Page 55 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Osric’s expression softened. “Nelayne does not warm easily. Her life has been….”

Isander inclined his head somberly. “Her husband, Rodrik, was killed in a border raid before Styfan was born. They had been married scarcely two years.”

“Aye,” Osric said. “That is why Kryovarre earns no mercy from her. But her mind is keen and her tongue precise. It can read as severe.” He watched Nelayne a moment. “But she is just.”

Kora’s unease gave way to understanding. The woman’s manner was not pride. It was defense.

“Though I don’t believe she dislikes you,” Osric added gently. “You are difficult to dislike.”

Kora blushed as she watched Nelayne haggle with the merchant. The merchant’s movements were eager. Too eager. As he spoke, his fingers skimmed the tally board, and the figures did not match the lengths he named.

“He is shorting her,” she whispered, leaning toward Osric. “Watch his thumb.”

Osric shifted slightly, checking whether Duncan had heard. He had just rejoined them after disentangling himself from a tradesman who had been determined to keep him talking.

“May I?” Duncan asked, gesturing toward the board.

A few calm questions were enough to confirm Kora’s observation.

Nelayne’s mouth thinned. “Well spotted.” Not effusive. Not grudging.

Osric looked between her and Kora. “A dangerous pair, the two of you.”

A brief look of approval crossed Duncan’s face. It caught Kora unprepared and left warmth in its wake. She smiled, flustered.

“Dangerous, indeed.” Isander grunted his own approval, then glanced down the street. “We are not far from Master Rhalen’s school.”

“Perhaps we pay him a visit?” Duncan suggested.

They turned down a narrow lane toward the schoolhouse, a modest stone building softened by flowerbeds along the steps, their bright colors set against weathered walls.

Inside, children bent over slates, shoulders hunched in concentration. At the sight of their duke and duchess, they scrambled to their feet, bowing with earnest haste that came out all elbows and confusion. Kora couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Back to work,” Rhalen grunted. “Unless one of you thinks you can do sums faster than I can.”

A boy in the front row raised his hand. “I am trying, Master Rhalen, but the numbers will not stay where they should.” He scowled at his slate as though the figures had betrayed him.

“Oh,” Kora said before she could stop herself. “May I?” She knelt beside the boy’s desk. “Show me where it goes awry.”

Together they traced the chalk marks while she guided him through the problem. “You carried this too soon. See? If it goes here instead, the balance returns.”

The boy’s frustration dissolved. Then, pride. “Thank you, Miss Grace!” he declared, mangling the title with triumphant sincerity.

“Your Grace,” Rhalen corrected kindly. “Though I expect she will forgive the mistake.”

The boy blinked, blushed, and ducked back over his slate with fresh confidence.

Kora rose, laughing lightly, and looked up, remembering she had not come alone.

Duncan stood in the doorway, arms folded at ease, watching her with a private smile that reached his eyes. It was the first open, admiring look she had seen from him without reserve.

Rhalen noticed and grinned beneath his white beard. “We will begin work on the new school in Southbridge soon,” he said, partly to her, partly to Duncan. “Perhaps the duchess would care to assist with the preparations?”

Kora turned at once to Duncan, hope plain in her face.

“I think that is an excellent idea,” he said without hesitation.

Her smile answered for her. Gratitude rose so fiercely she nearly crossed the room to embrace him among the desks and chalk dust.