My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Dancing with Kaliantha.

Ulrich had considered every way he might persuade the Queen to accept.

None of them ended well.

Removing Antonias from the ceremony was one problem. Convincing Kaliantha to dance with him afterward was another entirely.

If the King remained absent, Kaliantha would likely ask Albert to take Camellia’s hand instead. The royal family would preserve the appearance of the tradition: the Crown Prince dancing with his younger sister while the Queen remained near the dais.

Kaliantha would not leave the celebration merely because her husband had disappeared.

Not when Camellia was about to give her coming-of-age speech.

Not when every major noble house in Skargardia watched.

Not when Antonias’s absence would already create enough whispers.

Ulrich and Kaliantha had built a functional relationship during the last two years. They were allies.

That did not mean she would agree to dance with him.

She was the Queen before anything else. She had responsibilities, dignity, and enough awareness to understand what the court would make of a dance between herself and Count Rubenhart while her husband was absent.

Ulrich could not simply approach her and offer his hand.

She would refuse.

Unless she had a reason not to.

That was why he had chosen Antonias rather than Albert.

Albert’s removal would have been the best choice. The Crown Prince was expected to participate, and any disruption involving him would immediately draw Kaliantha’s attention toward Ulrich. Antonias, however, had created the opening himself. His absence would look like another failure of the King’s character, nothing more.

And Kaliantha had seen Louise lead him away.

She had watched her husband leave the dais with a beautiful young noblewoman while the court looked on. Her expression had remained composed, but Ulrich had noticed the moment her pink brows had drawn together.

A woman such as Kaliantha would never cause a scene.

That did not mean she felt nothing.

For all her self-control, Antonias’s behavior had to offend her pride. It had to exhaust her. The King had humiliated her during her daughter’s celebration, abandoned his place at the dais, and likely intended to miss the ceremonial dance entirely.

That small wound might make her more willing to accept an unexpected hand.

Or it might make her retreat further into the role of Queen and reject Ulrich even more firmly.

He would find out soon.

If she refused to dance with him, he would need another solution. He could remain near the dais and pass her a warning at the right moment. He could attempt to draw her from the ballroom with some private matter. Neither option was reliable.

Kaliantha would not abandon Camellia’s coming-of-age celebration merely because Ulrich asked.

She would not leave while her daughter danced with Albert and her husband was absent.

She would not listen unless Ulrich told her enough to make the danger clear.

And if he told her the truth, he would destroy his position with the demons.

Zagon had already tested him. The demons knew Kaliantha was meant to die tonight. If Ulrich warned her openly, changed the guard formation, or forced the entire ceremony to stop, they would understand that he had chosen her side.

The trust he had built would be gone.

He needed to save Kaliantha without allowing the demons to see him saving her.

That part, at least, was prepared.

Ulrich glanced upward.

The ballroom ceiling was covered in chandeliers, their many crystal arms shining beneath the mana lights. More than twenty hung above the hall. Mana-stone torches burned along the walls, while decorative lamps stood between the pillars and beside the musicians’ platform.

There was light everywhere.

Too much light.

Yet that was precisely what made the plan possible.

None of it came from candles.

Every chandelier, torch, and lamp was powered by mana stones. During his movements around the ballroom, while Astrid watched the musician and Louise spoke with the King, Ulrich had already made the necessary arrangements. He had not touched the stones himself. That would have been noticed.

But when the time came, the ballroom would go dark.

Long enough for the assassin to move.

Long enough for Ulrich to move first.

He needed to be beside Kaliantha before then.

Ulrich crossed the ballroom without appearing to hurry. He paused to acknowledge several nobles who approached him, offering short replies to their greetings. He did not linger long enough for anyone to ask why he had returned without Louise.

His eyes remained on the royal dais.

An elderly man approached Kaliantha and bowed deeply. The Queen listened as he spoke, her attention divided between him and the side corridor where Antonias should have appeared.

At last, she gave a small nod.

The old man descended the steps.

The Master of Ceremonies.

He stepped into the open space before the dais and clapped his hands.

The sound cut through the ballroom.

The musicians lowered their instruments. Conversations softened, then stopped. Guests moved backward in orderly waves, clearing a wide space before the raised platform.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Master of Ceremonies announced, his voice carrying through the hall, "please give room. It is time for our beloved princess to speak."

Camellia walked forward.

Her gown caught the mana light as she moved to the center of the cleared floor. Albert joined her several paces away, standing stiffly in formal attire. He looked toward the side corridor once, then back at the crowd, clearly annoyed that his father had not returned.

Kaliantha rose from her throne.

She descended from the dais with calm steps, though her eyes moved through the ballroom as she searched for Antonias. Two knights had already been sent to find him. They had not returned.

The slightest crease appeared between her brows.

Then it disappeared.

She took her place near her children.

"Your Highness," the Master of Ceremonies said, smiling warmly at Camellia.

Camellia nodded.

She stood beneath the chandeliers, facing the gathered nobles of Skargardia.

Then she lifted her chin.

"My lords and ladies," Camellia began. "I know many of you have traveled far to attend tonight," she said. "Some of you have known me since I was a child. Others I have met only recently. I am grateful that you came to celebrate this day with me."

Her gaze moved across the gathering.

It paused briefly on Astrid, who stood among several young noblewomen near the front. Astrid smiled brightly and lifted her hand in a small wave before catching herself and lowering it again with an awkward cough.

Camellia’s lips curved.

"Becoming an adult does not mean I suddenly know everything," she continued. "I still have much to learn. I have much to learn about the kingdom, about its people, and about the responsibilities I will carry as a daughter of the royal family."

Her eyes moved toward Kaliantha.

The Queen stood beside the dais, composed as ever. Her face did not change, but Camellia seemed to draw strength from the sight of her.

"My mother has taught me that a crown is not only an honor," Camellia said. "It is a duty. It means listening when it would be easier not to listen. It means protecting those who cannot protect themselves. It means remembering that the people of Skargardia are not names on reports or faces seen from a carriage window. They are the reason we are entrusted with power."

The words earned warm applause.

"My father has taught me that a royal family must be strong and my brother has taught me that strength takes discipline."

Ulrich, watching, truly wondered how Camellia was about to tell such nonsense with such a straight face, but he kept a composed face.

Albert, meanwhile, was smirking slightly, proud.

Camellia looked across the crowd again.

"I hope that I can become someone worthy of the faith my family has placed in me. I hope I can serve this kingdom with sincerity. And I hope I can continue to meet all of you, not only as a princess, but as someone who wishes to understand the people of Skargardia better."

She lowered her head.

"Thank you for coming."

The applause rose again.

This time it was louder.

Astrid applauded so enthusiastically that Camellia smiled genuinely when she looked her way.

Ulrich did not join the applause, however.

He watched the left side of the dais.

The masked violinist had set his bow across the strings again. His head remained lowered. The black case rested behind his foot, closer to the steps than before.

The man’s posture had changed.

Only slightly.

His shoulders sat higher. His attention had shifted away from the first violinist and toward the Queen. He was waiting for the signal that would begin the dance.

Ulrich’s gaze moved to the nearest guards.

One of them stood as he had before, spear upright and eyes scanning the ballroom. The other had returned from the side corridor a short while ago. He stood nearer to the left steps than necessary, his attention turned inward rather than toward the guests.

An opening.

Prepared in advance.

Kaliantha stepped forward as the applause faded.

Camellia moved back to stand beside Albert. The Crown Prince offered his sister his arm out of habit, but Kaliantha’s raised hand stopped him before Camellia could take it.

The Queen faced the court.

"Camellia has always possessed a gentle heart," Kaliantha said. "She sees the good in people. Sometimes, that will make her vulnerable. It will also make her a better ruler than those who mistake cruelty for strength."

Camellia looked down, her cheeks turning faintly pink.

Kaliantha continued.

"Today, my daughter enters adulthood. She will be judged by many of you from this night onward. Some will judge her fairly. Others will judge her by what they hope to gain from her. I ask only that you remember she has been raised not to seek admiration, but to serve Skargardia."

Her gaze passed over the gathered nobles.

No one spoke.

Even the people who had expected a brief, ceremonial statement found themselves listening.

"I am proud of her," Kaliantha said.

The words were simple.

They struck Camellia harder than all the applause had.

The princess raised her eyes toward her mother. Her smile trembled briefly before she composed herself.

Kaliantha still as aloof as ever spoke again.

"May your courage remain greater than your fear. May your kindness remain stronger than the cruelty you encounter. And may you remember that you are never required to become less than yourself merely because the world demands it."

The Queen turned slightly, placing one hand on Camellia’s shoulder.

"Congratulations, my daughter."

Another round of applause began.

Camellia stepped forward and embraced Kaliantha.

Kaliantha flinched slightly before she allowed it for only a moment before resting a hand against her daughter’s hair.

Then she looked toward the ballroom entrance.

Antonias had still not returned.

The Queen’s expression did not change; her eyes couldn’t have been any frostier.

She stepped back from Camellia and looked toward Albert.

"Albert."

The Crown Prince straightened.

"Mother."

"You will dance with your sister."

Albert hesitated.

"What about Father?"

"He is delayed," she said with an emotionless tone.

Several nobles exchanged glances. A murmur threatened to begin, but Kaliantha’s eyes moved over the crowd once, and the sound died immediately.

Albert looked toward the entrance.

His mouth tightened.

"Yes, Mother."

He held out his hand to Camellia, which she accepted while Kaliantha didn’t return to the dais but instead just stood there to watch her children.

The Master of Ceremonies gave a quick signal.

The musicians, now much closer, began the formal waltz.

The harpist played the first clear notes. Strings followed, slowly. Albert led Camellia down the center of the open floor, their steps careful at first as the gathered nobles watched.

The royal dance had begun.

Kaliantha remained beside the dais.

The masked violinist played with the others near the left steps.

Ulrich stood several paces away, feeling each second narrow the choices available to him.

Kaliantha had done exactly what he expected.

She had given Albert Camellia’s hand. She had removed herself from the dance rather than accept a substitute. She would remain near the platform, protected by her guards, while the musicians played at close range.

It was safer for her.

It also bothered a bit Ulrich’s plan.

He could stay where he was and wait for the assassin’s move. He could attempt to intercept the man from the crowd, but the moment would be uncertain. If the weapon had magic in it, a single delay could be enough.

He could warn Kaliantha directly.

No.

He could draw closer under some excuse.

No excuse would place him close enough.

The masked man’s hand shifted near the neck of his violin.

Ulrich’s thoughts moved through every remaining possibility.

There were none he trusted.

He had planned the darkness. He had prepared for the lights to fail. He could still create confusion, still force the assassin to reveal himself, but he would not be beside Kaliantha when it happened.

Unless he asked.

The idea remained absurd.

Kaliantha had chosen not to dance. The court had accepted it. Stepping forward now would make every eye in the ballroom turn toward him. It would expose him to the nobles’ gossip, and to whatever suspicion lingered among the demons.

It might also be his only chance.

Ulrich started walking.

He crossed the edge of the dance floor while Albert and Camellia turned through the first steps of the waltz. Several nobles noticed him. Conversations ceased near his path. He did not look at them.

Kaliantha saw him approach.

Her heterochromatic eyes fixed on him.

Ulrich stopped before her, close enough that he could speak without raising his voice.

"Your Majesty," he said.

Kaliantha’s brow drew together slightly.

"Count Rubenhart?"

Ulrich held her gaze.

For the first time that evening, he found himself without a prepared line. He could demand nothing. He could not explain. He could only offer his hand and trust that the Queen saw enough in his face to understand this was not a casual request.

"My Queen," he began.

The ballroom doors burst open right at that moment.

The sound struck through the music.

Every head turned.

King Antonias stood in the doorway.

Blood covered his nose and streaked down from a cut on his forehead. His hair was disordered. One side of his embroidered collar had been torn loose, and his face was red with drunken fury.