Fine. If she didn't have it in her, Rowan wasn't going to waste his time. Honestly, nothing would make him happier than to return to Doranelle, to his Queen's side, and never have to see this girl or her empty, lifeless eyes again. If she wanted an out, he'd give her an out. And since she didn't seem to think it worth her time to fight him... perhaps he could teach her a lesson on who the true monsters were.

Rowan's POV:

Rowan didn't bother sharing his plans with the princess.

In fact, Rowan didn't bother speaking to her at all as they left the temple ruins and began the trek to the barrow fields.

By the time they reached the edges of the grassy plateau, the girl was swaying on her feet. A line of blood had dried down the right side of her face from when her head had slammed into the rock, a bruise blossoming on her cheek. But none of it compared to the look in her eyes. Empty and hard and lifeless.

Rowan ignored it, drawing a sword and dagger from their sheaths and turning to face the princess. Her gaze hardened as she studied the fields behind him. As she noticed the barrows, the way they seemed to breathe and live with that strange, ancient energy.

"I had planned to wait until you had some handle on your power— planned to make you come at night, when the barrow-wights are really something to behold, but consider this a favor, as there are few that will dare come out in the day. Walk through the mounds— face the wights and make it to the other side of the field, Aelin, and we can go to Doranelle whenever you wish."

It was a trap, and Aelin would be a fool not to know it. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd be able to take on the wights. Not in her current state, not with such little control over her magic. It was impossible.

But... perhaps there was a chance. Rowan hadn't lied to her about the wights nature, they truly did prefer to come out at night. Perhaps this assassin had a trick or two up her sleeve. Perhaps they could both be rid of each other.

The princess glanced at Rowan's weapons, and he rasped a laugh. Then, shrugging, he said, "You can either wait to earn back your steel or you can enter as you are now."

The girl's temper spiked, and embers sparked to life in her empty eyes as she hissed, "My bare hands are weapons enough."

Rowan just flashed a grin at her, one he knew would get her blood boiling, and lazily made his way towards the maze of hills. The princess followed, their footsteps echoing in the silent, still air as they skirted the barrows. Not even the birds dared to sing here.

The hills opened up into a clearing, a circle of dead grass with a crumbling barrow at its center.

Rowan could heat the princesses heart pounding in her chest.

"I leave you here," he said, making sure she took note of his savage grin. "I'll meet you on the other side of the field."

He waited, expecting her to bolt then and there, to run back to Mistward with her tail between her legs. If he was being honest, anyone with sense would have.

Perhaps it was the taunts he'd hurled at her earlier, perhaps it was whatever drove her wretched existence, but the princess simply nodded and stepped onto the field towards the barrow and the ancient, wicked darkness swirling beneath its surface.

The girl's heart was beating a frantic, panicked pace, the scent of her fear strong enough to reach Rowan even as she reached the center of the clearing. But she kept her steps slow, her pace unhurried as she neared the rock and the wight inside it.

Rowan kept his attention half on the girl and half on the wight hovering at the rocks threshold, writhing with that ancient hunger. He planned to intervene before the girl came to any real harm. Maeve wouldn't appreciate it if he returned to her with spoiled goods, even if an encounter with the barrow wights might give the girl a much needed attitude adjustment.

Still, the wight lingered, hesitating. Perhaps it could sense the magic buried beneath the girl's bones, was simply waiting for the right moment to strike. And yet...

The cold reached Rowan first.

The air went stale and still in the space of a single heartbeat, a pulsing chill running along his spine. There was a keening sound in the back of Rowan's mind, as if someone were screaming.

The girl began running.

Because the wight... the wight was not waiting for the right moment to attack. The wight was afraid.

Aelin was sprinting past the barrow. The wight made no attempt to stop her. She was stumbling, a hand hovering close to her ear. She was only a few steps from the edge of the dead grass when she froze.

It was then Rowan saw it. A figure, standing behind the barrow.

Rowan leashed his magic, the ice and wind coiling inside of him, preparing to strike. He marked a pale, beautiful face framed by long, flowing hair, a neck encased by a collar of onyx, before it and the girl were plunged into darkness. An infinite pool of inky blackness, as if the creature had encased itself in a starless night.

But it hadn't vanished. Rowan could sense it's power, roiling in the darkness with a cold, merciless hunger. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural. No, this creature wasn't of this world. It was something else. Something wrong. His own magic recoiled, but Rowan simply tightened his hold.

Because even as that wrongness crept into his bones, urging him to flee, he could still sense the princess inside the cloud of darkness that had descended on the field. He could smell the scent of the pure, undiluted terror seeping from it, her fear tugging at his senses, that male urge to protect and defend against any threat.

But just as Rowan moved to intervene, the princess emerged from the darkness. She ran through the grass, stumbling in her terror as a hoarse shriek tore from her lips. She collapsed at Rowan's feet, the tang of her fear sharpening his senses as she retched. After a few moments, she began to sob, her panic escaping her in a series of hurried gasps.

And as she lay there, sobbing and retching, Rowan noticed her ears. They were sharpening into points. He waited, watching as the girl began to shift, but as soon as they had fully taken form they disappeared. Aelin shrieked, the air suddenly filled with a crackling energy as her power surged. Another shriek, this time accompanied by a flash of fangs. Any control she'd had on her Fae form was cracking under the weight of her fear, causing her to shift between human and Fae in matter of seconds.

"Focus," Rowan growled, but Aelin remained curled in a fetal position, twitching on the ground.

Rowan loosed a snarl of frustration as he leaned down to pick up her limp form, only to find her clothes soaked in vomit and piss. Remnants of whatever terror she'd felt while in the creatures grasp no doubt, but there was no way Rowan would be carrying her.

Rowan scanned the field for the creature, but it was empty. The scent of fear and death and wrongness still lingered, but whatever is was, it was long gone. If he had any sense, he'd leave the girl and hunt it down himself but... perhaps she could be useful. If he was going to kill it, he had to know what he was up against.

With no small amount of sighing and snarling, Rowan managed to drag the girl back to a clearing in the woods. While he waited for her to wake, Rowan contemplated how exactly he would make the creature suffer. He had never seen anything like it, or heard any stories about creatures that could invoke fear in a person like that.

The sounds of the princess stirring reached his ears, and Rowan turned as she slowly rose to her feet, eyes frantically searching the clearing until she noticed him. Irritation flashed in her eyes before she looked down at her soiled clothes, her face flushing red with shame. In any other situation, Rowan might have laughed at the rare show of humility.

But Rowan could only bring himself to feel one emotion: rage. She could have died on that field, could have gotten them both killed due to her lack of control.

"No discipline, no control, and no courage," Rowan snarled at her. "You failed.

You made it to the other side of the field but I said to face the wights– not throw a magical temper tantrum."

Any of the girls prior embarrassment vanished, melting into a rage similar to his own. "I will kill you," she snarled right back, her voice still hoarse from screaming. "How dare you—"

"That was not a wight, princess," Rowan said, keeping his eyes on the trees.

Aelin just glared at him. "What was it then?"

"I don't know."

Rowan felt his jaw clench at the admission.

"We've had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this... this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don't think I'll learn anytime soon."

Rowan looked at the girl then, but her anger had faded, her eyes once again empty of emotion. "It was gone when I circled back," he told her. "Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were... different."

The girl looked down at herself, as if checking if she was still all there. She still wore the evidence of her retching and the tear tracks on her face did nothing to hide the paleness of her skin. As if that creature had sucked the very life from her. Any pity he might have felt vanished as she hissed her next words at him.

"No. And you can go to hell."

"Other lives might depend on it," Roman said, forcing himself to at least try and reason with her.

The princess ignored him. "I want to go back to the fortress," she said. "Right now."

"You're done when I say you're done," Rowan snarled, his control fraying.

Aelin went still, and Rowan could have sworn flames crackled in her gaze as she said, "You can kill me or torture me or throw me off a cliff but I am done for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see. It dragged me through my memories— and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?"

Rowan should have torn out her throat for speaking to him like that, had killed others for less over the centuries. But he restrained himself, snarling as he rose to his feet and began walking. He ignored the sounds of her stumbling behind him, resorting to their familiar habit of silence until they reached the wards and entered the gates of Mistward. He did allow himself a smirk at the embarrassment emanating from the girl as she passed the guards with nothing to hide her soiled clothing, but it faded as they entered the fortress.

But by the time they reached the bathing rooms, any energy Rowan might have devoted to reprimanding her vanished. He was tired of the girl, tired of the empty, vacant look in her eyes that had only worsened since her encounter with... whatever that creature was.

He gathered himself enough to tell her he expected her to be up at dawn for training the next day, and then turned to leave without another word.

UPDATED: 5/13/19