teasing me, for anything if he kept looking at me like I was worth the risk of taking a longer look at. Which was a problem. A very…big one.

By the gods, do not start thinking about what happened in the bed again, Luna.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the shutters. I glared at him over my shoulder, but it only made his smile grow wider. The light softened him in a way I wasn’t prepared for after the daydreams I’d had while lying beside him.

Neither was my heart. Because he looked at me like he approved, regardless of my fumbling, regardless of my ears.

Except wasn’t he just like me? He’d said so last night. Though he hadn’t seemed to understand that he was Nocthel. That was interesting, but not strange. Given how much of Fae history had been lost to time, it was amazing that my family had held onto that ragged old children’s book.

My parents had told me that there were hundreds of Fae-blooded families hiding in pockets throughout the mountainous borderlands between the three kingdoms on the island. I’d met a couple when I was younger. Maybe Rowan was a noble heir of one of them.

That would explain the posture and the quiet confidence he carried even while injured.

“I’m going to help more today,” he declared, standing after only a second of hesitation.

Stubborn streak.

I set a glare on him that would’ve made a lesser man hesitate.

He only shrugged.

“I need to check your wound again then,” I said, dusting the flour from my hands onto my apron.