Chapter 2
There were many things in this world that frightened me.
Ancient liches.
Unstable magical artifacts.
Dragons with too many eyes.
The new receptionist smiling politely behind my front desk was not supposed to be one of them.
Yet there I stood, rooted to the spot, staring at Lila Fairbloom like she might suddenly explode into paperwork.
She held several sheets in her hands, posture straight, expression bright but nervous—like someone trying very hard not to make a bad first impression. Her eyes flicked between me and Sir Dorian, as if she were unsure which of us held more authority.
That, at least, was reasonable.
"This is... the guild master," she said slowly, as if confirming it aloud would make it more believable.
I cleared my throat. "Yes. That would be me."
Why did that sound like a confession?
Dorian grinned beside me, arms crossed. "Impressive, isn't he? Looks even better in person."
"Dorian," I muttered.
Lila laughed softly—laughed—and something in my chest tightened unpleasantly.
"It's an honor to meet you, Guild Master Valebright," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."
I braced myself. "Only good things, I hope."
She hesitated.
"...Mostly," she said diplomatically.
Dorian burst out laughing.
I stared at him.
"She means the dragon punching," he said. "People love that story."
"I punched one dragon," I said. "Once."
"Twice," Dorian corrected. "Three times if you count the wyvern incident."
"That was self-defense."
Lila watched this exchange with wide eyes.
"...This is a very lively workplace," she said carefully.
I rubbed my temples.
"You have no idea."
The next hour was agony.
Pure, concentrated agony.
Lila, it turned out, was terrifyingly competent.
Within minutes, she had reorganized the quest board, corrected three reward calculations, identified two forged requests, and politely informed one of my senior members that his handwriting constituted a crime against literacy.
The guild hall buzzed with activity as adventurers came and went, and she handled all of it with calm efficiency.
All while I stood nearby pretending not to stare.
She worked fast, fingers flying over parchment, occasionally biting her lip in concentration. Every time she glanced up and met my gaze, she smiled politely—professional, respectful, distant.
Which was good.
Very good.
Dangerously good.
"She's amazing," Dorian whispered.
"I can hear you," I muttered.
"I mean for the guild," he continued. "But also—"
"Stop," I said.
He didn't.
"I'm just saying," he went on, "it's been years, Rowan. Years. You can't spend the rest of your life glaring at monsters and drinking tea alone."
"I don't glare," I said.
"You absolutely glare."
"I brood," I corrected.
Dorian snorted. "That's worse."
Lila looked up. "Is something wrong?"
We both froze.
"No," I said immediately.
"Yes," Dorian said at the same time.
She blinked.
Dorian gestured toward me. "Our guild master here is deeply lonely and refuses to admit it."
I grabbed him by the collar.
"Dorian," I said quietly, "if you value your spine—"
"Oh!" Lila said, startled. "I—um—"
I released him instantly.
"I apologize," I said, straightening my coat. "Sir Dorian has a habit of speaking before thinking."
Dorian nodded. "It's my greatest flaw."
"And your only one?" I asked.
"Besides my overwhelming charm? Yes."
Lila laughed again.
I was going to die.
By midday, my office was buried under paperwork.
Which was unusual, because normally I was the paperwork.
But Lila insisted—politely, firmly—that certain things required my direct approval.
"These requests need your signature," she said, placing a neat stack on my desk.
I glanced at them. "I trust your judgment."
Her smile faltered. Just a little.
"I appreciate that," she said, "but protocol—"
"I don't care about protocol," I said. "If you say it's fine, it's fine."
She hesitated.
Then she nodded and handed me a pen.
"Very well," she said.
Our fingers brushed as I took it.
It was brief. Barely anything.
I still forgot how to write my own name.
She turned away quickly, pretending to focus on the next task. I signed the documents, heart pounding far harder than it had against the dragon.
This was ridiculous.
I had faced armies.
I had stood against demon kings.
I was being undone by a woman holding a ledger.
Later that afternoon, I overheard a conversation I was not meant to hear.
"...he's very intimidating," Lila was saying.
I paused just outside the office door.
Intimidating.
Yes. That was fair.
"But also kind," she continued. "In a quiet way. I think he worries too much."
I leaned closer, guilt prickling at me.
Dorian chuckled. "Oh, he worries about everything. Especially tea temperature."
"That explains the thermos," she said.
"The what?"
"The thermos on his desk," she said. "It's labeled."
I looked down.
ROWAN – DO NOT TOUCH.
...When had I labeled that?
"He seems lonely," she said softly.
My chest tightened.
Dorian hummed thoughtfully. "He is."
I stepped away before I could hear more.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The next day was worse.
Sir Dorian decided to help.
This was, historically, a terrible sign.
He arrived early, wearing his full knight commander armor, grinning like a man with a plan.
"Rowan," he announced, "I have devised a solution."
"No," I said immediately.
"To your romantic predicament."
"I don't have—"
"You do," he said. "And I will fix it."
He marched straight to the front desk.
"Good morning, Lady Fairbloom!"
Lila jumped. "Oh! Good morning, Sir Lionsreach."
Dorian placed a hand over his heart. "Please. Call me Dorian. Titles make things awkward."
She nodded hesitantly.
"Now," he said, turning to me, "Guild Master Valebright was just about to invite you to tea."
I choked.
"I was?"
"Yes," Dorian said confidently. "In fact, he insists."
I stared at him in horror.
Lila's eyes widened. "Oh. I—um—"
"That would be inappropriate," I said quickly. "I mean—professionally—"
Dorian kicked my foot.
Hard.
"Tea," I said. "Would be fine. If you want."
Lila flushed.
"I—I'd like that," she said.
Dorian beamed.
I wanted to die.
Tea was a disaster.
I brewed it too strong. Then too weak. Then I spilled it.
We sat across from each other in my office, silence stretching painfully between us.
"So," I said. "You're... settling in well?"
"Yes," she said. "Everyone's been very welcoming."
"That's good."
Pause.
"I like your guild," she added.
"Thank you."
Longer pause.
"...You punched a dragon yesterday," she said.
I winced. "Yes."
"That's very impressive."
"I prefer paperwork," I said honestly.
She smiled at that.
Something warm settled in my chest.
This was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Just as I thought things might improve, the city bell rang again.
GONG.
We both sighed.
I stood. "Duty calls."
She nodded. "Be safe."
I paused at the door.
"I always am," I said.
That was a lie.
But not the kind people thought.