Chapter 24
Rowan Valebright woke before dawn.
This was not unusual. Years of patrols, alarms, and wars had trained his body to rise before the world decided whether it would be peaceful or on fire.
What was unusual was the silence.
No horns.
No distant shouts.
No pressure in his chest demanding action.
Just morning light creeping through the window of the guildmaster's quarters and the faint sound of birds arguing outside.
Rowan lay still, staring at the ceiling.
This is it, he thought.
The idea was unsettling.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and immediately regretted it. His back protested sharply, a deep ache that had nothing to do with wounds and everything to do with time.
He winced.
"Already complaining?" came a soft voice from the doorway.
Rowan looked up.
Lila leaned against the doorframe, dressed in a simple robe, hair loosely tied back. She held a cup of tea in one hand and a folded bundle of fabric in the other.
"Good morning," she said.
Rowan smiled. "You're awake early."
"I never sleep well before big events," she replied, crossing the room and handing him the tea. "Especially ones involving you."
He accepted it gratefully. "Because of the danger?"
"Because of the chaos," she corrected.
He took a sip and sighed. "Fair."
She sat beside him on the bed, watching him over the rim of her own cup.
"You look nervous," she said.
"I am not nervous," Rowan replied immediately.
She raised an eyebrow.
He exhaled. "I am... unfamiliar."
"With weddings?"
"With being the center of something that doesn't involve screaming."
Lila smiled softly. "You saved the city. You can survive a ceremony."
Rowan glanced at the folded fabric in her lap. "Is that...?"
"My dress," she said. "I thought you should see it before everything becomes... overwhelming."
He swallowed. "You're already overwhelming."
She laughed quietly and bumped her shoulder against his. "Good."
A knock echoed from the hallway.
Hard. Loud. Repeated.
"ROWAN," Dorian's voice boomed through the door. "IF YOU ARE PANICKING, I REQUIRE ADVANCE NOTICE."
Rowan closed his eyes. "Too late."
Dorian burst in without waiting, already half-dressed in ceremonial armor that had clearly been polished by someone else. He stopped short when he saw Lila.
"Oh," he said. "You're both dressed calm. That's unsettling."
"Why are you here?" Rowan asked.
Dorian beamed. "Best man duties."
Rowan frowned. "Those start later."
"Incorrect," Dorian said. "They start when I decide they do."
He dropped a bundle of fabric onto Rowan's lap.
Rowan stared at it. "What is this?"
"Your formal attire," Dorian said proudly. "Tailored. Pressed. Reinforced in the shoulders."
Rowan squinted. "Reinforced?"
"Purely symbolic reinforcement," Dorian added quickly. "No actual armor. Lila insisted."
Lila nodded. "You promised you wouldn't wear plate."
Rowan sighed. "It feels irresponsible."
"This is a wedding," Dorian said. "Not a siege."
"That remains to be seen," Rowan muttered.
They helped him dress.
Or rather—Lila helped.
Rowan tried to fasten a clasp at his shoulder and failed twice before she gently moved his hands aside.
"Let me," she said.
He hesitated, then allowed it.
Her fingers were warm and steady as she adjusted the fabric, smoothing it over his shoulders the way she had helped him with armor countless times before.
"This feels familiar," Rowan said quietly.
She smiled. "That's the point."
Dorian watched the moment with visible discomfort.
"I'm going to pretend I'm not witnessing emotional intimacy," he said. "For my own survival."
Rowan glanced at him. "You promised not to interfere today."
Dorian held up a hand. "On my honor."
Rowan narrowed his eyes.
"—Which is admittedly flexible," Dorian added. "But I mean it this time."
A distant crash echoed through the guild hall.
Everyone froze.
Rowan's body tensed instinctively.
Dorian winced. "That might be the cake."
Rowan stood. "Why is there a cake inside the weapons storage room?"
Dorian shrugged. "Structural support."
Lila took Rowan's hand, grounding him. "It's fine," she said. "Let them handle it."
He took a breath.
Then another.
And let go.
Outside, the city of Eastrun stirred—not in fear, but anticipation. Banners fluttered where battle flags once hung. People smiled cautiously, like they were afraid joy might still be fragile.
Rowan looked at Lila.
"You're sure about this?" he asked quietly.
She met his gaze without hesitation. "I've never been more sure of anything."
He nodded.
"Alright," Rowan said.
Behind them, something exploded.
Dorian coughed. "That one was definitely not the cake."
Rowan sighed.
The calm would not last.
And somehow... that made it perfect.
The wedding venue was on fire.
Not literally.
Which, under the circumstances, was a miracle.
Rowan stood at the edge of the courtyard that had once been the inner training grounds of the guild, watching people sprint in conflicting directions with the haunted expressions of those who had accepted—far too late—that today was no longer under their control.
Banners hung crookedly from hastily repaired stone arches. Flowers—real ones, not illusions—had been arranged in precise rows that were already being disturbed by boots, elbows, and one very apologetic apprentice who tripped into a wreath and did not get back up.
Rowan folded his arms.
His jaw tightened.
"Breathe," Lila murmured beside him.
"I am breathing," Rowan replied through clenched teeth.
She smiled knowingly. "You're breathing like you're deciding whether to execute someone."
Across the courtyard, Dorian was shouting.
"No—don't move that—WHY would you move that—put it back—NO, not there—that's the ceremonial aisle—WHY IS THERE A BARREL?"
The barrel in question rolled slowly across the stone, unattended.
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Do you want me to intervene?" he asked.
Lila shook her head. "Absolutely not."
"Something terrible is about to happen."
"Yes."
"And you don't want me to stop it."
"Nope."
He lowered his hand slowly. "I fought a general of the Ash Legion with more confidence than I feel right now."
"That's because you can stab problems like that," she said gently. "This one requires patience."
A crash echoed.
Someone screamed, "THE ARCH IS LEANING."
Rowan's shoulders twitched.
Dorian sprinted toward them, eyes wild.
"We have a situation," he announced.
Rowan stared at him. "You're going to need to be more specific."
"The rings," Dorian said.
Rowan's stomach dropped. "What about them."
"I had them."
Lila inhaled sharply.
Rowan closed his eyes.
"And now?" Rowan asked calmly.
Dorian winced. "I do not have them."
The courtyard went very quiet.
Rowan opened his eyes.
"How," he said softly, "did you lose the rings."
Dorian gestured vaguely behind him. "There was an argument involving the seating arrangement, a priest who insists east-facing is spiritually critical, and a child who bit me."
"You lost the rings because of a child."
"An aggressive one," Dorian defended. "With intent."
Rowan took a slow breath.
Then another.
His fingers curled.
Somewhere deep inside him, the instincts that had carried him through battle stirred—the certainty that problems could be solved decisively, efficiently.
Find the weak point. End the threat.
Lila felt the shift immediately.
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.
"Rowan," she said quietly.
"I am not going to yell," he said.
"That's not what I'm worried about."
Dorian swallowed. "I can fix this."
"You have thirty seconds," Rowan said evenly.
Dorian saluted and spun on his heel, nearly colliding with a passing cleric.
Chaos resumed.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"This is my fault," he muttered.
Lila looked up at him. "How."
"I agreed to this. Publicly. Involving... people."
She smiled. "You agreed to us."
A commotion erupted near the refreshment table.
A familiar clucking sound cut through the noise.
Rowan froze.
"No," he whispered.
The chicken burst into view.
It was larger than before. Cleaner. Somehow smug.
It strutted confidently across the courtyard, weaving between guests like it belonged there, feathers pristine and eyes sharp.
Rowan stared.
"Is that—" he began.
"Yes," Lila said calmly.
"Why," Rowan said, voice dangerously flat, "is that chicken here."
Dorian's voice rang out from somewhere behind the arch. "GOOD NEWS, I FOUND THE—oh no."
The chicken leapt onto the ceremonial table.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Someone applauded.
The chicken pecked at a ribbon, then stared directly at Rowan.
Rowan felt something in him snap—not violently, but sharply, like a thread pulled too tight.
His hand twitched.
He could do it.
One step. One motion.
Problem solved.
"Rowan," Lila said, firm now.
He didn't look at her.
"Rowan," she repeated, squeezing his arm.
He forced his gaze to her face.
She wasn't alarmed.
She was amused.
"Twelve years ago," she said softly, "you saved a village from bandits while bleeding out."
"Yes."
"Last year, you held a gate alone long enough for civilians to escape."
"Yes."
"This morning," she continued, "you drank tea instead of sharpening a sword."
He frowned. "Your point?"
She gestured broadly to the chaos—the shouting, the crooked banners, the chicken, Dorian now arguing with a priest while holding a bouquet upside down.
"This," she said, "is what peace looks like for people like us."
Rowan hesitated.
She stepped in front of him fully now, blocking his view of the chicken.
"There's no enemy to defeat," she said. "No formation to command. No right way to do this."
The clucking grew louder.
She smiled.
"This is us choosing life anyway."
Something inside Rowan eased.
Not vanished—but loosened.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"...I hate that chicken," he admitted.
"I know."
Dorian reappeared, panting, holding the rings triumphantly.
"I FOUND THEM."
Rowan's relief was immediate.
Then the chicken lunged.
Dorian yelped as the bird launched itself upward, wings flapping, snatching one ring clean out of his hand.
"No," Rowan said faintly.
The chicken took off.
Rowan moved—
—and stopped himself.
Lila watched him carefully.
He closed his eyes.
Opened them.
And laughed.
It startled everyone.
Including him.
"That," Rowan said, rubbing his face, "is staying in the story forever, isn't it."
"Oh absolutely," Lila said.
Dorian chased the chicken screaming, "GIVE IT BACK YOU FEATHERED DEMON."
Guests scattered.
The arch finally collapsed—but gently.
The priest fainted.
Rowan took Lila's hands.
"This isn't how I imagined today," he said.
She squeezed back. "It's better."
He smiled.
For the first time, truly unburdened.
By the time the ceremony actually began, the sun had shifted.
Not dramatically—no divine spotlight or celestial omen—but enough that the light fell warmer across the courtyard, softening the broken edges of the morning's chaos. The collapsed arch had been propped back into something ceremonially acceptable. The chicken had been bribed away with grain and a stern lecture from a baker who apparently feared nothing. The rings had been recovered, guarded now by three people and one very nervous mage.
Guests settled into mismatched chairs.
Some were guild members in half-polished armor. Some were townsfolk in borrowed finery. A few were veterans who still carried themselves like the war might resume at any moment, scanning rooftops out of habit.
And at the front of it all stood Rowan.
He wore formal guild attire instead of armor—dark fabric, silver trim, the insignia of the guild clasped at his shoulder. Without the weight of steel, he felt strangely exposed. Vulnerable in a way battle had never quite managed.
Dorian stood beside him, acting as best man in both name and chaotic spirit. He leaned over and whispered, "If this goes wrong, I want it on record that I tried."
Rowan didn't look at him. "If this goes wrong, I'm blaming you anyway."
"Fair."
The officiant cleared their throat.
A hush fell.
Then Lila appeared.
She didn't descend from anywhere dramatic. No doors burst open. No music swelled beyond a slightly off-key string ensemble doing their best.
She simply walked into view.
And Rowan forgot how to breathe.
She wore a dress that was elegant without being excessive—soft fabric, simple lines, the kind of beauty that didn't shout for attention but demanded it anyway. Her hair was pinned back loosely, a few rebellious strands already escaping.
She looked nervous.
She looked radiant.
She looked at him like this was a choice she was making every single step.
Rowan felt something settle in his chest.
Not relief.
Certainty.
The ceremony proceeded—haltingly at first. The officiant recovered from earlier fainting and spoke about bonds, about choosing each other in times of peace as much as war. About how love was not the absence of fear, but the decision to face it together.
Rowan listened—but only halfway.
Because Lila was right there.
And he was thinking about all the times he'd nearly died. All the times he'd assumed there would be later. All the years he'd defined himself by what he'd protected instead of what he wanted.
When it came time for vows, the officiant nodded to Rowan.
He swallowed.
This was harder than facing Draxis's general. Harder than commanding an army. There was no script that mattered here—no formation, no fallback plan.
Just truth.
He took Lila's hands.
"They're shaking," she whispered.
"So are yours," he replied quietly.
That earned him a small smile—one just for him.
He faced her fully.
"I've been many things," Rowan began. His voice was steady, though his heart wasn't. "A soldier. A guild master. A weapon people pointed at problems until they went away."
A ripple of soft laughter moved through the crowd.
"I've spent most of my life believing my worth came from what I could endure. How much pain I could take. How long I could stand between danger and everyone else."
He paused, tightening his grip on her hands.
"You taught me something different."
Lila's eyes shone, but she didn't look away.
"You taught me that surviving isn't the same as living. That peace isn't something you earn after enough bloodshed—it's something you choose, even when it scares you."
His voice cracked, just slightly.
"I can't promise you safety. Or quiet. Or that there won't be days where the world asks more of us than it should."
He smiled, small and honest.
"But I promise this: I will choose you. In the aftermath. In the absurdity. In the moments where everything goes wrong and we laugh anyway."
He leaned his forehead gently against hers.
"I am done being only the hero of yesterday. If you'll have me... I want to be your husband today. And every day after."
The silence that followed was heavy and reverent.
Then the officiant gestured to Lila.
She took a breath.
"One," she murmured, just loud enough for Rowan to hear.
He blinked. "One?"
"Sorry," she said. "I was counting so I wouldn't cry immediately."
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.
She squared her shoulders.
"When I met you," she said, "you were already a legend. Everyone spoke about you like a story that had already ended."
Her thumb brushed his knuckles.
"But I met a man who didn't know how to rest. Who carried responsibility like armor and thought it was the same thing as strength."
She smiled softly.
"You didn't need saving. You needed reminding."
Her voice steadied.
"I promise to remind you—when you forget—that you are allowed to be happy. That you are allowed to grow old. That you are allowed to be loved without earning it through sacrifice."
She leaned closer.
"And I promise to stand beside you—not behind, not protected away—because whatever comes next, I want to face it with you. Even if there's a chicken involved."
Laughter broke the tension fully now.
Rowan laughed too, blinking rapidly.
The rings were exchanged without incident this time—Dorian watched the chicken suspiciously from across the courtyard just in case.
The officiant raised their hands.
"By the bonds freely chosen and witnessed here today," they declared, "I pronounce you—"
The chicken clucked loudly.
A pause.
"...married," the officiant finished firmly.
Rowan didn't hesitate.
He pulled Lila into him and kissed her.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate.
It was warm. Certain. Real.
The crowd erupted—cheers, applause, someone fired off a harmless spell that produced floating lights. Dorian whooped loudest of all, shouting something about emotional damage.
Rowan rested his forehead against Lila's.
"We survived," he murmured.
She smiled. "Barely."
Later—after the food, after the dancing, after Rowan was dragged into a toast he absolutely did not approve of—the night settled into something quieter.
Lanterns glowed.
Laughter softened.
Rowan stood at the edge of the courtyard again, watching people he'd protected for years now simply exist.
Lila joined him, slipping her hand into his.
"You okay?" she asked.
He nodded.
"For the first time," he said, "I don't feel like I'm waiting for the next war."
She leaned into his shoulder.
Somewhere behind them, Dorian raised a glass.
"To Rowan," he declared loudly, "who finally learned that you can retire from saving the world—but not from paperwork."
Groans followed.
Rowan smiled.
The future would not be quiet.
But it would be theirs.
And for a man who had lived so long in yesterday's battles, that was more than enough.
End of Book One
Hero of Yesterday, Bachelor of Today