Chapter 15
The first sign that something had changed came in the form of flowers.
Rowan stared at them from across the guild hall, brows drawn together.
They sat on Lila's desk in a neat arrangement—fresh, carefully chosen, and very much not something that belonged in a building usually decorated with dented shields and bounty posters.
"...Are those," Rowan asked slowly, "for the guild?"
Lila looked up from her ledger.
"Oh. No."
She hesitated.
"They're for me."
Rowan blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"I see," he said.
Dorian, who had been loitering far too close to the desk for no legitimate reason, leaned in to inspect the bouquet.
"Lovely choice," he said. "Who's the brave soul?"
Lila adjusted her glasses. "A merchant. From the east quarter. He said the city's been... curious."
Rowan's jaw tightened.
"Curious," he repeated.
"Yes," Lila said carefully. "About us."
Dorian grinned. "Ah. We've reached that stage."
Rowan turned to him. "There are stages?"
"Oh yes," Dorian replied. "First whispers. Then speculation. Then wildly inaccurate conclusions."
"...And then?" Rowan asked.
Dorian's grin widened. "Then trouble."
The whispers were subtle at first.
A little too many glances.
A little too much politeness.
Adventurers suddenly volunteering for guild work they normally avoided—just to linger longer near the front desk.
Rowan noticed.
Of course he did.
He noticed everything.
Lila, for her part, pretended not to.
But she walked closer to Rowan when the hall grew crowded.
And Rowan—without thinking—adjusted his position so he stood just slightly in front of her.
"That one's been staring for ten minutes," Rowan muttered.
Lila didn't look up from her paperwork. "He's trying to decide whether to flirt or flee."
"He should flee."
She smiled faintly. "You're intimidating when you're protective."
"I'm intimidating when I'm calm."
"That too."
By midday, the guild hall felt heavier.
Not louder.
Heavier.
Rowan felt it in the way conversations dipped when he passed. In the way messengers bowed a fraction deeper. In the way city guards lingered longer near the doors.
Power attracted attention.
So did love.
And Rowan had learned long ago that attention was rarely harmless.
The external pressure arrived in the form of a sealed letter.
A royal seal.
Dorian whistled when Rowan broke it open.
"Well," he said. "That escalated politely."
Rowan scanned the parchment, expression unreadable.
"What is it?" Lila asked.
"An invitation," Rowan replied. "From the Crown Council."
Dorian raised a brow. "Invitation or summons?"
Rowan folded the letter.
"...Invitation."
Which somehow made it worse.
"They've noticed," Lila said softly.
"Yes."
"Is that bad?"
Rowan hesitated.
"Not yet."
They didn't speak of it further.
Not then.
Instead, Rowan suggested they step outside—fresh air, fewer eyes.
The city greeted them with a strange energy.
Too alert.
Too aware.
A patrol of soldiers passed—foreign armor among them. Not hostile. Not friendly either.
Observers.
Lila noticed Rowan slow.
"Those aren't Eastrun guards," she murmured.
"No," Rowan agreed. "They're watching trade routes."
"And borders?"
"And people."
She looked at him.
"You."
He didn't deny it.
They stopped near the old fountain—one of the few places in the city that felt unchanged.
Rowan sat carefully, easing pressure from his back.
Lila joined him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lila said, quietly, "Does this happen every time you let yourself be happy?"
Rowan laughed under his breath.
"Every time I stop bleeding," he replied.
She reached for his hand.
Held it.
"Then we'll just have to be stubborn about it," she said.
His fingers tightened around hers.
"I'm very good at stubborn," he said.
She smiled. "I've noticed."
From a distant rooftop, something watched.
Not with eyes.
With awareness.
A ripple passed through the air—subtle, easily mistaken for heat or fatigue.
Rowan stiffened.
Just for a moment.
"You felt that," Lila said.
He nodded.
"Nothing concrete," he said slowly. "Just... memory."
She frowned. "Memory?"
"Of danger," he clarified. "Old danger."
The feeling faded as quickly as it came.
The city resumed its rhythm.
But Rowan didn't relax.
That night, Dorian found Rowan in the training yard.
Not training.
Just standing.
"You're brooding," Dorian said.
"I'm thinking," Rowan replied.
"Same thing, different armor."
Rowan glanced at him. "You feel it too."
Dorian sobered.
"...Yes."
A pause.
"You're not alone this time," Dorian added.
Rowan nodded.
"I know."
From a high tower beyond the city walls, a shadow shifted.
Far away.
Patient.
The Crown Council's hall smelled of incense and polished stone.
Rowan noticed details like that automatically. Old habit. Old wariness.
He stood at the center of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed but alert. Across from him sat five figures in layered robes and gilded insignia—faces composed, eyes sharp.
They smiled too easily.
"We appreciate you coming on such short notice, Guild Master Valebright," said Councillor Harthin, voice smooth as oiled steel.
Rowan inclined his head. "The city's safety is my priority."
A pause.
"That is precisely why we wished to speak," another councillor said. "Eastrun is... unsettled."
"People talk," Rowan replied. "They always do."
"Yes," Harthin said. "But now they listen."
They spoke in circles.
Of morale.
Of stability.
Of symbols.
Rowan listened in silence as they danced around their real intent, waiting patiently for the blade to show itself.
Finally, it did.
"The people trust you," Harthin said. "They watch you. They emulate you."
Rowan met his gaze. "I didn't ask them to."
"But you cannot stop them," the councillor replied. "And now—your personal life has become... relevant."
Rowan's jaw tightened.
"Miss Fairbloom is beloved," Harthin continued. "Efficient. Kind. Relatable."
Relatable.
As if she were a tool.
"Together," the councillor said, "you represent something reassuring. Continuity. Strength paired with gentleness."
Rowan's voice dropped. "Get to the point."
The council exchanged looks.
"We would like you to be seen more," Harthin said at last. "Public appearances. Events. Receptions."
"And Lila?" Rowan asked.
"She would, of course, accompany you."
Rowan's hands curled slowly into fists behind his back.
"You are asking me to turn my relationship into a message."
Harthin smiled. "A comfort."
Rowan exhaled through his nose.
"I won't."
The room stilled.
"Guild Master—"
"No," Rowan said firmly. "She is not a banner. She is not a symbol. And she is not something you get to parade because it soothes the masses."
Silence followed.
Finally, one councillor spoke, cautious now.
"You realize refusing us carries consequences."
Rowan met their gazes one by one.
"So does agreeing."
He bowed.
And left.
The rumors sharpened within days.
They were no longer curious.
They were confident.
People spoke as if they knew the truth.
As if they owned it.
"She's ambitious."
"He's being controlled."
"It's a political move."
"She planned it."
Lila heard them.
She pretended not to.
But Rowan saw the way her smile faded quicker. The way her shoulders tensed when strangers lingered too long.
One evening, she set down her quill with a soft click.
"I don't like how they talk about us," she said quietly.
Rowan stood immediately.
"Then we'll stop it."
She looked at him. "How?"
He hesitated.
"...By stepping back."
Her brows knit together.
"They'll think you're ashamed."
"I don't care what they think."
She studied him for a long moment.
"You should," she said gently. "But not enough to hurt yourself."
He reached for her hands.
Held them.
"I chose you," he said. "Not what they want us to be."
Her grip tightened.
"That might make things harder," she warned.
"I've faced worse."
She smiled faintly. "I know."
From the balcony that night, Rowan watched the city lights.
Behind him, Dorian leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
"You told them no," Dorian said.
"Yes."
"They won't like that."
Rowan didn't turn. "They don't have to."
Dorian was quiet for a moment.
"...Then I suppose," he said slowly, "someone should make sure the people don't get the wrong idea."
Rowan finally looked at him.
"Dorian."
"Yes?"
"Don't."
Dorian smiled.
"I won't."
The smile did not reassure him.
Far beyond Eastrun's walls, something ancient shifted its attention.
Not yet.
But soon.
The world had noticed.
And peace, once seen, was never allowed to last forever.