Page 28 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Kora sorted through her memories. Her father had once explained that the fae did not venerate the Three Moons as humans did. Each kingdom pledged itself instead to a single goddess—the one from whom it claimed its power.

Norrelia favored Selvara, mistress of mind and storm.

“Your Majesty honors us with such a welcome,” the duke replied, bowing low, flawless in form. He did not release Kora’s hand. “I am also pleased to present my wife, Koraleise.”

Violet eyes ringed with green slid to Kora. She dipped into a curtsy.

“Ah,” Oorlon murmured, tone laced with interest. When Kora lifted her head, the look he gave her surpassed admiration, edging into something more intent. A chill moved through her. “A young beauty. And those eyes...” His smile thinned. “Well chosen, Your Grace.”

He turned away in a swift, plainly deliberate pivot. His cloak swept behind him as he returned to the throne and sank into it, fingers spreading along the curved armrest as though to remind all present that this seat, and everything it ruled, belonged to him alone.

“The Festival of Selvara is not mere revelry. It is the heartbeat of our realm,” Oorlon proclaimed. “For three nights, when Selvarath draws nearest Oraith, her light strengthens our kind. It is a time of contest and devotion: first of the body, then of power, and finally of blood. Each trial honors the gifts She bestowed upon us. Each victory is Her favor made manifest.” He paused, then added, “It would please me greatly if you would join the celebrations. Matters of business may wait out of respect for our Divine.”

The duke inclined his head. “I am honored to witness it, Your Majesty.” His voice gave nothing away, yet beneath Kora’s gloved fingers she felt tension through his arm.

Oorlon’s attention returned to her. “And you, Duchess?”

Kora’s throat tightened, a dry knot rising where words should have been.

Her husband squeezed her hand, a quiet reassurance.

“I will… observe with reverence, Your Majesty,” she managed.

“Good.” Oorlon’s smile widened. “For though you are human, you may yet learn what it means to live by moonlight and vow.”

He brought his hands together.

Kora flinched.

“It grows late,” he said, his tone shifting to boredom. “It would be discourteous to keep you longer in ceremony. Rest. Tomorrow, you shall have a place of honor at my side.”

They were escorted to a grand suite. Two sleeping chambers opened off a central parlor, where a table had been laid beneath crystalline covers: roasted game brushed with a glaze the color of berries, stews thick and dark, loaves dusted with fine sugar that sparkled like frost.

The duke seated himself at one end of the table, resting his sword within easy reach.

Kora took the place opposite. Rich scents filled the air and hunger returned, but her stomach refused to loosen its grip on her nerves. She took one bite, then set down her fork and lifted her head to find her husband had not touched his plate.

His focus rested on her—not intrusive, but contemplative.

Their silences had grown easier, yet his habit of steering clear of anything that might cut too deeply made the moment feel unsettling in its intimacy.

Too exhausted to indulge her unease, Kora studied him in turn: the arch of his dark brows, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the beard roughening his jaw. His hair, longer now after weeks on the road, curled at the nape of his neck. There was something enduring in the strength of his frame, like a fortress built to withstand storms.

But in their private stillness, his grey eyes told her the fortress reeled. Without words, they spoke of fatigue, admitted doubts, and confessed his soul was spent. And as the hearth beside them burned low, Kora realized his turmoil no longer unsettled her. Somewhere along the way, without her noticing, his presence had, after all, begun to edge toward comfort.

They remained that way longer than propriety allowed, until servants returned and the moment dissolved. The table was cleared, baths prepared, beds made ready.

Kora rose from the bath, wrapped herself in a wool robe, and crossed to the window of her chamber, worry gathering as she thought of the days ahead.

Selvarath still hung formidable above the Niverna peaks, and the Second Moon had begun her ascent. Kora’s reflection met her in the glass, eyes bright even in the dim light, catching the shimmer of Hanurath’s rising glow like three identical flames in the dark.

Chapter 16

Koraleise

At first it was only a purr.

Then the drums sharpened into a ceremonial pulse, thrumming through the castle walls. Kora abandoned any pretense of sleep and lay still, breathing until thought thinned. She sank deeper beneath the layered furs, letting their warmth soothe her as she listened.