I let out a slow breath.
On the way back earlier, I'd heard the whispers too:
"Did you see Lady Alice? She didn't even flinch."
"Such dignity…"
"Even after that humiliation."
"That's a real noble."
"Unlike the Prince—running after a commoner saint."
"Shh! She's still a saint, don't say that too loud."
The servants had been split between shock and sympathy.
The nobility?
They were already rewriting the narrative.
"This is important," I muttered.
Amelia looked at me. "What is?"
"She didn't lose face."
"Not just that," Amelia said quietly. "She gained it."
I nodded.
If Alice had lashed out, the rumors would've destroyed her image:
jealous fiancée
unstable noble
vulgar behavior
lack of grace
Instead?
Now the rumors were turning into:
dignified
wronged
patient
honorable
composed
And the Prince?
Publicly disrespectful.
Emotionally impulsive.
Dishonorable.
Indecisive.
Even the so-called "declaration of a duel of honor" played in her favor.
