Page 145 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Unable to stay apart any longer, Duncan closed the small distance and set his hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

“You’re not shaking,” he murmured, tracing his thumb along her skin.

“No,” Kora agreed with a breathless laugh.

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. The kiss began gently, with the tentative care of two people emerging from a long confinement to worry and grief. It lingered there longer than he expected before the restraint between them dissolved, and they abandoned the pretense of being anything but starved for one another.

Kora pulled away abruptly.

“What is it?” he asked, concern tightening in his chest as he now knew it always would at the slightest shift in her.

She bit her lip, drew a breath, and reached for the laces of her gown. Duncan did not move, watching with reverent stillness as the fabric loosened and slipped to the floor.

“Are you certain?” he whispered the question, needing the answer.

She nodded and drew him back into the kiss, hands sliding into his hair.

Duncan lifted her and carried her toward the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers. Clothing fell in a scattered trail across the floor wherever impatient hands released it.

He set her down gently and pressed kisses along the line of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, every touch offered with care. Between breath and quiet laughter, the vows he did not speak rested there all the same. I am here. I am yours.

When they came together at last, it was with a tenderness that left every part of him aching, more consuming than any victory he had fought for. Duncan lost himself in the warmth of it, and in the certainty that they had endured enough to deserve such comfort offered freely.

Once their breathing slowed and the heat between them began to ebb, they lay facing one another, the space between them suspended in shared joy.

“I never thought I would have this,” Duncan whispered, leaning his forehead to hers. “I was a fool to think you would remain at the edges of my life.”

“All that is behind us.” Kora’s hand found his cheek. She smiled and kissed him softly. “Now you are the man I love, Duncan derWhitte.” Another kiss. “I love you because you are patient.” Her lips brushed his again. “Because you carry grief with dignity instead of placing it on others. Because you face difficult things without hesitating or letting them break you.” Her fingers traced his jaw slowly. “And because you love your people not as numbers in a ledger but as names you welcome in your own house.”

The next kiss she deepened, unhurried. “That is who you are. That is who I love.”

Duncan closed his eyes, not to shut her out but to take in every word. “Then I am the luckiest man in the Empire,” he said quietly, without flourish.

Beyond the walls, the world carried on: gossip winding through corridors, the brambles of politics, music and celebration lingering in the palace halls. Outside the window, the first autumn snow tapped softly against the glass. Inside Kora’s embrace, none of it mattered.

For the first time since his family’s deaths, Duncan slept without bracing for nightmares.

No nightmares came.

Chapter 69

Njall

This time Njall looked at the mouth of Niverna prison in an entirely different light. If Oorlon let him live—a very speculative if—this bleak fortress in the middle of the Niverna tundra would likely become his new home. A prison for the worst of fae across Norrelia. A place where fae turned even iron on their own kind to break more than contain.

He did not know what waited for him beyond this night.

Only that he could not turn back.

“Let’s think this through,” Elara whispered behind him. “I can slip in and out, but it will be harder for the two of you. So we have two options. One is that I go alone—”

“No,” Njall cut in without turning. His attention remained fixed on the wound of stone carved into the mountain. “We will use the concealment draught.”

“It doesn’t last long on fae,” Kalaetzu said, the wear in his voice still apparent even after several days of rest. “Someone your size… it would take three vials to hold at all.”

“We only have seven,” Elara added solemnly.

“Fine.” Njall’s jaw flexed. “But she still doesn’t go alone.”