Page 60 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“When we married, we spoke Sanctum vows,” she said. “Ritual words between strangers.” She drew a breath. “It might mean more now. Words that are our own.”

Duncan was so caught unawares he forgot to react.

“Never mind,” she said quickly, turning back to the parapet. “It was a foolish thought.”

He considered it, then cleared his throat. “All right,” he said. “I see no reason why not.” He glanced at her. “What would you have our vows be?”

She turned back immediately, relief plain. “I vow,” she said gently, “to meet you honestly, even when I am afraid, and to make myself useful where I can.”

The fires along the river were distant sparks, yet Duncan felt as though they had suddenly flared in his chest. He thought of her earlier in the courtyard, directing preparations with eager purpose. Of the way she had shared the Golden Bench without hesitation.

“Then I vow to make room for you here. Not as a guest, but as someone who calls Lemierre home. And I will not allow silence to become a weapon between us.”

Koraleise smiled. Not radiant. Not demanding attention. But genuine. These were not declarations of love, nor did they pretend to be. They were a modest understanding offered freely, already more than Duncan had hoped for from a marriage forged in haste.

His own mouth curved in answer.

And some small part of the wound in his chest closed.

Goldfire supper was always simple, held in the study rather than the great hall. A low fire burned. Wine flowed. Plates passed from hand to hand. Children darted underfoot and terrorized the furniture. Conversation stayed light. The formality of the day had faded, and whatever troubles waited beyond the walls were left untouched for one night.

Duncan leaned back and watched the room, comforted by the easy familiarity of it and the faces he trusted most, aware of a lightness he hadn’t expected.

Koraleise did the opposite. She moved briskly through the gathering, her presence filling the room to its potential. She lingered beside Nelayne, keen to please. Tilted her head as Rhalen lectured. Blushed when Brannoc’s teasing grew excessive.

The dread that had shadowed the morning now felt like it belonged to another man—one who had not yet seen Koraleise listen so attentively, laugh when the room needed it, or keep heaviness from settling where levity belonged.

Later, as Duncan prepared for sleep, a thought came as inevitable as breathing.

Perhaps he should go to her tonight.

It was not only desire that drove him, though that played its part. Something gentler tugged beneath it—a wish for closeness, for warmth shared rather than borrowed.

He crossed the corridor in silence and stopped outside her door. Through the oak came faint sounds within. The rustle of fabric. The quiet movements of her preparing for sleep.

He lifted his hand to knock.

Memories crashed through him. Koraleise trembling on their wedding night, fear barely hidden. Her unease in Norrelia, watching Selvara’s festival conclude. The brightness in her eyes throughout Goldfire. The unmistakable happiness during the feast.

His hand lowered.

No, he would not risk taking that lightness from her today, turning that fragile peace into something marred by obligation. It could wait for when she no longer feared him.

Duncan drew a slow breath of the evening air.

Then he turned away and returned to his chambers, the stone cold beneath his feet.

Chapter 31

Koraleise

Over the following weeks, Kora studied Emberglade Castle like a book. She came to recognize the turn of its pages by the bells that marked Isander’s changing guards. She traced its words in the library with Rhalen, laying plans for the opening of the new Southbridge school. And she learned its character in the kitchens through Nahel’s long hours and careful work, through the warmth that lingered even after the ovens were banked. In these ordinary things the castle revealed itself, until it fully claimed her heart.

Its setting, however, proved dearest of all.

Duncan toured Lemierre whenever time allowed and brought her with him, turning the book outward to its wider world. They crossed wind-brushed hills and bridges veiled in morning mist, passed through bright hamlets and crowded markets. Taken together, those journeys made Marrowgate feel like a closed story, its pages finished and no longer hers.

Of all those tours, the day they visited the forges remained most vivid in Kora’s memory. For it was the day she began writing her favorite passage of daily castle life.