Chapter 9
Rowan Valebright discovered that being a legendary guild master did not, in fact, prepare one for gossip.
He realized this the moment he stepped into the Silver Ember Guild the next morning.
The room went silent.
Not the tense, fearful silence of monsters sensing a threat.
Not the respectful hush of soldiers before a commander.
This was worse.
This was interested silence.
"...Good morning," Rowan said cautiously.
A chair scraped.
Someone coughed.
Then—
"GOOD MORNING, SIR AND—OH."
Lila froze halfway through the doorway behind him.
Twenty pairs of eyes snapped toward her.
Rowan felt his soul leave his body.
Lila smiled weakly.
"Hello," she said.
The silence shattered.
"IT'S TRUE."
"I KNEW IT."
"Ten silver says they kissed."
"YOU OWE ME A GOLD, MARLA."
Lila squeaked.
Rowan raised a hand. "Everyone. Please."
They did not stop.
Sir Dorian leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, wearing the expression of a man witnessing a prophecy fulfilled.
"So," Dorian said loudly, "should we start calling her Lady Valebright now or—"
"No," Rowan said instantly.
Lila nearly tripped over the reception desk.
They escaped into Rowan's office.
Barely.
Rowan shut the door, leaned against it, and exhaled like a man who had survived a siege.
"I apologize," he said. "This is... unusual."
Lila stared at him.
"They think we're engaged."
"Yes," Rowan said. "That part is my fault."
She blinked. "How?"
"I exist."
She laughed despite herself.
Then stopped.
The laughter faded into something quieter.
Something awkward.
"So," she said, smoothing her sleeves. "About... us."
Rowan straightened.
"Yes."
Silence.
Again.
"...What are we?" Lila asked.
Rowan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Thought very hard.
"We are," he said carefully, "two adults who enjoy each other's company."
She nodded. "Yes."
"And," he continued, "who may be interested in exploring that enjoyment."
Another nod.
"But," he finished, "who have not yet established definitions."
She stared.
"...So," she said, "almost a couple."
"Yes," Rowan said with grave sincerity. "Exactly that."
Her lips twitched.
They returned to the guild floor.
The chaos resumed instantly.
A new party had arrived — three adventurers and a very enthusiastic mage wearing too much perfume.
"Oh!" the mage said, eyes lighting up when she saw Rowan. "Guild Master Valebright! I've heard so much about you."
Lila stiffened.
Rowan smiled politely. "Welcome to the Silver Ember Guild."
The mage leaned closer. "You're even taller than the rumors say."
Rowan stepped back half a pace.
"That's... genetics."
Lila cleared her throat.
Loudly.
The mage glanced at her. "Oh? And you are?"
"I'm the receptionist," Lila said, smiling sweetly.
Rowan added, "And extremely important."
The mage blinked.
"Oh," she said slowly.
Understanding dawned.
Lila looked away, heart doing something annoying and warm.
Later that morning, Rowan found himself explaining patrol assignments while Lila pretended not to notice how often a certain elven archer leaned too close.
The archer smiled at Rowan.
Frequently.
Too frequently.
"Guild Master," the elf said smoothly, "perhaps I could escort you on the eastern route sometime."
Rowan frowned. "That's not necessary."
"I insist."
"I truly don't—"
Lila dropped a stack of papers.
Accidentally.
Right onto the elf's foot.
"Oh!" she said. "So sorry."
The elf yelped.
Rowan stared.
"...Thank you, Lila."
She smiled brightly. "Anytime."
By midday, the rumors had evolved.
They were no longer engaged.
They were secretly married.
Or cursed lovers.
Or soulbound by ancient magic.
Rowan stopped listening.
He only noticed that Lila stayed close.
That she brought him tea.
That she laughed more easily.
And that when someone flirted with him, she stiffened just slightly.
It made something warm twist in his chest.
He leaned closer to her desk.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
She looked up. "Yes. Why?"
"You dropped many papers today."
"...I'm clumsy," she said quickly.
He nodded.
Then added, "I prefer when you're nearby."
Her face turned pink.
"Good," she said softly. "So do I."
Across the room, Sir Dorian watched.
And smiled.
Rowan Valebright did not get jealous.
He was a veteran commander, a strategist, a man who had stared down dragonfire without blinking.
Jealousy was irrational.
And yet.
He was currently staring at a young merchant who had been speaking to Lila for far too long.
"Is that man still there?" Rowan asked casually.
Sir Dorian did not look up from sharpening his sword. "Which one? The baker, the bard, or the one with suspiciously good hair?"
"The one smiling."
"That narrows it down not at all."
Rowan frowned.
The merchant laughed at something Lila said. She smiled back, polite but warm.
Rowan crossed his arms.
"Do you need to intervene?" Dorian asked mildly.
"No," Rowan said at once. "That would be inappropriate."
"Mm."
The merchant leaned closer.
Rowan's eye twitched.
Lila, meanwhile, was having a perfectly normal conversation.
She was not thinking about Rowan.
She was not aware that he was watching.
She was simply explaining guild intake procedures to a very earnest trader who asked too many questions.
"Thank you," the merchant said. "You've been incredibly helpful."
"It's my job," Lila replied with a practiced smile.
"And," he added, "if you ever wanted to talk outside of work—"
Rowan cleared his throat.
Very loudly.
The merchant startled.
"Oh! Guild Master."
Rowan stepped forward. "Is there a problem?"
"No! Not at all," the merchant said quickly.
"Good," Rowan said. "Lila has many duties."
"Yes," Lila echoed. "Many."
The merchant nodded and fled.
Lila turned slowly.
"...Were you watching me?"
Rowan blinked. "No."
She raised an eyebrow.
"...A little," he admitted.
The misunderstanding began shortly after lunch.
Rowan was summoned by a visiting noblewoman — Lady Arcelia of Westreach — who wished to "discuss guild contracts."
Rowan groaned inwardly but went anyway.
Lila watched him leave with the woman, elegant and confident, arm looped through his.
Her stomach twisted.
"She's very pretty," Marla whispered from behind the desk.
Lila forced a smile. "Yes."
"And very rich."
"Yes."
"And very interested."
Lila did not respond.
The meeting lasted longer than it should have.
By the time Rowan returned, Lila had convinced herself of several things:
Rowan was out of her league
Of course he would choose a noble
She was being ridiculous
Rowan, meanwhile, had spent the meeting repeatedly clarifying that he was not available for courtship, political marriage, or "testing compatibility."
He returned exhausted.
And found Lila distant.
She answered politely.
Too politely.
He noticed immediately.
"Did I offend you?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Why would you think that?"
"You stopped bringing me tea."
"...You can get your own."
The world tilted.
That evening, the misunderstanding reached critical mass.
They found themselves alone in the archive room.
Dust motes floated.
The silence was heavy.
Rowan spoke first.
"Lady Arcelia was attempting to court me."
Lila stiffened. "You don't have to explain."
"I want to."
She turned. "Why?"
"Because I refused."
Her breath caught.
"...You did?"
"Yes," he said simply. "I told her I was interested in someone else."
Lila stared.
"You did not."
"I did."
"...Who?"
Rowan stepped closer.
"You."
The word landed like a spell.
She swallowed. "Rowan—"
"I am bad at this," he continued. "But I don't want misunderstandings. I don't want rumors deciding things for us."
She laughed shakily. "I thought you were leaving."
He looked stricken. "Never."
She closed the distance.
"You're terrible," she said softly.
"I know," he replied.
They stood inches apart.
Breathing the same air.
Almost kissed.
A crash echoed from the main hall.
"WHO MOVED THE BOOKSHELF?!"
They jumped apart.
Lila laughed helplessly.
Rowan buried his face in his hands.
Later, as they locked up, Rowan walked her home.
They stopped outside her door.
"Tomorrow," he said, "would you like to have dinner?"
She smiled. "As a what?"
He hesitated.
"...A date."
Her smile was radiant.
"I'd love to."
Rowan Valebright had faced Giant Trolls with less fear than his wardrobe.
He stood in his room, staring at his open chest of clothes like it was an enemy formation he could not decipher.
"This is battle attire," he muttered, lifting a reinforced coat. "No."
He tossed it aside.
"This is ceremonial armor," he said, holding up a polished breastplate. "Absolutely not."
He paused.
"...This is clean."
He held up a simple dark tunic.
Sir Dorian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, wearing the smug smile of a man who had waited years for this moment.
"You're overthinking it," Dorian said.
"I am underthinking everything else in my life," Rowan replied grimly. "This matters."
"It's dinner."
"It's a date."
Dorian grinned. "You're courting."
Rowan froze.
"...Don't say it like that."
He changed outfits three times.
Dorian timed him.
"You know," Dorian said, "most men worry about impressing their date."
"I am not trying to impress her," Rowan said, adjusting his sleeves. "I am trying not to disappoint her."
Dorian's expression softened.
"...Alright," he said. "That one's good."
Rowan glanced down.
Simple. Clean. No insignia.
Just Rowan.
Lila Fairbloom was equally unprepared.
She stared at her reflection, smoothing her dress for the fifth time.
"This is normal," she told herself. "It's just dinner."
Her heart disagreed.
When Rowan knocked, she nearly dropped her shoes.
She opened the door.
Rowan forgot how to speak.
"You look—" he began.
She panicked. "Too much?"
"No," he said immediately. "Perfect."
They both froze.
Then laughed.
The tavern was warm and softly lit, far from the guild's chaos.
They sat by the window.
Rowan held the menu like it might explode.
"Do you come here often?" he asked.
"Yes," Lila said. "Do you?"
"No," he admitted. "I avoid taverns."
She blinked. "Why?"
"People talk to me."
She smiled. "I promise not to."
That helped.
Conversation flowed easily.
They talked about small things.
Tea preferences.
Guild mishaps.
The chicken incident (she begged; he refused).
At one point, Lila reached across the table and brushed crumbs from his beard.
Rowan short-circuited.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly.
"No," he said. "Please... do that again sometime."
Her cheeks burned.
Halfway through dessert, Rowan grew serious.
"Lila," he said.
She looked up.
"I want to be clear," he continued. "I am not good at romance. I may be slow. I may be awkward."
She smiled softly. "I've noticed."
"But," he said, "I am sincere."
She reached for his hand.
"So am I."
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
Intentional.
"So," she said gently. "What do we call this?"
Rowan inhaled.
"We are courting," he said.
Her smile was radiant.
"Yes," she said. "We are."
They walked home under lantern light.
No rush.
No interruptions.
At her door, Rowan hesitated.
"May I kiss you?"
She nodded.
This one was slow.
Certain.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his.
"Goodnight, Rowan."
"Goodnight," he replied. "My almost—"
She laughed. "My Guild Master."
He smiled.
From her window, Lila watched him walk away.
From the street, Rowan touched his lips, dazed.
The rumors would worsen.
The chaos would return.
But for now—
They were courting.
And that was enough.