Chapter 11
Rowan Valebright learned he had made a terrible mistake the moment the baker bowed.
Not nodded.
Not smiled politely.
Bowed.
Deeply.
"Guild Master Valebright," the baker said reverently. "And—ah—Lady Fairbloom."
Lila froze.
Rowan froze harder.
"Good morning," Rowan said carefully, like he was approaching an unstable artifact. "You don't need to—"
"We heard the news," the baker continued, eyes shining. "Congratulations."
"On...?" Rowan asked.
The baker beamed. "Everything."
Lila made a small, strangled noise beside him.
The rumors had escaped the guild.
That was the problem.
Within the first ten minutes of their walk through Eastrun:
A shopkeeper offered them a "courting discount"
A street bard began composing a ballad on the spot
Someone threw flower petals (from where, no one knew)
Rowan felt like he was under siege.
"I thought we agreed to keep things... quiet," he muttered as they turned a corner.
"We agreed not to announce anything," Lila replied. "We did not account for Dorian."
As if summoned by accusation alone, Dorian's voice rang out from behind them.
"GOOD MORNING, MY FAVORITE PUBLIC FIGURES."
Rowan closed his eyes.
They reached the guild faster than Rowan would have preferred.
The moment the doors opened, a cheer erupted.
Someone had hung a banner.
It read:
CONGRATULATIONS (PROBABLY)
Rowan stared at it in silent horror.
Lila laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Oh no," Rowan said quietly. "You're enjoying this."
"I'm surviving it," she corrected. "Which feels like a victory."
Dorian appeared beside them, hands clasped behind his back, grin sharp enough to cut glass.
"You're welcome."
"For what," Rowan asked flatly.
"For the city's morale," Dorian said. "Do you have any idea how reassuring it is to know the Adamant Shield has something to live for?"
Rowan's jaw tightened.
"That was not your story to tell."
Dorian's grin faded—just a little.
"No," he said. "But it was the city's to believe."
The council summons arrived before noon.
A formal request.
Sealed.
Urgent.
Rowan stared at it like it might explode.
"They know," he said.
"They noticed," Lila corrected gently.
Dorian leaned back in a chair. "Relax. Worst case scenario, they ask you to smile for a painting."
Rowan looked unconvinced.
The council chamber was bright, circular, and deeply uncomfortable.
Every councilor smiled too politely.
Lila sat beside Rowan, hands folded, posture composed.
"Guild Master Valebright," Councilor Hestrel began, "your service to Eastrun is beyond question."
Rowan inclined his head. "Thank you."
"We are simply... concerned."
Here it comes.
"With recent unrest," another councilor continued, "the city looks to its symbols."
Rowan felt Lila's hand brush his knee under the table.
Steadying.
"And now," Hestrel said, "it seems you have become something of a... shared symbol."
Lila spoke before Rowan could.
"With respect," she said calmly, "my relationship status does not change the guild's readiness."
The councilors blinked.
Rowan turned to her, surprised.
She met his gaze briefly.
I've got this.
Afterward, Rowan exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for an hour.
"They shouldn't have asked that," he said as they descended the steps. "You shouldn't have had to answer."
She smiled faintly. "I chose to."
He stopped walking.
She turned.
"I won't disappear just because people are watching," she said softly. "If I stay quiet, they decide for us."
Rowan studied her.
This woman had walked into his life carrying paperwork and courage in equal measure.
"I'm afraid," he admitted. "That they'll use you against me."
She reached up and adjusted his cloak—an unconscious habit now.
"Then we don't let them," she said.
That evening, Rowan found Dorian in his office, feet on the desk.
"You could've warned me," Rowan said.
Dorian shrugged. "You would've worried."
"Yes."
"See?"
Rowan sighed, rubbing his temples.
"This changes things," Rowan said. "For her."
Dorian's tone softened. "She's stronger than you think."
"I know," Rowan said quietly. "That's why I'm afraid."
Dorian smiled sadly. "Welcome to love."
Later, as lanterns lit the guild hall, Rowan found Lila organizing documents.
She looked up.
"You survived politics," she said. "Proud of you."
"I'd fight a hydra," he replied. "They're honest."
She laughed.
Then hesitated.
"Rowan?"
"Yes?"
"If this becomes too much," she said carefully, "we can slow down."
He crossed the room in two strides.
"No," he said immediately. Then gentler, "I don't want to slow down. I want to learn how to stand."
She smiled.
That smile—the one that said together.
Outside, the city watched.
Inside, something steadier formed.
The problem with Sir Dorian Lionsreach was not that he acted without thinking.
It was that he thought very hard—then acted anyway.
Rowan realized this too late.
The morning after the council meeting began quietly enough. The guild bustled with its usual controlled chaos. Quests were posted. Arguments were settled. Someone tried to register a goat as a companion animal.
Normal.
Rowan allowed himself exactly three minutes of peace before Lila approached his desk, holding a flyer.
She looked... concerned.
"Rowan," she said carefully. "Did you approve this?"
He took the flyer.
He felt something inside him fracture.
COMMUNITY UNITY FESTIVAL
Honoring the Protectors of Eastrun
Featuring: Guild Master Rowan Valebright and Lady Lila Fairbloom
Rowan lowered the paper.
"Dorian," he said calmly.
There was no response.
"Dorian," he repeated.
From behind a stack of crates came a cheerful voice. "Ah! You've seen it."
Rowan stood.
"I did not approve this," Rowan said.
Dorian leaned casually against a pillar. "No, but the council did."
"They did not ask her," Rowan snapped, gesturing to Lila.
Lila raised a hand. "To be fair, they didn't ask you either."
Rowan paused.
"That is... not helping."
Dorian held up his hands. "Listen. The city is restless. Monsters, rumors, borders tightening. People want reassurance."
"So you put us on a stage?" Rowan demanded.
"Yes," Dorian said. "Together."
Silence fell.
Lila folded the flyer carefully.
"How public?" she asked.
Dorian smiled. "Very."
The festival preparations exploded across Eastrun like wildfire.
Banners.
Lanterns.
Stalls.
Someone commissioned figurines.
Rowan did not want to know.
By midday, people were already gathering in the square, whispering, pointing, smiling.
Rowan stood in his office, staring at his reflection.
"I am not wearing ceremonial armor," he muttered.
Lila sat nearby, calm as ever, reviewing schedules.
"You look fine," she said.
"I look like a weapon," he replied.
She smiled gently. "You are a weapon."
"That's not comforting."
She stood and adjusted his cloak.
"Rowan," she said softly, "you don't have to do anything special."
"I have to stand," he said. "And let them see you."
She met his gaze. "I'm not fragile."
"I know," he said. "That's why I'm afraid."
She squeezed his hand. "Then be afraid. Just don't be alone."
The square was packed.
Rowan had faced armies with fewer eyes on him.
Cheers rose as they stepped onto the platform.
Rowan inclined his head.
Lila waved.
The crowd adored her instantly.
That startled him more than anything.
She didn't command attention.
She earned it.
A councilor began speaking—about unity, resilience, shared strength.
Rowan barely heard it.
He was watching Lila.
Watching how she stood tall.
Watching how people leaned in.
Watching how easily she belonged here.
Dorian stood just offstage, beaming like a proud menace.
Then someone shouted.
"WHEN'S THE WEDDING?"
The crowd laughed.
Rowan froze.
Lila's ears turned red.
Dorian, traitor that he was, leaned toward the crowd.
"WHEN THEY'RE READY," he called back.
Rowan turned slowly.
Dorian mouthed: You're welcome.
The real trouble came afterward.
As people dispersed, a group of city officials approached—not councilors.
Sponsors.
Merchants.
Influencers of the worst kind.
One woman smiled sharply. "Lady Fairbloom, we would love your presence at future events."
Rowan stepped forward instinctively.
Lila placed a hand on his arm.
"I'll consider it," she said politely.
Rowan looked at her.
She shook her head slightly.
Later.
They retreated to the guild after sunset.
Rowan was silent.
Too silent.
Dorian noticed.
"So," Dorian said, leaning back in a chair, "successful morale boost."
Rowan rounded on him.
"You put her in danger."
Dorian straightened.
"No," he said firmly. "I put her in the light."
"That is worse."
Dorian didn't smile.
"She chose to stay," Dorian said. "You didn't pull her in."
Rowan clenched his fists.
"I don't want her to be a target."
"She already is," Dorian replied quietly. "Because she matters to you."
The words landed hard.
That night, Rowan found Lila alone on the balcony.
The city glowed below.
"I didn't mean for that," he said.
"I know," she replied.
He leaned against the railing, shoulders heavy.
"I don't know how to protect you without caging you."
She turned to him fully.
"Then don't," she said simply. "Trust me."
He looked at her.
Really looked.
She wasn't afraid.
She was resolute.
"I can stand beside you," she said. "But you have to let me."
He nodded slowly.
"I will," he said.
She smiled.
Then leaned forward and kissed his cheek—soft, brief, grounding.
"For the record," she added, "Dorian is never planning anything again."
Rowan almost laughed.
Inside, Dorian sneezed.
"I sense hatred," he muttered.
Later, Rowan wrote one line in his personal ledger:
Protection does not mean control.
It felt like a lesson hard-won.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, the bond held.
The festival ended.
The consequences did not.
For the next several days, Eastrun behaved like a city that had decided something important and hadn't told its heroes yet.
Rowan noticed it in the way people looked at him—less fear, more expectation. He noticed it in the way people looked at Lila—curious, respectful, sometimes calculating.
That last one bothered him the most.
Lila noticed it too.
She didn't mention it.
The first letter arrived three mornings later.
Then another.
And another.
Invitations. Requests. Proposals.
Some polite. Some bold. Some outright absurd.
Rowan stared at the pile on his desk like it was a monster he couldn't punch.
"They want you to officiate a merchant alliance dinner," Lila said, reading one. "And this one wants me to speak at a literacy event."
Rowan blinked. "You... already do that."
"Yes," she said. "Privately."
He exhaled slowly.
This was the part he hadn't prepared for.
Not battle.
Not monsters.
Visibility.
Dorian, of course, was delighted.
"This is excellent," he declared, lounging in Rowan's chair like a villain. "You're becoming approachable."
"I don't want to be approachable," Rowan muttered. "I want to be effective."
Dorian smirked. "Too late. You smiled in public."
"That was involuntary."
"Doesn't matter."
Rowan leaned back, rubbing his temples.
"They're circling her," he said quietly.
Dorian's tone shifted.
"Yes," he agreed. "And she's holding her ground."
Rowan looked up.
"You trust her," Dorian continued. "That's new for you."
Rowan didn't deny it.
The real test came that evening.
A formal request.
Stamped with the council's seal.
They wanted Lila to act as a liaison between the guild and the city—temporary, unofficial, but visible.
Rowan read it twice.
Then a third time.
Then folded it very carefully.
"No," he said.
Lila watched him from across the desk.
"I haven't said yes," she said calmly.
"They shouldn't ask," he replied. "It puts you in—"
"I know," she interrupted gently.
Silence stretched.
Rowan closed his eyes.
"I won't stop you," he said finally. "But I need you to understand why I'm afraid."
She stepped closer.
"I do," she said.
He opened his eyes.
"If something goes wrong," he said, "they won't blame me. They'll blame you."
She nodded.
"Then I'll be careful," she said.
"That's not enough."
She smiled softly.
"Then we'll be careful."
That stopped him.
We.
They walked that night, no destination in mind.
Eastrun hummed around them—alive, safe, stubbornly hopeful.
Rowan spoke quietly.
"I spent years making myself the wall," he said. "Everything hit me. That was simple."
Lila listened.
"Now," he continued, "I don't know how to share the weight."
She took his hand.
"Then don't," she said. "Let me carry my own."
He squeezed her fingers.
"You're braver than most knights I know."
She laughed. "Low bar."
He smiled.
That felt... new.
At the guild, Rowan made a decision.
The next morning, he stood before the guild members—adventurers, clerks, misfits, and legends alike.
"Effective immediately," he announced, "Lady Fairbloom will oversee civilian coordination and internal communication."
Murmurs spread.
Lila blinked.
Rowan met her eyes.
"I trust her," he said simply.
The murmurs turned into nods.
Applause followed.
Lila swallowed hard.
Later, alone, she approached him.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "I did."
That night, they sat together in the quiet of Rowan's office.
No armor.
No banners.
Just two cups of tea and a single lamp.
Lila leaned against his shoulder.
"Today was... a lot," she said.
"Yes," he agreed.
She hesitated.
"Are we still alright?" she asked softly.
Rowan turned toward her fully.
"We're better than alright," he said. "We're honest."
She smiled, eyes shining.
"That's terrifying."
He chuckled. "It is."
They stayed like that, breathing in sync.
Outside, a city slept.
Inside, something solid formed.
Not a promise of forever.
Not yet.
But a shared understanding:
Whatever came next, they would face it standing side by side.
Far from Eastrun, in a place the lanterns could not reach, something old stirred.
Not war.
Not yet.
Just the faint pressure of a future that had noticed them.
Rowan did not know this.
He only knew that for the first time in a long while, he was not carrying the world alone.