The Duchess of Halberd does not hurry. She lets the tea settle, lets the porcelain cool just enough to hold without thought. The men arrive in pairs, coats still carrying the outside air, voices a touch too certain as they take their seats. She greets them without rising, one hand resting lightly against the chain at her throat as if checking its position by habit rather than intention.“You’ll find the terms agreeable,” one of them says, placing a document on the table with more force than necessary. The Duchess lifts her cup instead of the paper. A small movement, enough to set the pearls into a faint, measured sway, the chain shifting and settling again without losing its shape. She lets the silence sit, long enough for it to become noticeable.When she does reach for the document, it is only to turn it once, aligning it with the edge of the table. Her fingers pause briefly against the page, then move away. “No,” she says, as if correcting a minor detail. By the time the second cup is poured, the document has been rewritten.
