The conductor, sensing the shift in the air, subtly raised his baton.
A single, gentle cue.
The symphony resumed.
As though the declaration of a duel had never echoed through the hall, the ballroom slowly came back to life. Conversations restarted in cautious murmurs, glasses clinked once more, and laughter—measured, refined—returned to its proper volume.
The moment that Alice had frozen was carefully thawed.
Of course, the disdain aimed at the North and the tension that followed it did not simply vanish.
Naturally.
This was high society. Nothing ever truly disappeared.
Instead, it was smoothed over—pressed flat beneath layers of etiquette and shared understanding.
It had been a performance.
Alice's duel declaration was preserved in form, her honor left untouched, while the overheated atmosphere caused by a "lady's provocation" was quietly cooled. A flawless compromise.
