"Lady, it's been so long. Do you remember me? From the Crom viscountcy…"
"Your hair, it's radiant as ever. Truly a jewel of the North. You must share your secret…"
As the daughter of a ducal house, Alice was used to this—people orbiting around her like moths to a flame. Their presence was both a nuisance and a badge of influence. Followers were proof of status, after all. A duchess without them would almost seem incomplete.
Normally, she would brush them off with her usual air of indifference, offering curt replies that kept them at arm's length but never outright cold. But today…
"Oh my, Lady Draken, you don't look well. Has something happened?"
"There isn't," Alice said flatly.
The chill in her tone was enough to freeze the air between them. Her blunt words, sharper than usual, made her followers hesitate, unsure if they had somehow overstepped.
Alice's expression betrayed nothing, but her silence weighed heavier than any rebuke.
