Page 64 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“I should leave you to rest,” Kora said gently, closing the volume in her lap.

He lifted his grey gaze to her, thoughtful rather than dismissive. “How are you? Truly.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You were pulled from Ardor to Norrelia to here, into a life no one prepared you for,” he clarified. “I’ve asked after my ledgers and borders and Council, but too little of you.”

His candor startled her. She drew in a breath and straightened her posture, still unsure what to do when such tenderness was offered. “I am… content,” she began, then stopped. The word felt insufficient. “Better than I expected.”

“How do you mean?” he asked, not pressing, only inviting.

She tightened her hold on the book. “When I left Marrowgate, I assumed I would feel out of place everywhere I landed. That I would move from one unfamiliar room to another, always observing. Never quite part of it.”

Duncan leaned forward slightly, and the attention gave her courage to continue.

“At home,” she went on, “I was never central to anything. My mother was distant. Not unkind, but never warm. I don’t recall her touching my hand unless there was a reason. And my father—” she hesitated, then shook her head faintly. “He lived among his ledgers as thoroughly as you do yours. I learned early the only way to reach him was through his work.”

She fell quiet, reflecting.

“I hoped Lemierre might be different. I just didn’t expect it to be.”

Duncan nearly grimaced. “Is that why you agreed to marry me?” The question landed gently, without accusation or wounded pride. A man honestly seeking to understand.

Kora flushed, then nodded. “It was a chance to escape. And…” she paused, choosing honesty despite her hammering heart, “I did not think you would be cruel.”

“Ah.” A soft, rueful huff escaped him, a trace of humor at his own expense. “A ringing endorsement. Precisely the praise most men hope for.”

“It was enough for me,” she said simply.

His attention turned toward the fire. “I suppose we all seek refuge from our pains where we can.” A pause. “I am glad to hear Lemierre has been that for you.” He hesitated. When he spoke again, his usual control slipped. “Mine has been harder to come by.”

Kora sat very still, aware of her breath only because it seemed to have gone missing.

Duncan watched the fire a long moment before continuing. “Some mornings I wake expecting to hear my father’s voice ordering us out of bed to make ourselves worthy of the day. Or Garriden’s laughter near the stables—too loud, too reckless to be anyone else’s.” He glanced at the book in her lap. “I still think I’ll find Corwin in the library, buried in his scripture.” He swallowed. “And then I remember.” Still without looking at her, he went on, “It’s a strange thing to remain behind, when the people who defined you are gone.”

Kora let out a careful breath. “I have not known that kind of love,” she said quietly. “But I do know this: your grief tells the measure of how much they mattered.”

He lifted his head then, eyes distant yet alive with memory.

“You were fortunate,” she continued. “To have shared any portion of your life with people worth missing.” She paused. “Even when their memory aches.”

“Fortunate,” he repeated softly. “I’ve never paired the word with loss.”

“Loss only exists because love came first,” Kora said with a sympathetic smile. “It doesn’t make absence easier. But it means something endured.”

Duncan’s eyes glossed, but he nodded once, a breath easing out of him.

Kora tilted her head. “What do you remember most about them?”

He smiled. “My father could settle a room simply by entering it. Garriden could lift anyone’s spirits, no matter how unwilling. Corwin made sense of things. He had a way of turning worry into something manageable.” A pause, then a private chuckle. “And my mother loved music. The castle was never quiet while she lived. Even her scolding sounded like a song.”

“They sound wonderful.”

“They were.” He looked at her intently. “They would have liked you.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Then I would have liked them too.”

Duncan breathed out and straightened. “I was colder than I should have been at first.” His eyes held hers. “I’m sorry for that, Koraleise. You are not out of place here.”