Page 17 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Kora sensed the familiarity beneath their discipline—an old trust disguised as ceremony. The ease of their exchange pricked at her, sharper than she expected.

“A toast,” her father’s voice rose above the din. “To the Duke and Duchess of Lemierre. As they say, may the moons shine kindly upon your union.”

“May Selvarath bless your judgment, Hanurath your abundance, and Amerieth your becoming,” the Moongazer declared, pouring moonmilk for the newlyweds.

Kora took a sip, feeling Elysande’s glare from her other side. The intensity of it might have rivaled the First Moon’s judgment. “Whatever witchcraft you practiced to secure this marriage will bring the moons’ wrath upon you,” her sister murmured, sweet as benediction, sharp as a pin. She leaned closer, her breath cool against Kora’s ear. “There has always been something not quite right about you. With the strange things that happen in your wake.”

Kora’s grip tightened on her glass. “Witchcraft exists only in tales, Elyse. What you are referring to is merely coincidence.” She glanced around the table to be sure no one had heard. “And I did not seek this, nor did I take anything from you.” It felt like an apology for breathing.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Elysande’s mouth curved, almost tender. “The duke will tire of you soon enough, as men do. Pray to the moons he is merely indifferent—and not cruel after, as most of them are beneath their charming exteriors.”

Before Kora could answer, Elysande lifted her wine with courtly grace, murmured a pleasantry to their neighbors, and excused herself. A departure tidy as a seam.

Heat crept into Kora’s cheeks as the ache returned, along with the certainty that there was no place for her within these walls. It lingered even after the guests took their leave and the manor held only the remnants of celebration. Even as a stern-faced Lorenthea guided Kora and the duke to the chamber prepared for them.

Her mother dipped into a clipped curtsy and left without a word of guidance or comfort. Kora could not say she expected any different.

Gingerly, Kora stepped into the room. The duke closed the heavy cedar door behind them, and the sudden awareness of being alone with him sent her pulse racing. Unsure what to do, she drifted toward the grand hearth, its stones cold, long abandoned by winter’s fire, then clasped her shaking hands in the folds of her gown and waited.

The duke crossed the chamber, loosened his sword belt, and set it across a nearby chair before stopping within arm’s reach. He regarded Kora with a wary curiosity as he raised a hand and brushed his thumb lightly along her cheek. She swallowed, focusing on steadying her breath through emerging panic.

But the tremors refused to ease. And at such proximity, there was no concealing it. The duke noticed the shudder of her shoulders, and his expression tightened, as though it confirmed something he had already suspected.

After a pause that stretched longer than it should have, he released a breath and let his hand fall. “You need not fear me,” he said, not unkindly but without warmth.

Kora blinked. “I am not afraid, Your Grace,” she managed. Another shiver betrayed her.

Doubt flickered through the duke’s eyes as he regarded her a moment longer. “We need not do this tonight,” he said quietly. “Nor tomorrow. Nor until you are ready.” He paused. “And you need not call me Your Grace when we are alone.”

Relief and confusion washed through Kora in equal measure. Elysande’s words returned, along with the hurt they carried. Then she was afraid—not of him, but that she had already disappointed him, as she had so often disappointed her family.

“But… is it not expected?” Kora drew on every scrap of control to keep her voice steady. “Am I… not to your liking?”

Her husband sighed, loosening the cravat at his throat. “Expected, but not necessary. Not yet.” Then, more gently, “I have fulfilled the emperor’s command. I am married. Even he cannot dictate when an heir arrives.” His gaze lingered on her, something uncertain flickering there. “And I will not take a woman who is shaking as though a touch might shatter her.”

In the silence that followed, tension ebbed from Kora’s body in steady waves.

Her tremors calmed.

“Very well.” She gave a small nod and set a hand on the nearest chair, feeling it was the only fixed thing left in a world changing by the hour.

The duke sat and began unfastening his boots. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I cannot spare you a night together in this room. That would not fare well for rumor.”

Kora managed another nod, then skittered her eyes around the chamber as the duke stripped down to his linen shirt. When he settled on the far side of the bed, she undressed quickly, leaving only her slip, and slid beneath the blankets.

She remained awake long after he fell asleep, her body held rigid near his unfamiliar weight, each thought louder than the last. Though somewhere in the deep night, she found the courage to turn toward him and study the man fate had tethered her to.

He slept on his back, one arm bent beneath his head. The strong line of his jaw was shadowed by the beginnings of a beard, and dark curls had slipped loose from their careful order, falling across his brow.

Nothing else about him seemed soft.

Kora closed her eyes and, for the span of four heartbeats, let herself pretend this was ordinary. That two strangers had grown into kindness, and that kindness might be enough.

She knew come morning she would face the reality of her life, and whatever her role as a duchess would demand. But in the thin hour before sleep claimed her, she made a quiet promise: that she would try. Not to love him—but to matter. To bring the part of her that had never truly belonged anywhere and see if Lemierre was a trade worth the cost.

Chapter 10

Isander