Chapter 6
Rowan Valebright discovered that the hardest part of married life was not compromise.
It was appointments.
He stared at the parchment on the kitchen table like it might attack him if he blinked.
"Say it again," he said.
Lila sipped her tea calmly. "The council has requested—"
"Requested," Rowan interrupted, pointing at the parchment, "is a lie word."
"They requested your presence," she continued smoothly, "for a 'routine civic inspection.'"
Rowan leaned back in his chair. "That phrase contains teeth."
Lila smiled. "Very small ones."
"They want me to walk through warehouses," Rowan muttered. "Shake hands. Smile."
"Yes."
"I do not smile on command."
"You do," she said. "You just think you don't."
He frowned. "That feels incorrect."
She tilted her head. "You smiled when the baker gave you extra bread yesterday."
"That was reflex," he argued. "And gratitude."
"And when the child waved at you."
"...That was confusion."
She laughed softly. "You'll survive."
Rowan sighed and folded the parchment carefully. "This is a trap."
"Probably."
"Dorian is involved."
"Definitely."
As if summoned by narrative necessity—
KNOCK.
Rowan didn't move.
"ROWAN," Dorian's voice called brightly from the other side of the door. "LILA. I BROUGHT LOGISTICS."
Rowan closed his eyes. "Of course you did."
Lila stood. "I'll get it."
"No," Rowan said quickly. "I should."
She smiled. "You look braced. Go."
Rowan opened the door.
Dorian stood there with three scrolls, a clipboard, and what appeared to be a map hastily rolled into a tube that was actively fighting him.
"Good morning!" Dorian said. "I see you're dressed."
Rowan glanced down at his simple tunic. "That's not a compliment."
"It's an observation," Dorian replied cheerfully. "You ready for today?"
Rowan stared. "For what."
Dorian blinked. "You didn't tell him?"
Lila appeared behind Rowan. "Tell him what?"
Dorian froze.
"...I thought you told her."
Rowan crossed his arms. "Dorian."
"Yes?"
"What."
Dorian cleared his throat. "The council inspection has... expanded."
Rowan's eye twitched. "Expanded how."
"Well," Dorian said carefully, "it's now a public walk-through."
Rowan stared.
"...Public."
"Yes."
"With speeches?"
"Very short ones."
"With people?"
"Many."
"With children?"
"Some."
Rowan closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
Lila rested a hand on his arm. "How expanded?"
Dorian winced. "Festival-adjacent."
Rowan exhaled sharply. "You promised me no more festivals."
"I said this week," Dorian corrected. "It's a technicality."
Rowan looked at Lila. "...I would rather fight a hydra."
She smiled gently. "You already ate breakfast. This is just social combat."
"That is worse."
The docks were alive with activity when they arrived.
Crates stacked high, merchants shouting, gulls circling overhead. The city smelled of salt and oil and trade.
Rowan stood at the edge of it all, arms folded, expression carefully neutral.
Lila stood beside him, clipboard in hand, already in her element.
Dorian bounced on his heels. "Alright! Route is set. Speeches minimized. No symbolic sashes this time."
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "You swear?"
"Yes."
A council aide approached immediately, holding—
A sash.
Rowan stared.
"...Dorian."
Dorian stared back. "I said minimized."
Lila took the sash before Rowan could react.
"Thank you," she said pleasantly, handing it back. "He won't need that."
The aide blinked. "But—"
"The Guild Master is here to observe," Lila continued smoothly. "Not perform."
Rowan felt something in his chest ease.
The aide nodded and retreated.
Dorian stared at Lila.
"...You just overruled the council."
She smiled. "Politely."
Rowan murmured, "I love you."
She squeezed his hand. "I know."
They moved along the docks.
Rowan listened. Observed. Asked quiet questions.
He didn't lift anything heavy. He didn't posture.
And no one seemed to mind.
Until—
"Guild Master!"
A dockworker jogged over, grinning. "Care to test the new hoist?"
Rowan hesitated.
"...Test how."
The man gestured at a massive crate suspended by chains. "We usually have someone strong give it a pull."
Rowan felt the familiar urge rise.
Lila shifted slightly closer.
Rowan paused.
"...I'll observe," he said.
The dockworker blinked. "Oh."
"But she'll inspect," Rowan added, gesturing to Lila.
Lila stepped forward without hesitation, checking the chains, nodding.
"This tension is uneven," she said. "You'll want to rebalance it before full load."
The dockworker stared. "...Yes, ma'am."
Rowan watched her work.
Not diminished.
Not replaced.
Just... partnered.
Dorian leaned in. "You okay?"
Rowan nodded. "Better than okay."
Dorian squinted. "That's suspicious."
It happened when they reached the warehouse row.
A loud crack split the air.
Rowan turned instantly.
A beam had shifted — not collapsed, but strained.
Workers froze.
Rowan stepped forward—
And stopped.
His shoulder protested sharply, a warning flare rather than pain.
Rowan clenched his jaw.
Lila was already moving.
"Everyone back," she called, calm and clear.
Workers obeyed instantly.
Rowan watched as she directed two men to stabilize the structure, using leverage instead of force.
The beam settled.
Crisis ended.
No heroics.
No spectacle.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
Dorian watched him carefully.
"...You didn't jump," Dorian said.
"No," Rowan replied.
"...That's new."
"Yes."
Dorian nodded. "Proud of you."
Rowan glanced at him. "...Don't make it weird."
"Too late," Dorian said cheerfully.
The inspection ended with applause.
Rowan endured it.
Barely.
As they walked away, Rowan flexed his shoulder subtly.
Lila noticed.
Always.
"Later," she said quietly.
He nodded.
Dorian stretched. "Well! No disasters."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Yet."
Dorian grinned. "Give it time."
They walked back toward the city, the afternoon sun warm on their backs.
Rowan glanced at Lila.
"...Thank you."
She smiled. "For what."
"For standing where I used to."
She shook her head. "I'm standing with you."
He took her hand.
And for now, that was enough.
Rowan Valebright did not like the word after.
After usually implied consequences.
Or paperwork.
Or pain that waited politely until no one was watching.
He discovered this as soon as they returned home.
The door closed. The city noise faded. The silence settled.
Rowan reached up to remove his cloak.
And hissed.
It was quiet. Controlled. Barely there.
But Lila heard it anyway.
She always did.
"Sit," she said.
Rowan blinked. "I was going to—"
"Sit," she repeated, already guiding him toward the chair.
He obeyed.
She knelt in front of him, hands gentle but firm, fingers brushing the fabric over his shoulder.
"Tell me," she said calmly.
"It's nothing," Rowan replied automatically.
Her eyebrow rose.
"...It's something," he amended.
She peeled the cloak back carefully, testing his range of motion with light pressure.
Rowan tensed despite himself.
"That hurts," she noted.
"Yes," he admitted.
"How long?"
"...Since the festival."
Lila paused.
"That was days ago."
"Yes."
"And you didn't say anything."
He sighed. "It wasn't important."
She looked up at him then, expression not angry — just steady.
"Rowan."
"Yes."
"You do not get to decide that alone anymore."
He closed his eyes.
"...I know."
She pressed her forehead lightly against his chest, then leaned back and began unfastening the leather strap beneath his tunic.
"No lifting. No proving. No pretending," she said quietly. "You rest."
He nodded.
"I will try."
"That's not the same thing."
He smiled faintly. "I will rest."
She leaned in and kissed his shoulder, right over the sore spot.
Rowan inhaled sharply — not from pain.
"...You're very effective," he murmured.
She smiled. "I've had practice."
At the guild, Dorian Lionsreach was having a crisis.
He paced.
He gestured.
He dramatically slapped a map with the back of his hand.
"I knew it," he declared. "This is how it starts."
A clerk glanced up. "Starts what, sir?"
"The decline," Dorian said darkly. "The inevitable narrative arc where the legendary hero ignores his pain and dies heroically."
The clerk stared. "...Sir."
"I have read stories," Dorian continued. "This is page three energy."
The chicken clucked from its perch.
Dorian pointed at it. "Don't encourage me."
The chair creaked.
Dorian spun. "I am fine."
Another clerk hesitated. "Should we... call Lady Valebright?"
Dorian froze.
"...She already knows," he said quietly.
The room fell silent.
Dorian exhaled slowly.
"...Which means," he added, straightening, "we adjust."
The clerks blinked.
"Less lifting," Dorian said. "More planning."
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian said. "Even you."
He grabbed a quill. "We rotate patrols. We shorten engagements. We stop assuming Rowan will personally solve everything."
A clerk frowned. "Isn't that... sensible?"
Dorian grimaced. "I hate it."
Rowan woke to the smell of soup.
This was suspicious.
He blinked slowly, registering warmth, quiet, and the distinct absence of pain from being moved.
He sat up.
Lila stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, humming softly.
"...You let me sleep," he said.
"Yes."
"...For how long."
She glanced over her shoulder. "Long enough."
He frowned. "That's evasive."
She smiled. "Correct."
He swung his legs off the bed carefully.
The pain was still there — but muted.
Managed.
"...You didn't wake me for dinner."
"No."
"For patrol updates."
"No."
"For—"
She turned fully now, ladle in hand.
"For anything," she said gently. "Because you needed rest."
Rowan studied her.
"...I am very bad at this."
She nodded. "You are."
He smiled. "Thank you for being patient."
She handed him a bowl. "Eat."
He did.
Slowly.
Mindfully.
"...This is good," he said.
"I know."
They ate in comfortable silence.
Rowan set the bowl aside.
"...Dorian will overreact."
"Yes."
"...Please stop him."
"No."
Rowan blinked. "No?"
"He needs to panic a little," she said calmly. "Otherwise he'll explode later."
Rowan considered that.
"...Fair."
Dorian arrived at their door an hour later.
He did not knock.
He hovered.
Rowan opened the door.
Dorian stared at him.
"...You look rested."
Rowan nodded. "I am."
Dorian squinted. "That's new."
"Yes."
Dorian glanced at Lila. "You did this."
She smiled. "I helped."
Dorian sighed. "I've already reorganized half the guild."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Half."
"Temporarily."
Rowan nodded. "Good."
Dorian froze.
"...You're agreeing with me."
"Yes."
"...Marriage has ruined you."
Rowan smiled. "Improved."
Dorian huffed. "I don't like it."
Lila handed Dorian a cup of tea. "Sit."
He obeyed instantly.
They sat together — awkward, quiet.
"...I'm worried," Dorian admitted finally.
Rowan nodded. "I know."
"You're not... fading," Dorian said carefully. "Are you?"
Rowan thought about it.
About the ache.
About the shelf.
About the beam he didn't lift.
"...No," Rowan said. "I'm changing."
Dorian frowned. "I don't like change."
"I know."
"But," Dorian added slowly, "you're not alone."
Rowan smiled softly. "No."
Dorian glanced between them.
"...You're disgustingly functional."
Lila laughed.
Rowan chuckled.
That night, Rowan lay in bed with Lila curled against him.
The city slept.
The world waited.
"...I didn't fight today," Rowan murmured.
She shifted closer. "You protected."
He considered that.
"...I suppose I did."
She kissed his chest lightly. "You're learning."
He smiled.
"Tomorrow," Rowan said, "I'll rest again."
She smiled into his shoulder. "Good."
"And the day after."
"Even better."
"And if something happens—"
She looked up at him.
"We handle it together," she said.
He nodded.
Together.
Outside, far beyond the city lights, something ancient and patient shifted again.
But it did not advance.
Not yet.
For now, Rowan Valebright was not a hero standing alone.
He was a husband learning how to bend.
And that, it seemed, was far more dangerous than strength.