Page 63 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“You seem out of sorts today,” Isander remarked, concerned.

Kora looked back toward Styfan. “I was just thinking I haven’t heard from my family.”

Isander studied her. “In nearly three months?”

She shook her head. “I’ve written, but…” She trailed off. The silence from her mother and siblings had been expected. Her father’s, however, stung a bit more.

“Perhaps the post has been slow from Ardor,” Isander offered. They both knew better.

Kora managed a faint smile. “What of your family?” she asked after a moment. “I know you grew up with Duncan’s brothers, but I don’t know much about your own kin.”

Isander’s stride tightened. An impenetrable expression crossed his face.

Kora hesitated, then tried again more gently. “Your father—”

“No.”

They passed children skipping rope, laughter ricocheting between the walls, then an old cooper closing his shutters. Isander returned the man’s nod but offered Kora no explanation.

“My own father was more present in his work than in his—” Kora ventured.

“No,” Isander cut in, sharper than before. “He died before I ever saw two summers.” Solemn brown eyes turned toward the skyline, creating distance where words no longer would.

Kora felt heat rush to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Isander did not answer. Despite the warmth of the evening, the air between them cooled. Kora searched for words that might mend the moment, but none arrived cleanly. Whatever she had touched ran deeper than her misstep.

When they reached the castle gates, Isander veered away without farewell. Kora paused beneath the arch, heart tightening as she watched him disappear into the dark.

Instead of going inside, she sought the gardens. Moving slowly among the rosebushes, she skimmed her fingers along the dew clinging to the petals and let the cooling air ease the pressure gathering beneath her ribs.

She realized, with some wonder, that the gardens looked richer than when she first arrived. Leaves were greener, glossier. Blossoms held their color longer, almost as if Marrowgate’s gardens had followed her here.

At last intending to retire, she turned back toward the castle. Yet her thoughts refused to release their hold. Letting her steps decide, she wandered through halls and rooms without aim—and noticed the kitchen doors only when she stood before them.

Nahel glanced up from where she was drying her hands, a knowing smile already forming. “Well now, Your Grace,” she said, reaching for a tray before Kora could speak. A teapot, two cups, and a small dish of sugared biscuits appeared in swift succession. “I thought I’d see you before the night was through. These will be for His Grace, I expect.”

“I’ve grown predictable,” Kora said with a sheepish smile. “No oat crumble pie today?”

“Good predictable,” Nahel replied briskly, waving a thick forearm. “You keep him from reading himself into the grave.” She added a few more biscuits. “That beautiful captain of his favors oat crumble, true enough. But His Grace has always liked these. He’ll be pleased.”

“Thank you,” Kora said, balancing the tray as she headed to Duncan’s chambers.

His door was ajar.

She knocked gently on the frame.

“Enter,” came his voice, worn at the edges.

He was, just as she expected, seated at his desk, cravat loose, lamplight catching the tired lines at his temples where dark curls had fallen loose from the day’s exertions. Ledgers lay open before him in neat disorder. He looked up when she entered, and though weariness sat plainly in his eyes, his expression softened. “Later than usual,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t come tonight.”

“I was in the city,” Kora replied, setting the tray beside his elbow. “With Rhalen at the Southbridge school. Then I spent the afternoon with Lyra and the girls. Isander and I took the longer way home.” She hesitated. “I thought you might like your favorite sweets. Though truthfully Nahel decided for us both, and I am merely the courier.”

“Then I owe her my thanks,” he said. After a moment, quieter, “And you as well.”

Kora poured tea and took her usual seat across from him. Her book waited where she had left it the night before. She opened it, letting its pages unwind the day while Duncan returned to his work. They shared the room in silence: fire breathing steadily in the hearth, parchment whispering beneath their hands, the companionable quiet that had come to belong to them.

The pace at his desk slowed gradually. His hand lingered longer at the bottom of a page. His shoulders dipped slightly, the hour finally catching up to him.