Page 51 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“And Duncan,” Osric added, “after the letter… take a bath. You smell like fae.”

Duncan huffed. “And what exactly do fae smell like?”

“In your case?” Osric said with a brief, apologetic laugh. “Dirt.”

“That seems unfair to dirt,” Duncan muttered.

Osric’s chuckle lingered as he stayed a moment longer, setting chairs straight and gathering notes, the way one man helps another clear a surface and begin again.

“Soap,” Osric called lightly, heading for the door. “Definitely use soap.”

Duncan let the quiet of the study settle around him properly this time, palms braced against the oak desk where his father’s hands had rested, and his grandfather’s before them. He remembered being twelve, the spring floods tearing through the fields, sitting in this very room while Alaric spoke with a reeve unable to pay his taxes. Duncan had expected severity. Punishment. His father had poured the man wine and asked after his wife’s health.

A duke isn’t paid in coin, Duncan, his father had said. He is paid in the trust of men who believe you’ll still be here tomorrow. Guard that, and the rest follows.

The memory stung, and Duncan let it. He let the wound open in his chest, let the weight of it run through him unrestrained—for a few heartbeats. No more.

Then he sat, turned to the waiting page, and returned to his work, as he had yesterday, and today, and would tomorrow. He dipped the quill, flicked the drop from its tip like a small black diamond, set it to the page, and began to write.

Chapter 27

Koraleise

Emberglade greeted her like a well of promise. Nightfall reminded her of its price.

When the lamps dimmed and the castle settled into its hush, Kora lay beneath the quilt listening for footsteps, flinching at each creak of floorboard or gust against the walls, counting the distance between her chamber and the duke’s by the echo of her own heartbeat. With travel behind them, nothing remained to distract her from why she had been brought here. Their vows were a month old, their marriage still unconsummated. Whatever chill had grown between them, she knew what a wife owed and what a husband could claim as his right.

Near dawn she drifted into thin, uneven sleep, waking shortly after with the stale taste of restless dreams and fretting thoughts.

He had not come.

Relief should have followed.

Instead, a worse thought took its place: he had chosen not to.

“Your Grace?” A lilting voice sounded at the door, followed by a polite knock.

Kora sat up and drew a slow breath, pushing her anxieties aside. There would be time enough for marital duties and the worries they carried. Today she would focus on something within her reach. She would learn the castle’s rhythm.

“Enter,” she called, pulling on a robe.

A young woman stepped inside, balancing a tray with tea and the comforting scent of warm bread. She was fair-haired and pretty, dark grey eyes lively with humor. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said brightly. “I’m Mathilde. I hope you don’t mind—Master Osric sent me. And Nahel insisted you shouldn’t begin your first morning on an empty stomach.”

“Not at all,” Kora said, smiling despite herself. “Thank you, Mathilde.”

Mathilde set the tray down and dipped a quick curtsy. “Then I’ll call that a success already. I am also to serve as your lady’s maid for now. Until someone more suitable is found.”

“More suitable?” Kora echoed, curious rather than offended. “Why are you not suitable?”

“Oh, I am. For the present,” Mathilde replied easily. “But for a duchess it’s customary that a young miss from one of Lemierre’s noble houses hold the post. The wedding was so swift there was little time to arrange it before your arrival.”

Kora nearly flinched at the reminder.

She steered the conversation elsewhere. “Where does the duke take breakfast?”

“In his rooms. Early.” A hint of pink touched Mathilde’s cheeks. “Then he spars with the captain.”

Kora hid a smile. It seemed Isander had admirers within the castle. “I see,” she said, tearing off a piece of bread and tasting it, the warmth and butter easing the raw edge of the night.