Chapter 10
Rowan Valebright had faced dragons, demon lords, and the slow collapse of three kingdoms.
None of those things had prepared him for the way Lila was holding her teacup.
She wasn't trembling. She wasn't pale. She wasn't even nervous in the obvious sense. But Rowan noticed everything—because that was what kept people alive—and something about the way her fingers rested against the porcelain felt... careful.
Too careful.
She sat at the small table in their kitchen, sunlight slanting through the window and catching in her hair, steam curling lazily upward. It was an ordinary morning. Peaceful. Domestic.
Rowan distrusted it immediately.
"You don't like the tea?" he asked.
Lila blinked, then smiled. "I do. It's good."
"You haven't taken a sip."
"I'm... letting it cool."
Rowan frowned at the cup. It had been poured ten minutes ago.
"...It is room temperature," he said gently.
"Yes," she replied. "I am... letting it cool emotionally."
Rowan accepted this answer the way a man accepts a riddle he knows will get him stabbed if he answers wrong. He nodded once and turned back to the stove, where eggs were currently being cooked with the same focus he once reserved for battle formations.
He flipped one carefully.
Too carefully.
Lila watched him for a moment, then spoke. "You're hovering."
"I am not."
"You've been standing exactly one arm's length away from me for the last twenty minutes."
Rowan glanced down. She was correct.
He took half a step back.
"...Better?"
She smiled again, softer this time. "Rowan."
"Yes?"
"You don't need to escort me to the chair."
"I know that."
"You don't need to watch me walk."
"I am not watching."
"You just adjusted the rug."
"That rug is a tripping hazard."
"I've lived here for months."
"And now," Rowan said, entirely serious, "it has ambitions."
Lila laughed, and the sound eased something tight in his chest. But the feeling didn't go away. It sat there, heavy and unfamiliar, like armor that didn't quite fit anymore.
Something had changed.
He just didn't know what.
The guild, unfortunately, noticed everything.
Rowan and Lila arrived together that morning, as they had most mornings since returning from their honeymoon. The Silver Ember Guild doors opened to reveal—
Chaos.
Papers were everywhere. Literally everywhere. A notice board had fallen over. Someone was arguing loudly with a chicken.
Rowan stopped in the doorway.
"...Dorian," he said calmly.
Sir Dorian Lionsreach froze mid-gesture, one arm extended toward a very angry-looking bird perched atop a stack of crates.
"It pecked first," Dorian said defensively.
The chicken glared at him.
Lila leaned slightly toward Rowan. "Is that the chicken?"
"Yes," Rowan sighed. "That is the chicken."
"The one from—"
"We don't talk about that incident."
The chicken flapped its wings and let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a challenge.
Dorian turned. His face brightened instantly. "ROWAN! You're early!"
"It's noon."
"Yes, but emotionally it's still morning."
Rowan stepped fully inside, surveying the damage. "Why is the quest board on the floor?"
Dorian rubbed the back of his neck. "Minor misunderstanding."
"What kind?"
"Well, it turns out if you organize quests by 'vibes,' people get confused."
Lila paused. "...You sorted them by vibes?"
Dorian beamed. "Exactly! See, the red ones felt urgent—"
"Those are supply requests," Rowan said.
"And the blue ones felt mysterious!"
"Those are tax forms."
"Oh."
Rowan closed his eyes. He took a slow breath. He did not raise his voice.
This alone terrified everyone nearby.
"Dorian," he said, "why did you reorganize anything?"
Dorian straightened. "Because you told me to step up."
"I told you to assist."
"And I am assisting!"
Lila glanced at Rowan. "He's trying."
Rowan opened his eyes. Looked at her. Softened immediately.
"...Yes," he said. "He is."
Dorian noticed this exchange. His eyes narrowed.
"...Why did that work?"
Rowan ignored him and walked toward his desk. He paused when Lila followed—paused long enough to pull her chair out before she reached it.
She stopped.
"...Rowan."
"Yes?"
"You don't need to—"
"I know," he said quickly, then hesitated. "...But allow me?"
She studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Okay."
He smiled—small, relieved—and returned to his desk.
Dorian stared.
"...Are you sick?"
"No."
"Injured?"
"No."
"Possessed?"
"No."
Dorian squinted. "You smiled."
"I do that."
"Not like that."
Rowan picked up a document. "What is on fire today?"
Dorian brightened again. "Ah! Right. Monsters."
"Of course."
"Nothing dramatic yet," Dorian continued. "Just... movement. Borders. Patterns."
Rowan's expression sharpened—not alarmed, but attentive.
"Patterns how?"
Dorian shrugged. "Too organized."
That made Rowan still.
But before he could speak, Lila cleared her throat softly.
"I also reorganized today's requests," she said. "Separating immediate threats from... less urgent ones."
She handed Rowan a neat stack of papers.
He scanned them. His eyebrows lifted.
"...You filtered out anything solvable with one punch."
"Yes."
"...You left the complicated ones."
"Yes."
"...And scheduled breaks."
"Yes."
He looked up at her.
"That's perfect."
Dorian threw his hands up. "I HAVE BEEN HERE FOR YEARS."
Lila smiled apologetically. "I used color-coding."
Dorian deflated. "Of course you did."
Rowan felt it again—that warmth, that grounding presence. The way things made sense when she was near. And underneath it—
Fear.
He hadn't noticed the patterns before. He hadn't worried like this. Every risk felt heavier now. Every raised voice made his shoulders tense.
He glanced at Lila without meaning to.
She caught him. Tilted her head. Question in her eyes.
Rowan looked away.
He didn't know why he was scared.
Only that he was.
That evening, the city settled into a quiet hum. Rowan and Lila walked home together, the streets warm with lantern light.
She walked a little slower than usual.
Rowan slowed instantly.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"A little."
"We can stop."
"I'm okay."
He believed her.
That didn't stop him from hovering.
They reached home. He opened the door for her. Waited. Watched.
Lila stepped inside and finally sighed, leaning against the doorframe.
"Rowan."
"Yes."
"You're doing it again."
He frowned. "...Doing what?"
She took his hands gently. Held them.
"Being afraid without knowing why."
He swallowed.
"I just—" He stopped. Exhaled. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
Her expression softened—not alarmed. Not confused. Just warm.
"I know," she said.
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. A light, simple thing.
"We're okay," she added.
Rowan closed his eyes for a brief moment and let himself believe it.
Outside, far beyond the city walls, something shifted.
But for now—
The strongest man in the kingdom stood in his kitchen, holding his wife's hands, trying to learn how to live a life that didn't involve swinging first.
And that scared him more than any monster ever had.
Rowan did not sleep well.
This was not unusual—he had never been a good sleeper—but tonight was different. There were no dreams of battle, no half-remembered screams or firelit skies. Instead, his mind refused to settle, circling the same thoughts again and again like a hawk that refused to land.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to Lila's breathing beside him.
It was steady. Calm.
That should have been enough.
He turned his head slightly, careful not to wake her, and watched the rise and fall of her chest. She looked peaceful in sleep, one hand curled loosely near her collarbone, hair fanned across the pillow. She always slept like this—relaxed, trusting, utterly unguarded.
Rowan swallowed.
Unacceptable.
The world was not safe enough for that kind of peace.
He sat up slowly, the bed barely shifting beneath his weight. For a long moment, he considered standing watch the way he used to on campaign—back straight, senses alert, listening for threats that were not there.
Instead, he rubbed his face and exhaled.
You're being ridiculous, he told himself.
He was halfway to lying back down when Lila stirred.
"Rowan?" she murmured, eyes still closed.
He froze.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Did I wake you?"
She shook her head faintly. "You weren't there."
He frowned. "I was right here."
"You moved," she said. "I felt it."
He hesitated, then lay back down, turning onto his side to face her. "I'm sorry."
Her eyes opened now, soft and unfocused. She studied him for a moment, then reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
"You're restless."
"I'm fine."
She gave him a look that said she did not believe him, but she didn't argue. Instead, she scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder.
Rowan stiffened instinctively—then forced himself to relax.
After a moment, her breathing evened out again.
Rowan stared into the dark.
He did not remember the last time he had been afraid of something he couldn't name.
The next morning, Dorian noticed everything.
He noticed Rowan arriving earlier than usual. He noticed Rowan hovering near Lila's desk like an anxious guard dog. He noticed Rowan flinching slightly when someone slammed a door.
Most concerning of all—
He noticed Rowan refusing to spar.
"Say that again," Dorian said slowly, hands on his hips.
Rowan didn't look up from the paperwork he was reviewing. "No."
Dorian blinked. "You didn't even pretend to think about it."
"I don't need to."
"Rowan," Dorian said, leaning forward, voice dropping into something approaching seriousness, "you never say no to sparring."
Rowan finally looked at him. "I do when I'm busy."
"You're always busy."
"Yes."
"And yet you spar anyway."
"I'm not today."
Dorian's eyes narrowed. He circled Rowan like a suspicious predator.
"You didn't even insult me."
Rowan sighed. "Dorian."
"You didn't call me reckless, or loud, or a liability."
"I'm tired."
"You're always tired."
"Yes."
"BUT THIS IS A DIFFERENT TIRED."
Several nearby adventurers had stopped pretending not to listen.
Lila looked up from her desk, sensing the shift. "Is something wrong?"
Rowan answered immediately. "No."
Dorian answered louder. "YES."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Dorian jabbed a finger toward him. "You are acting strange. Suspiciously strange. Domestic-strange."
"That is not a category."
"It is now."
Lila stood. "Dorian—"
He turned to her, eyes lighting up. "And you!"
She froze.
"You're drinking water instead of tea."
Lila blinked. "I... like water."
"Since when?"
"Since always?"
Rowan's spine went rigid.
Dorian's gaze flicked between them. Slowly. Thoughtfully.
"Oh," he said.
Rowan opened his eyes. "Oh what."
Dorian gasped dramatically. "You're dying."
"What?"
"That's it. That explains everything. You're sick. Secretly sick. You don't want to worry her."
"I am not dying."
Dorian clasped Rowan's shoulders. "My friend. If this is your final arc, I swear—"
Rowan shoved him away. "Enough."
The force was gentle. Controlled. But it carried finality.
Dorian stumbled back, surprised.
Rowan stood, breath measured. "Stop inventing tragedies."
The room went quiet.
Lila watched him closely.
Rowan looked at her, then away. "I'm going for a walk."
"I'll come with you," she said instantly.
"No," he replied—too fast. He stopped himself, softened his tone. "I'll be back."
Dorian watched them both, expression unreadable.
Something is happening, he thought.
And for once, he didn't make a joke.
The walk did little to calm Rowan's thoughts.
Eastrun moved around him as it always had—vendors calling out, children running, the familiar comfort of a city he had protected for years. Normally, the rhythm of it all grounded him.
Today, every sound felt sharper.
He found himself scanning rooftops. Counting exits. Noting shadows.
Stop, he told himself.
He paused near a quiet square and leaned against a stone railing, staring down at a fountain where coins glimmered beneath the water.
You are not at war.
But the fear did not care.
He pressed a hand to his chest and breathed.
Images flickered unbidden—Lila laughing, Lila asleep, Lila standing too close to danger. Each one twisted something deep in his gut.
He had always known what to do when the threat was clear.
This wasn't.
That evening, Lila cooked.
Rowan insisted on helping. She insisted he stop rearranging the knives.
"You're not guarding me from onions," she said gently.
"They're unpredictable."
"They are vegetables."
He paused. "...Fair."
They ate quietly. Comfortably. But the unspoken pressed in on both sides of the table.
Finally, Lila reached across and took his hand.
"Rowan."
"Yes."
"You don't need to carry everything alone."
He swallowed. "I know."
"You say that," she said softly, "but you're doing it anyway."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"I don't want to fail you," he admitted.
Her grip tightened. "You won't."
"I don't know how to do this," he said. "This life. Being afraid of losing something."
She smiled sadly. "That means it matters."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
Outside, the city lights flickered on one by one.
Far away—too far to see, too distant to hear—a presence shifted its attention, like a shadow turning its gaze.
But for now, the danger remained unnamed.
And the secret remained unspoken.