Chapter 16
Rowan should have known something was wrong the moment the guild hall was quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Quiet.
The kind of quiet that suggested a storm had already passed through and left debris neatly stacked where it didn't belong.
He stopped just inside the entrance.
A long banner hung from the second-floor railing.
LONG LIVE GUILD MASTER ROWAN AND LADY LILA — DEFENDERS OF EASTRUN
Rowan closed his eyes.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
"Dorian," he said, voice level in the way it only ever was right before something broke.
From behind the front desk, Dorian popped up like a man summoned by ritual sacrifice.
"Ah! You noticed."
"What," Rowan asked carefully, "is that?"
Dorian followed his gaze upward, nodding proudly.
"Public reassurance."
"You promised me," Rowan said, opening his eyes, "that you would not."
"I promised I wouldn't make it worse," Dorian corrected. "This makes it clearer."
Rowan inhaled.
Exhaled.
"I told you not to involve the guild in—"
"—your personal life?" Dorian interrupted. "Too late. The city already did."
Rowan's jaw tightened.
Dorian hopped fully onto the counter, legs dangling. "Look, you said no to the council. Good. Proud of you. Truly heroic. But now the people are confused."
"They don't need clarity," Rowan snapped. "They need boundaries."
"And reassurance," Dorian added. "Which I provided."
Rowan stared at the banner again.
Someone had added hearts.
He turned slowly.
"...Did you add hearts?"
Dorian tilted his head. "I commissioned them."
Across the hall, Lila froze mid-step.
She had arrived quietly, as usual. She had not expected to be greeted by her name written in gold thread twelve feet tall.
"Oh," she said faintly.
Rowan spun.
"Lila, I—"
She stared up at the banner.
Then at Rowan.
Then back at the banner.
"...Is this some sort of guild morale thing?" she asked carefully.
"No," Rowan said immediately.
"Yes," Dorian said at the same time.
Rowan glared.
Dorian shrugged. "Depends how you define morale."
Lila blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she laughed.
It was soft at first. Disbelieving. A little hysterical.
Rowan relaxed a fraction.
"That's... very large," she said.
"I tried to stop him," Rowan muttered.
"You did not," Dorian said. "You hesitated. Which I interpreted as consent."
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
Unfortunately, the damage was already spreading.
By noon, people were gathering outside the guild hall.
Not angry.
Not protesting.
Watching.
Children waved.
Merchants bowed.
Someone tossed flowers.
Rowan stood at an upstairs window, arms crossed, expression thunderous.
"They think this is a performance," he said.
"They think you're together," Dorian replied helpfully.
"We are together," Rowan said.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "But now they think it's for them."
Rowan turned sharply.
Dorian held up his hands. "Which is why I arranged a correction."
Rowan's blood ran cold.
"What did you do?"
Dorian smiled.
"A small public statement. Casual. Humanizing."
"...Define small."
The courtyard below filled quickly.
Rowan stood beside Lila at the top of the steps, acutely aware of every eye.
Her hand brushed his.
He tensed.
She squeezed gently.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," she whispered.
"I know."
Dorian cleared his throat loudly.
Rowan did not look at him.
Dorian stepped forward anyway.
"People of Eastrun!" he called. "Friends! Patrons! People who definitely shouldn't be this invested!"
Rowan grimaced.
"What you see before you," Dorian continued, "is not a symbol. It is not a political arrangement. And it is certainly not a council-approved morale tactic."
Murmurs rippled.
Good murmurs.
Rowan relaxed a hair.
"It is," Dorian said proudly, "two deeply awkward adults attempting romance while pretending they aren't terrified."
Silence.
Then—
Laughter.
Rowan's face went red.
Lila covered her mouth.
Dorian gestured grandly. "They will make mistakes. They will argue. They will absolutely deny rumors they accidentally confirm."
Rowan leaned toward Lila. "I am going to kill him."
She smiled weakly. "Later."
"And," Dorian added, "if anyone believes Lady Lila Fairbloom is manipulating our Guild Master—"
Dorian's smile vanished.
"—I invite you to explain that to me."
The air shifted.
People stepped back.
Rowan straightened.
The moment passed.
Applause followed.
Uneasy.
Respectful.
Earned.
Later, in Rowan's office, the silence was heavier.
Dorian leaned against the wall.
"Well," he said. "That could've gone worse."
Rowan rounded on him.
"You used intimidation."
"Light intimidation."
"You made her a spectacle."
"I made you human."
Rowan opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Lila spoke first.
"They listened," she said quietly.
Both men turned.
"They stopped whispering," she continued. "For now."
Dorian nodded. "See? Damage control."
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"...You are never allowed to speak for us again."
Dorian grinned. "Understood."
"Ever."
"Crystal."
That night, Rowan sat on the edge of the bed, armor half-removed, shoulders stiff.
Lila knelt behind him.
"Lean forward," she murmured.
He did.
Her fingers worked the buckles carefully.
"You didn't have to laugh," he said quietly.
"I wanted to," she replied.
He hesitated. "Are you angry?"
She paused.
"...A little."
He nodded. "I understand."
"But," she added, fastening the last strap, "I'm also not afraid."
He turned.
She met his gaze steadily.
"They can look," she said. "As long as they don't decide for us."
He reached for her hand.
"Never," he promised.
Outside, unseen, the city breathed.
And somewhere far beyond its walls, something listened.
Not yet.
But soon.
The council chamber smelled like polished wood and restrained irritation.
Rowan stood at its center, hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect out of long habit. The kind drilled into him by battlefields and negotiations where one wrong word could cost lives.
This felt worse.
Across the curved table sat seven councilors.
All looking tired.
All looking wary.
Councilor Harth, an older man with thinning hair and a voice like dry parchment, cleared his throat.
"Guild Master Valebright," he began, "you are aware why you've been summoned."
"Yes," Rowan replied calmly. "Because I exist publicly."
That earned him several looks.
One councilor, younger and sharper-eyed, leaned forward. "You've become... a symbol."
Rowan didn't respond.
"That banner," another added. "The gathering. The cheering."
"I did not authorize it," Rowan said evenly.
"We know," Harth said. "Sir Dorian Lionsreach already admitted responsibility."
Rowan resisted the urge to sigh in relief and frustration at the same time.
"But," Harth continued, steepling his fingers, "responsibility does not remove consequence."
Rowan lifted his chin. "Speak plainly."
The council exchanged glances.
Finally, Councilor Mereth spoke. "You have blurred lines. Between guild and city. Between duty and... personal matters."
Rowan's jaw tightened.
"Lady Fairbloom," Mereth went on, "is now perceived as—"
Rowan stepped forward.
One step.
Not threatening.
But deliberate.
"She is a clerk," he said quietly. "A capable one. She has committed no offense."
Mereth paused. "Perception matters."
Rowan's voice lowered. "So does truth."
Silence fell.
Councilor Harth watched him closely. "Are you denying the relationship?"
Rowan did not hesitate.
"No."
A few brows lifted.
He continued, choosing each word with care. "But neither will I allow it to be used. Not as propaganda. Not as leverage."
"You ask us to trust restraint," Mereth said.
Rowan met her gaze. "I have given this city twenty years of it."
That landed.
Harth exhaled slowly. "Very well."
Rowan blinked.
"For now," Harth added. "But understand this, Guild Master—when war comes, symbols attract fire."
Rowan inclined his head. "I am aware."
Dorian was waiting outside.
Of course he was.
He leaned against the wall, hands clasped behind his head, whistling cheerfully.
"They didn't arrest you," he said. "Good sign."
Rowan stopped in front of him. "You're suspended from public coordination."
Dorian brightened. "Ah. Desk duty?"
"Worse," Rowan replied. "You are not allowed near banners, speeches, or 'symbolic reassurance.'"
Dorian winced. "Cruel and unusual."
"You will also apologize."
Dorian blinked. "I did what?"
Rowan fixed him with a stare.
"...Fine," Dorian sighed. "I will issue a statement."
"No," Rowan said. "You will apologize. To Lila."
Dorian hesitated.
Then, surprisingly, nodded. "Alright."
That earned him a long look.
"Don't get used to it," Dorian added quickly. "I still think I was right."
Rowan walked away.
The guild hall was quieter that evening.
Not empty.
Just... settled.
Rowan found Lila in the main hall, standing on a chair, carefully removing one of the embroidered hearts from the railing.
"I told them to take it down," he said.
She startled, then smiled. "I don't mind doing it."
He stepped closer, holding the ladder steady.
They worked in silence for a moment.
Then she asked softly, "Did it go badly?"
"No," Rowan said. "Which worries me more."
She smiled faintly. "They didn't ask you to choose?"
He shook his head. "Not yet."
She climbed down, hands brushing his shoulders as she passed.
"Rowan," she said quietly, "if they ever do—"
"I won't," he said immediately.
She blinked. "Won't what?"
He met her gaze. "Ask you to step aside. Or disappear. Or become smaller."
Her throat tightened.
"That isn't bravery," he added. "That's cowardice dressed as caution."
She reached for his hand.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Later, the hall empty, Rowan sat on a bench near the fireplace, armor unbuckled, shoulders slumped in a way he allowed only when alone.
Lila returned with two cups of tea.
"Mint," she said. "You looked like you needed it."
He accepted it gratefully.
They sat side by side.
"I don't know how long this will last," Rowan admitted. "This quiet."
She leaned her head against his arm. "Then we'll enjoy it while it does."
He smiled faintly.
"I used to think peace meant nothing happening," he said. "Now I think it's choosing what matters while everything waits."
She tilted her head to look at him. "Does that scare you?"
"Yes," he said honestly.
She smiled. "Good. Means you care."
A knock echoed through the hall.
Rowan stiffened.
A courier stood in the doorway, travel-worn, eyes flicking nervously.
"Guild Master," he said. "This arrived. Marked personal."
Rowan took the letter.
The seal was unfamiliar.
The wax darker than it should be.
He did not open it.
"Thank you," he said.
When the courier left, Lila studied his expression.
"Bad?"
Rowan folded the letter slowly and slipped it into his coat.
"Not yet," he said.
She trusted him enough not to press.
They sat together, fire crackling softly.
Outside, Eastrun slept.
And somewhere far beyond its walls, something ancient remembered his name.