Chapter 2
Rowan Valebright woke up at dawn.
This was a problem.
He lay very still, staring at the ceiling, counting the breaths he wasn't taking. His body felt ready—too ready—like a sword already half-drawn from its sheath.
Guild Master instincts.
He slowly turned his head.
Lila Valebright was still asleep beside him.
Her hair had come loose during the night, spilling over the pillow in a way that made his chest tighten. One hand rested lightly on his arm, fingers curled as if she'd claimed it in her sleep and dared the world to argue.
Rowan smiled despite himself.
"...My wife," he murmured under his breath, testing the words again.
They still felt unreal.
Carefully—very carefully—he tried to slide his arm free.
Lila shifted.
Her grip tightened instantly.
"Don't," she said, eyes still closed.
Rowan froze.
"...Don't what?"
"Put the armor on," she replied sleepily.
Rowan blinked.
"How did you—"
"You breathe differently when you're about to," she said.
He glanced toward the chair where his armor sat neatly arranged, polished the night before out of sheer habit.
He sighed.
"I wasn't going to fully put it on," he said reasonably. "Just... parts."
Lila opened one eye.
"Rowan."
"Yes, my love?"
"You are on leave."
He nodded. "I know."
"You are married."
"Yes."
"You survived the world without armor for two weeks."
"...Debatable."
She sat up slightly, fixing him with a look that was gentle but immovable.
"You are not marching to the guild at sunrise."
He hesitated.
"...Mid-morning?"
She smiled sweetly.
"No."
Rowan exhaled and lay back, defeated.
"...This feels unfair."
"Marriage often is," she replied cheerfully, then leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Rowan closed his eyes.
Worth it.
Breakfast was peaceful.
Which meant it was suspicious.
They sat at the small table in their new home—their home—sunlight filtering through the window, the city still quiet outside.
Lila poured tea. Rowan buttered bread.
They did not speak for a moment.
Rowan realized, distantly, that this was the first time in decades he had eaten breakfast without planning a battle.
"...I don't know what to do," he admitted.
Lila looked up. "With breakfast?"
"With the day," he corrected.
She smiled. "Try enjoying it."
He nodded seriously and took a bite.
"...I will require practice."
She laughed softly.
Rowan watched her over the rim of his cup, heart settling into a warmth that felt dangerous and grounding all at once.
"You know," he said, "people will expect things."
"They always do."
"They'll expect answers. Decisions. Strength."
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "And they'll get them."
"But not immediately."
He studied her. "You're very calm about this."
"I trust you," she said simply.
That did something to him.
Before he could reply—
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Rowan stiffened.
Lila closed her eyes.
"Oh no," she murmured.
The knock came again.
"ROWAN!" Dorian's voice boomed cheerfully through the door. "LILA! GOOD MORNING TO THE MARRIED PEOPLE!"
Rowan stared at the door.
"...How does he know where we live?"
Lila sighed. "He followed us."
Rowan stood. "I will handle this."
He opened the door.
Dorian Lionsreach stood there beaming, hands on hips, already halfway inside.
"Well!" Dorian said brightly. "You look rested."
Rowan blocked the doorway with his entire body.
"Dorian."
"Guild Master!"
"It is dawn."
"Yes."
"You are not bleeding."
"No."
"This is not an emergency."
Dorian leaned around him. "The chicken missed you."
Rowan's eye twitched.
Lila appeared behind him, arms crossed.
"Good morning, Dorian," she said pleasantly.
Dorian turned instantly serious. "Guild Mistress."
She blinked.
"...That's new."
"I've been practicing," Dorian said proudly. "I made a list of acceptable titles."
Rowan sighed. "Of course you did."
Dorian produced a folded parchment.
"Ranked by likelihood of survival," he added.
Lila smiled despite herself.
"Why are you here?" Rowan asked.
Dorian shrugged. "Habit."
Rowan stared.
"...That's not an answer."
Dorian leaned in conspiratorially. "Also the guild feels weird without you."
Rowan crossed his arms. "We've been back less than a day."
"Yes," Dorian said. "And already several things are... waiting."
Lila stepped forward. "Waiting how?"
Dorian hesitated.
"...Humming."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"I knew it," he muttered.
Dorian brightened. "So you heard about that."
Rowan opened one eye. "Get out."
Dorian blinked. "Pardon?"
"Get," Rowan repeated calmly, "out."
Dorian straightened. "You can't mean—"
"I am married," Rowan said evenly. "And on leave."
Dorian stared at him.
"...Marriage makes you terrifying."
"Yes," Rowan agreed. "It's very efficient."
Lila gently guided Dorian back toward the door. "We'll be there later."
Dorian hesitated. "But—"
"Later," she repeated.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Rowan exhaled.
"...Thank you."
Lila smiled. "Anytime."
He looked at her.
"You're very good at that."
"At what?"
"Protecting peace."
She tilted her head. "I married into a war machine. It seemed necessary."
Rowan laughed—quiet, genuine.
He reached for her hand.
"Well," he said, "what do married people do now?"
She squeezed his fingers. "We finish breakfast."
Outside, Dorian stood on the doorstep, staring at the closed door.
"...That felt personal," he muttered.
Somewhere behind him, a chicken clucked.
Walking into the Silver Ember Guild together felt different.
Rowan noticed it immediately.
It wasn't the stares — he was used to those. It was the double take. The way people's eyes flicked from him to Lila, then back again, as if their minds were recalibrating a familiar equation with a new variable.
Guild Master Valebright had always arrived alone.
Now he didn't.
Lila walked at his side, posture relaxed, expression calm, fingers loosely hooked through his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Rowan was painfully aware of every step.
"Stop thinking so loudly," Lila murmured.
He blinked. "I wasn't—"
"You were," she said, amused. "Your shoulders just tried to square up."
He sighed. "Old habits."
She smiled. "New ones now."
They crossed the threshold.
The guild hall froze.
Again.
Someone dropped a quill. It rolled across the floor, tapping softly against a boot.
Dorian Lionsreach stood on a table.
This was, regrettably, normal.
"...—and I cannot stress this enough," Dorian was saying, hands on hips, "if the humming resumes, do not hum back."
He turned.
Saw them.
Froze.
Very slowly, he climbed down from the table.
"...Oh," he said. "You came."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."
"I was hoping," Dorian said carefully, "for more time."
Lila smiled sweetly. "Good morning, Dorian."
He straightened instantly. "Guild Mistress."
Several clerks gasped.
Rowan turned his head. "We talked about that title."
Dorian nodded vigorously. "Yes. I decided to use it anyway."
Lila blinked. "...I don't mind."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "You shouldn't encourage him."
"I absolutely should," Dorian said. "It makes you uncomfortable."
Rowan sighed.
Normality attempted to resume.
It failed, but politely.
Rowan moved through the hall, issuing quiet instructions, reassigning patrols, checking reports. Lila followed, listening, observing, occasionally leaning in to ask a question that made Rowan pause and reconsider an assumption he hadn't realized he'd made.
Dorian trailed behind them like an eager, anxious shadow.
"And this," Dorian said, gesturing at a stack of scrolls, "is the apology overflow."
Rowan stopped.
"...Overflow."
"Yes."
"How many apologies were issued?"
Dorian winced. "Define issued."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Lila leaned over the stack. "These are duplicates."
Dorian nodded. "People like redundancy."
"These are triplicates."
"Yes."
"These are—" she flipped another page, "—apologies for the apologies."
Dorian smiled proudly. "Preemptive."
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lila, however, kept reading.
"...You used the same wording twelve times," she said.
Dorian frowned. "Consistency?"
She nodded. "It escalates anxiety."
Rowan looked at her. "It does?"
"Yes," she said calmly. "It suggests repetition without resolution."
Dorian stared.
"...When did you learn that?"
"Reception work," she replied. "People only complain when they think they're not being heard."
Rowan felt something warm bloom in his chest.
Dorian looked between them.
"...I don't like this," he said.
Lila smiled. "You'll survive."
"I don't know," Dorian muttered. "You're efficient."
They reached the central desk.
The chicken was sitting on it.
Rowan stopped.
"...Why."
Dorian spread his hands. "Morale."
The chicken clucked.
Lila tilted her head. "It's comfortable there."
Rowan stared at her.
"...You're taking its side."
"I'm observing," she corrected.
The chicken pecked at a paperweight.
The paperweight glowed faintly, then stopped.
Rowan stared.
"...What does it do?"
Dorian opened his mouth.
Lila said gently, "It reacts to stress."
Rowan looked at her.
She shrugged. "It's calmer when the room is calmer."
The chicken tucked its feet under itself.
Rowan slowly exhaled.
"...Of course it is."
Dorian brightened. "See? Perfect morale asset."
Rowan shot him a look.
"Temporary morale asset," Rowan corrected.
The chicken blinked.
Rowan sighed. "We'll discuss this later."
The chicken did not move.
The first real test came before noon.
A merchant burst into the hall, red-faced and panicked.
"Guild Master!" he cried. "There's a problem!"
Rowan straightened instinctively.
Before he could speak, Lila stepped forward.
"Take a breath," she said calmly.
The merchant hesitated.
"...What?"
"Breathe," she repeated, demonstrating.
He did.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
"What's the issue?" she asked.
"The docks!" he said. "There's a dispute — the port authority won't release my cargo!"
Lila nodded. "Have you filed the transfer writ?"
"...The what?"
She smiled. "Come with me."
She guided him to a side desk, already pulling forms from memory.
Rowan watched, stunned, as she solved the problem in under five minutes.
No shouting.
No threats.
No heroics.
The merchant left bowing repeatedly.
Dorian stared.
"...She didn't even raise her voice."
Rowan folded his arms slowly.
"...I know."
Dorian leaned in. "I think she's scarier than you."
Rowan smiled faintly. "Good."
By afternoon, it had become obvious.
Lila wasn't helping.
She was running interference.
Complaints softened before they reached Rowan. Disputes resolved quietly. Clerks relaxed in ways Rowan hadn't seen in years.
The guild felt... lighter.
Rowan stood near the balcony, watching her talk with an apprentice, nodding encouragingly as the young woman explained a scheduling concern.
"...She's good," Dorian said quietly beside him.
"Yes," Rowan replied.
"She didn't even flinch at the chicken."
Rowan glanced back.
The chicken was asleep under Lila's desk.
"...It likes her."
Dorian frowned. "Traitor."
Rowan chuckled.
It surprised them both.
Dorian glanced at him. "You okay?"
Rowan nodded. "I think so."
"That's new."
"Yes," Rowan agreed.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Rowan said, "You did well."
Dorian blinked. "I did?"
"You kept things together."
Dorian scratched the back of his neck. "I... might have overcorrected."
Rowan smiled. "You always do."
"...You're not mad?"
Rowan considered.
"...Ask me again after I finish reading the apology cabinet."
Dorian winced. "Fair."
As the day wound down, Rowan found Lila on the balcony.
She leaned against the railing, watching the city.
"You didn't put the armor on," she noted.
He smiled. "You noticed."
"I always do."
He joined her, resting his forearms beside hers.
"The guild doesn't fall apart without me," he said quietly.
"No," she agreed.
He glanced at her. "It never has."
She smiled. "It just needed room to breathe."
He took her hand.
"I'm glad you're here."
She squeezed his fingers. "So am I."
Behind them, Dorian cleared his throat loudly.
"I hate to interrupt," he said, "but the chicken has followed a clerk home."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Lila sighed. "We'll deal with it tomorrow."
Dorian nodded. "Tomorrow."
The chicken clucked.
Rowan opened one eye. "...Why do I feel like that's a lie?"
Dorian smiled nervously.
"Because," he said, "it probably is."
The city lights flickered on as evening settled.
Rowan stood with his wife, the guild alive behind them.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel the weight alone.
The city quieted the way it always did at night—slowly, reluctantly, like it had to be convinced to rest.
Rowan and Lila walked home together beneath lanternlight, the sounds of the guild fading behind them. Neither spoke for a while. They didn't need to.
Rowan realized—somewhere between the second corner and the bakery that still smelled faintly of honey—that this was the first time he'd left the guild without mentally taking it with him.
The thought startled him.
"You're thinking again," Lila said gently.
He smiled. "I was trying not to."
She laughed softly. "You did very badly."
They reached their door.
Their door.
Rowan paused, hand hovering just above the latch.
"...This still feels unreal," he admitted.
Lila studied him, then reached up and took his hand, guiding it to the handle.
"Open it," she said.
He did.
The house greeted them with warmth and quiet. No reports. No shouting. No humming doors.
Just home.
Lila slipped off her shoes and stretched. "I forgot how tiring competence can be."
Rowan chuckled. "You handled the guild better than I did."
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright. "I handled people."
He nodded. "That's harder."
They moved into the kitchen together, Rowan pouring water while Lila leaned against the counter, watching him with that soft expression that still made his chest tighten.
"You didn't put your armor on," she said again.
He smiled faintly. "I thought about it."
"I know."
"I stopped myself."
She stepped closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I'm proud of you."
The words hit harder than any praise he'd received on a battlefield.
He swallowed. "I don't want to disappear."
She tilted her head up. "You won't."
"I don't want to become... irrelevant."
She smiled gently. "You married a woman who reorganized a guild by lunchtime."
He huffed a laugh. "Point taken."
She reached up and cupped his cheek. "You're allowed to change, Rowan."
He leaned into her touch.
"For the record," she added, "you're still very intimidating."
He smiled. "Good."
They stood there for a moment longer, quiet and close.
Then—
KNOCK.
Rowan flinched.
Lila groaned. "No."
They stared at the door.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
"ROWAN," Dorian's voice called cheerfully. "LILA. IMPORTANT."
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will bury him."
Lila laughed. "After dinner."
Rowan opened the door.
Dorian stood there, out of breath, holding a bundle under one arm.
"...Why," Rowan asked calmly, "are you here."
Dorian straightened. "The chicken escaped."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Lila peered around him. "Escaped how?"
"It followed someone," Dorian said. "Then didn't come back."
Rowan opened one eye. "...It leaves?"
"Apparently," Dorian said. "Briefly."
Lila sighed. "Is everyone safe?"
"Yes."
"Is the city on fire?"
"No."
"Is anything humming?"
"...Not yet."
She nodded. "Then it can wait until morning."
Dorian blinked. "Really?"
"Yes," Rowan and Lila said together.
Dorian recoiled. "You did it again."
Rowan smiled faintly. "We practice."
Dorian hesitated. "...You're serious."
"Yes," Rowan said. "Go home."
Dorian scratched his head. "That feels irresponsible."
Rowan leaned in slightly. "I am married."
Dorian straightened instantly. "Understood."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"...You're happy," he said quietly.
Rowan nodded. "I am."
Dorian smiled. "Good."
He left.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Lila leaned against Rowan, laughing softly. "He's trying."
"He is," Rowan agreed.
They locked the door.
Rowan turned to her, expression thoughtful.
"I noticed something today," he said.
"Oh?"
"When you were handling things at the guild... I didn't feel useless."
She smiled. "Good."
"I felt... supported."
She reached for his hands. "That's the point."
He squeezed her fingers.
"I think," he said slowly, "I can learn this."
She grinned. "Marriage?"
"Yes."
She leaned in and kissed him, slow and warm and grounding.
When they finally parted, Rowan rested his forehead against hers.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I'll go through the apology cabinet."
She winced. "I'll bring tea."
He smiled. "I love you."
She smiled back. "I know."
Outside, the city slept.
Somewhere far away, something old and patient shifted.
But for tonight, none of that mattered.
Because Rowan Valebright was not just a hero.
He was a husband.
And he was home.