Page 20 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Shattered wreckage surged into his mind: a carriage torn apart and drenched in blood, horses wild-eyed and beyond calming, the air steeped in violence and death.

Then the memory vanished.

He inhaled and settled his shoulders against the seat.

Sitting opposite, his wife seemed disoriented by his unexpected presence. Her attention drifted, never lingering long before moving on. Duncan tightened his mouth, searching for a way into conversation. Nothing came, so he let the silence stand.

Around midday they rattled through a market town where the square was thick with stalls beneath soot-darkened awnings, threaded with the murmur of barter. Smoke drifted through the air, mingling with scents of fresh wool and wet stone.

His wife abandoned the book in her lap and leaned closer to the window. “Duskmere,” she murmured, as though the word itself held its own fascination.

Duncan studied the passing square. “How do you know?” he asked, keeping his tone easy.

She turned toward him, startled. “Oh.” Color rose in her cheeks. “My apologies, Your—” She caught herself. “I didn’t realize I’d spoken it aloud.”

“It’s all right,” Duncan said. “I’m curious to know what caught your attention. To my eye, this could be the same town we passed a few hours ago.” Then, with mild humor, “It’s for the best I’m not the one responsible for navigating us.”

Finding no mockery in his expression, she eased slightly. The faintest smile surfaced. “You can tell by what’s being sold. Briar is known for its wool dyes and stonework. And”—she gestured toward the far end of the square, where a guildhall stood marked by a crescent carved into dark basalt above the door—“the Stonecutters’ Guild only admits Duskmerri merchants.”

“I see.” Duncan’s brow lifted. “How did you come to know this?”

She hesitated. “I helped my father keep his accounts. I haven’t traveled many of the Empire’s roads, but I know what moves along them.”

“Most women I know would rather collect ribbons than sift through ledgers.”

“He needed help, and I had the time,” she said with a small shrug. “And I enjoyed it. Sometimes it’s easier to count the world than live in it.”

Duncan let out a quiet breath. “I’m afraid you may find both necessary. Now people… If only they were as legible as numbers and trade routes. Court would be far simpler to manage.”

Her lips twitched, something brighter breaking through. “People aren’t so difficult to read,” she said. “You only need to know what to watch.”

“Such as?”

She tilted her head. “When someone glances down at their boots before answering, it means they’ve lied before and are preparing to lie again.” Then, almost as an aside, “A merchant smoothing his beard is likely deciding whether to raise his price.” She cast him a sidelong look. “And when a compliment doesn’t quite reach the eye, it’s polite rather than honest. In my experience, at least.”

Duncan cocked a brow, amused. “What, then, have you observed about me? I’m beginning to think I should be cautious around you.”

Her expression softened into genuine warmth. “Only that you, most certainly”—she pressed a hand to her chest in mock solemnity—“do not care for spiced fish.”

From outside the carriage came Isander’s sudden snort.

Duncan blinked, then laughed outright. “Well,” he said once he could speak, “I cannot reasonably dispute such an astute observation.”

Some of the tension between them eased. As their conversation continued, Duncan discovered that Koraleise possessed a keen understanding of how coin moved through the Empire: where trade was honest and where it deceived, which harbors drew prosperity and which bled it. A master merchant would be a demanding tutor to any willing student, and Duncan’s respect for the viscount extended, by slow degrees, to his daughter.

In return, Duncan spoke of the politics along those same roads. He told her of Emperor Wolmer—a man of vision whose idealism often clouded judgment. He told her of inherited rivalries no tutor taught, of court allegiances shifting like sand, and of the fragile peace holding the Empire together. She listened intently, her questions sharp and perceptive.

Together they traced connections, binding her knowledge of commerce to his understanding of power until scattered elements aligned into a clearer whole: a realm sustained as much by negotiated interest as by lineage.

Duncan considered how his new wife might endure court, where noblewomen laughed freely and charmed through flattery and promise. Koraleise carried no such performance. There was no calculation in her eyes, no ambition beneath her reserve. Her quiet presence was like still water against the court’s ceaseless tide, and it soothed him in an unexpected way.

The afternoon slipped by in shared insight and the uncomplicated ease of company. His arm had rested against the window ledge long enough for heat to gather in the iron band at his wrist. It bit sharply into his awareness, drawing him back to why he wore it.

“Have you no iron on you?” He flexed his wrist where the metal had welted his skin.

His wife looked at him, puzzled.

“To protect against fae magic,” he clarified.