Page 19 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Guilt surprised him. In that instant, Isander saw her youth against the enormity of what had been placed upon her, and something in his chest eased. “Very well, Lady Koraleise,” he said, inclining his head. “But if I abandon Your Grace, then Isander will do as well.”

That earned him a brilliant smile, as though she had stepped into sunlight. Isander found himself unexpectedly glad for the small kindness and answered with a grin of his own. “Then this will be quite an experience,” he went on. “Over the next two weeks, you’ll see nearly the full stretch of Ardor and Duskmere. Then, of course, Selenar.”

Her expression settled between nerves and resolve. “Have you seen much of the Empire?”

“Most of it,” Isander replied. “The late duke made certain his sons and wards saw the breadth of the world. At least, the human part.” Warmth stirred as the memories surfaced. “He brought us everywhere—duchy capitals and villages reachable only by rutted roads.”

“A wise way to teach the impact of a lord’s decisions on the lives of others,” she mused. She tilted her head. “Pardon my asking… how did you come to be a ward of the derWhittes?”

“Alaric derWhitte knew my father’s family, or so I’m told,” Isander answered evenly, hoping she didn’t notice his strain. “When my mother arrived at Emberglade Castle alone with a babe in her arms and nowhere else to turn, he gave her employment and took me in.”

“That was kind of him,” she said softly. “I had wondered why you both seemed so close.”

“We’re as close as a man considered common might be with a duke,” Isander said with a private smile, feeling better. They played their roles in public, but when etiquette loosened its hold, Duncan was not merely a friend but a brother—the constant who carried Isander through youth and loss into a loyalty no title could command.

“May I ask what the duke was like when you were boys?”

“Mischievous,” Isander said at once, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Once, at the Citadel, the night before an inspection, he decided our instructors took themselves too seriously. He filled every boot in the barracks, including mine, with lime powder and river pebbles. By morning, half the Vaelclair army was sneezing and limping. He was the only one who emerged untouched.”

Koraleise laughed, a flicker of delight in her eyes.

Isander’s grin lingered a moment, then softened into something gentler. It struck him how long it had been since he’d seen that side of Duncan. “Hard to believe it now,” he added. “But once he had that spark.”

Sympathy crossed her features. “I imagine what happened last year…”

Isander nodded, glancing at the silhouette of Duncan’s back. “He was meant to ride with them. But he always inspects the horses before a journey, and one had taken ill. He decided to stay in Vaelstrom another week.” He paused. “The delay spared his life but carved the loss deeper.” He considered it. “Still, I don’t believe that part of him is gone. It only… fell quiet.”

“Oh,” Kora breathed. “Was he close to his family?”

“Very much so,” Isander said. “Garriden was the eldest. Brave to the edge of recklessness, always daring us into trouble. Corwin was the calm between storms, the one who tried to bring order to Garriden’s chaos. And Duncan…” A faint smile returned. “Duncan tried to live up to one and keep the other from harm.”

Koraleise lifted her hands to her face. “It’s nearly unthinkable.” She paused. “It’s been thirty years, hasn’t it? Since another house of such standing was so completely extinguished?”

He stiffened, the strain creeping back again, then nodded. “House derVeselkal.”

She lowered her hands and folded them on the window’s ledge. “An entire family lost in a single night. Taken by fire. Merely for the pursuit of power.”

“Our history was shaped by such endings,” Isander said, surprising himself with the bitterness that edged his voice. “Civil wars and inheritance feuds stretching back to scattered homesteads. They set the precedent for the choices we still make.” He shook his head. “Yet I’d argue men surrender more power by confining themselves to those old roads.”

“What makes you say that?”

He glanced at her and found her watching him intently. “Too much of life is settled by the accident of blood,” he said. “Where a man is born defines the borders he defends, the customs he’s bound to observe, even the faith he inherits without consent. If all is fixed before the first true choice is made, what remains to define a life?”

She considered this. “That seems a harsh assessment of nobility, doesn’t it? By that reasoning, a common man may hold more freedom than a duke.”

“It’s impossible to dismiss the privileges of noble birth,” Isander allowed. “And there is ease in a life whose course has already been set, spared the trepidations of searching for purpose. But it matters more, I think, to choose one’s own path than to walk one laid down by others.”

Koraleise tilted her head. “I think you’re right, Isander.”

Their conversation wandered after that—stories of Duncan, a few remarks about the book in her lap—until words thinned into companionable quiet.

In that quiet, Isander realized the coil in his stomach and the sliver of jealousy had eased. He saw, to his surprise, a road that might lead him to enjoy her presence in their lives.

Chapter 11

Duncan

Several days into their journey, summer asserted itself in earnest. Heat wavered along the road as though fire lay trapped beneath it, and the wind had thinned to little more than a stir. Though loath to part with the saddle, Duncan surrendered the open air for the horse’s sake and joined his new wife in the carriage. The moment he sat down—