Prince Augustus's low, weighty words—"Peace is hard-won"—landed like the heaviest page of the Imperial Code slamming shut, instantly quelling all the noise and unrest in the banquet hall. His arrival meant more than simply the presence of another honored guest. It brought an intangible weight of order, representing the Empire's iron laws and the blood and tears of its past. The Metternicht father and son wilted like frost-struck eggplants, cowering in silence and no longer daring to make the slightest move. The other guests also composed themselves, hardly daring to breathe for fear of attracting the Iron-Blooded Prince's attention.
Leon Hohenzollern retreated into the shadows of a corner, feeling the cold sweat on his back had soaked through his shirt. The prince's seemingly casual glance and his warning had unsettled him more than Felix's venomous stare or Caspar's fury. It was an oppression born of absolute power and the weight of history, making him realize just how reckless and dangerous his earlier words and actions had been. He was like a cub that had accidentally wandered into a giant beast's territory and let out a roar; only now, beneath the beast's calm gaze, did he feel true fear.
The atmosphere at the banquet grew unusually somber and tense. The music started up again, but the dancers' movements seemed stiff, and the conversation had dwindled to a whisper. Everyone's gaze, intentionally or otherwise, kept straying toward the figure seated at the head table, as steady as a mountain.
The prince seemed accustomed to such scenes. He merely spoke in low voices with Duke William, Eldest Princess Elinor, and several old dukes about matters of state, such as border defenses and food reserves. He didn't mention the disturbance at all, as though it had never happened. Yet that deliberate disregard only made