Chapter 14
Rowan Valebright woke to silence.
Not the tense, coiled silence of a battlefield before dawn—but the gentle kind. The sort that settled into the corners of a room and waited patiently for the day to begin.
Sunlight crept through the curtains of his quarters, painting soft gold lines across the floor. Dust motes drifted lazily, unbothered by urgency. His body, however, was very bothered.
Rowan groaned quietly as he shifted.
His back protested.
His shoulders joined in.
His knees made a sound that could only be described as judgmental.
He stared at the ceiling.
"...I didn't even fight anything yesterday."
The realization felt deeply unfair.
He sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders with practiced care. The familiar stiffness was there—nothing alarming, nothing new—but this morning it felt heavier. Less ignorable.
Because for the first time in years, he hadn't gone to bed alone with only exhaustion for company.
He exhaled and pressed his palms against his face.
Get a grip, he told himself. You walked her home. You didn't confess undying love. You didn't collapse dramatically.
By his standards, the night had gone remarkably well.
Which, of course, made it terrifying.
Rowan dressed more slowly than usual.
He considered his armor out of habit—then shook his head and chose a simple tunic instead. No cloak. No insignia. Just fabric and comfort.
When he stepped into the guild hall, the place was already awake.
Too awake.
Someone was yelling about a missing goat.
Someone else was yelling that it was not missing, it had simply "chosen adventure."
Rowan stopped short.
"...Good morning," he said carefully.
The yelling intensified.
He sighed and continued on.
Lila was at her desk.
She was always at her desk.
Except today, she was humming.
Rowan froze.
The sound was soft, absentminded—a quiet melody with no words. She hadn't noticed him yet, too focused on sorting documents into neat stacks.
He stood there, watching, heart doing something deeply inconvenient.
She looked... relaxed.
Happy.
Then she glanced up.
Their eyes met.
The humming stopped.
"Oh," she said.
"Oh," he echoed.
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable—but charged, like a held breath.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered immediately.
Then, realizing honesty was apparently his new weakness, added, "No. But in a good way."
Her lips curved, warmth blooming in her expression.
"I know what you mean."
They both turned away at the same time.
Rowan cleared his throat.
Lila adjusted her glasses.
Neither addressed the quiet thrill humming between them.
Instead, Lila slid a stack of papers toward him.
"Guild reports," she said, far too professionally. "Nothing urgent. Just routine."
Rowan nodded, accepting them.
Their fingers brushed.
They both froze.
Then—slowly—neither pulled away.
Rowan swallowed.
Lila's cheeks pinked.
After a moment, they withdrew, pretending nothing had happened.
The air felt brighter.
Dorian arrived exactly thirty seconds later.
He took one look at them.
Then grinned like a man who had just discovered blackmail.
"Well," he said cheerfully. "You both look like you didn't sleep."
Rowan glared.
Lila choked on air.
"Good morning, Sir Dorian," she said politely.
"Oh no," Dorian replied. "It's very good."
Rowan pointed toward the training yard.
"You have drills."
Dorian waved him off. "Later. I sensed a shift in the cosmos."
Rowan turned to Lila.
"I apologize."
She smiled. "I'm getting used to it."
Dorian leaned against the desk.
"So," he said, voice low with theatrical gravity. "Is this the part where you deny everything?"
Rowan crossed his arms. "There is nothing to deny."
Dorian raised a brow.
Lila looked between them.
"We had a... nice evening," she offered carefully.
Dorian's grin widened.
"Oh, this is better than denial."
Rowan sighed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing!" Dorian said brightly. "Just to observe. Supportively."
"You've never supported quietly in your life."
"Growth," Dorian said solemnly.
Rowan didn't believe him for a second.
The day settled into a strange rhythm.
Rowan reviewed requests.
Lila handled disputes with quiet efficiency.
Every so often, their eyes met across the room.
Each time, something unspoken passed between them—comfort, curiosity, the gentle weight of shared memory.
Rowan found himself lingering.
Leaning closer when she spoke.
Letting silence stretch instead of filling it.
And for once... it didn't feel dangerous.
It felt good.
By midday, Rowan reached for a ledger and paused.
His shoulder flared sharply.
He sucked in a breath before he could stop himself.
Lila noticed instantly.
"Rowan."
"I'm fine," he said automatically.
She stood.
Came around the desk.
Without asking, she placed a hand on his arm—steady, gentle.
"You don't have to be," she said.
He met her gaze.
For a moment, he let himself lean into the contact.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
"I forget," he admitted quietly, "that I don't have to carry everything alone anymore."
Her thumb brushed his sleeve.
"Then let me remind you," she said.
From across the hall, Dorian watched the exchange.
His grin softened.
"...Huh," he murmured. "That worked too."
The morning passed without incident.
No monsters.
No crises.
Just paperwork, quiet laughter, and the growing realization that peace—true peace—might be more terrifying than any war Rowan had ever fought.
Because peace could be lost.
And this... this mattered.
By midafternoon, Rowan had made a terrible realization.
Peace was exhausting.
He sat at the edge of the guild hall steps, watching Eastrun go about its business with alarming enthusiasm. Merchants shouted prices. Children ran past with wooden swords. A street performer attempted to juggle fire and nearly set his own boot ablaze.
None of it required him.
No alarms.
No cries for help.
No sense of looming catastrophe.
He felt... unnecessary.
"That look again."
Rowan glanced up.
Lila stood beside him, holding two cups of tea. She handed one over before he could refuse.
"What look?" he asked.
"The one where you look like you're waiting for something terrible to happen," she replied gently.
He accepted the tea. "It usually does."
She sat next to him anyway.
They decided—mutually, without saying it—to leave the guild for the afternoon.
Just for a bit.
Rowan told himself it was strategic. Visibility. Presence. Guild Master duties.
Lila saw through it immediately.
"You're terrible at lying," she said as they walked.
"I'm not lying," he replied. "I'm reframing."
She smiled. "You're terrible at that too."
The city felt different without armor.
Rowan moved more carefully, more consciously aware of bodies brushing past him. Normally, people parted. Today, he was simply another tall man in a tunic.
He didn't hate it.
He didn't trust it either.
Lila noticed the way his gaze tracked exits, how his shoulders tensed at sudden noises.
"You don't have to protect the whole city today," she said softly.
"I know," he replied.
A beat.
"...I don't know how to turn it off."
She reached out and tugged his sleeve lightly.
"Then just protect me."
He looked at her.
Something in his chest settled.
"That," he said, "I can do."
They stopped at a bakery.
Rowan hadn't planned on it.
The smell betrayed him.
Lila noticed the pause, the almost imperceptible inhale.
"You like sweet bread," she said.
"It's efficient," he replied. "High energy."
She laughed and stepped inside before he could argue.
They left with a small paper bag.
Rowan tried not to look pleased.
Failed.
The rumors began subtly.
Too subtly.
A pair of adventurers whispered as they passed.
A shopkeeper smiled knowingly.
Someone bowed—to Rowan—and winked at Lila.
Rowan stiffened.
"...Are they staring?"
"Yes," Lila said calmly.
"Why?"
She sipped her tea. "Because Eastrun has nothing better to do."
He frowned. "This is Dorian's fault."
"Oh, absolutely."
As if summoned by accusation alone, Dorian appeared.
From nowhere.
Holding an apple.
"Well well well," he said brightly. "Look at you two. Domestic."
Rowan groaned. "How did you find us?"
Dorian gestured vaguely. "Love leaves a trail."
Lila blinked. "That's unsettling."
Dorian bit into the apple. "You're welcome."
"For what?" Rowan demanded.
"For not telling anyone," Dorian replied. "Yet."
Rowan's eye twitched.
"Dorian."
"Yes?"
"If you start rumors—"
"I don't start them," Dorian said cheerfully. "I encourage them."
Lila covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
Rowan noticed.
Sighed.
"...You enjoy this."
"A little," she admitted.
Dorian grinned. "I like her."
Rowan pointed. "No."
They parted ways with Dorian—who left whistling ominously—and continued walking.
The laughter faded.
A strange quiet settled again.
Rowan slowed.
"Are you alright?" Lila asked.
"Yes," he said automatically.
Then stopped.
"...No."
She waited.
He exhaled.
"I don't know how long this peace lasts," he said. "And I don't want to ruin it by worrying about what comes after."
She studied him.
Then reached for his hand.
Took it.
No hesitation this time.
"Then don't," she said. "Be here. With me. Today."
His fingers curled around hers.
He nodded once.
They returned to the guild at sunset.
Warm light spilled through the windows.
For a moment, Rowan imagined this as permanence.
As life.
As something he was allowed to have.
That scared him more than any battlefield ever had.
But when Lila squeezed his hand before letting go—
He decided fear didn't get to win today.
Later that night, Rowan stood alone on the balcony outside his quarters.
The city glowed below.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
He rested his forearms on the railing, stretching his back carefully.
Behind him, a door creaked.
"Couldn't sleep?" Lila asked softly.
"Not yet," he replied.
She joined him, shoulder brushing his.
They stood together, watching the lights.
Whatever storms were coming could wait.
Tonight, comfort was enough.
And for now—
That was dangerous in the best possible way.