Page 70 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Now she understood her mother’s agitation before Duncan’s visit to Marrowgate.

But the likeness dissolved as quickly as it formed.

Lorenthea’s nerves were vanity and ambition. Kora’s flared knowing this would be her first true reckoning before court as Duchess of Lemierre. One misstep would travel swiftly, whispered through corridors and banquet halls until even the emperor heard of it. And the derWhitte name would bear the consequences of her failing.

She sought out a mirror, determined at least to look the part, even if certainty still eluded her. A few strands had escaped her braided crown. She tucked them back into place, imposing order where calm had not yet followed, then lifted her chin and studied the woman in the glass.

The face looking back was not the girl who had left Marrowgate.

Here she was not her mother’s disappointment nor her sister’s shadow. No longer Albrecht verStampebl’s quiet daughter at the edge of every room.

She was Koraleise derWhitte, Duchess of Lemierre. This was her home now. As Duncan’s wife, she would not let her mother’s judgment haunt her like a specter, nor did she need Marrowgate’s approval. Whatever the nobles of Duskmere brought with them, she was ready to face it as she was.

“Your Grace.” A messenger entered the solar, flushed with haste, and bowed deeply. “The Duskmere party has been sighted. They will reach the gates within minutes.”

Kora cast one last glance at her reflection before hurrying from the room.

Duncan stood waiting in the main courtyard, broad shoulders squared beneath his summer cloak. His bearing was calm, and he looked striking in Lemierre’s formal colors, deep green trimmed in silver, matching her own silver gown.

When his grey eyes found her, his posture eased. He extended an arm in wordless invitation. Kora placed her hand on it, and the churning in her chest eased.

“Kora,” Duncan murmured, bending slightly so only she could hear. “When I meet with Duskmere, will you join me? Watch for what I might overlook.”

“Certainly,” she replied at once, warmth spreading through her.

He gave one grateful nod, then laid his free hand lightly over hers.

They heard the hooves first, echoing like a drumbeat. Then the banners appeared: deep blue trimmed in slate grey, each marked with Duskmere’s mason’s mallet and chisel. The procession entered the courtyard in such precise formation they might have been cut from the same seam of rock. For a visit meant to last two nights, they came as though prepared for a siege.

At their head rode Ernst Trombold derStrom. His dark bald head shone beneath the high summer sun, his heavy frame wrapped in a cloak trimmed with Kryovarri fox fur, a vanity absurd in the heat yet perfectly suited to his pride. His black eyes swept over Emberglade Castle as he approached, appraising each stone as though calculating its worth.

“My apologies for the short notice, Lemierre,” Ernst proclaimed, swinging down from his horse with a grunt. “Business rarely waits on courtesy.”

“I trust your journey was without incident,” Duncan said evenly, without yielding ground.

Ernst made a sound that might have been laughter. “Safe enough. Though the roads grow dusty this time of year. I expect I shall be coughing grit for a week.”

From the carriage emerged a woman Kora knew at once must be the Duchess of Duskmere. She was plump and radiant in red silk, her bodice heavy with jewels, and she barked orders to her attendants with such emphatic gestures and so loudly that pigeons scattered from the eaves. Exactly as Kora had imagined from the whispers about House derStrom.

“Good day, Genefra,” Duncan said. “It is good to see you again.”

Genefra flung wide her arms, as though before an audience. “Good to see me? My dear Lemierre, it is good for your eyes to remember what refinement looks like!” she declared.

Another woman stepped from the carriage, her presence the kind that demands attention. She was tall and striking, with the confident beauty of a woman in her prime. Sunlight caught in her chestnut hair where elaborate pins held it in place, and her lips were painted the dark red of wine. Every step was placed with intent, graceful in its execution.

Duncan dropped his hand from where it had been resting. An unmistakable flicker of recognition shadowed his features before composure closed over it again.

“I hope you do not mind an additional guest,” Ernst said easily, the glint in his eye betraying his pleasure in the disturbance. “Seraphine is with us for the summer.”

“Not at all,” Duncan replied, though Kora sensed the small effort beneath it.

Seraphine’s dark eyes lingered on Duncan a moment too long, then shifted to Kora and remained there in candid assessment.

Duncan noticed. “Allow me to present my wife, Koraleise.”

“We heard of the sudden match.” Ernst looked at her with the possessive interest of a man evaluating something not his to claim. “Well met, Duchess.”

“Sudden unions are the best sort,” Genefra cut in, flicking a hand as though brushing away the notion of caution. “They keep everyone alert. And moons, you are lovely, my dear. Duskmere may yet forgive Lemierre its indulgences, if you are the reward at the end.”