Chapter 149: Astrid Wants To Help [1]
From a position near the western windows, where a cluster of nobles and the tall marble pillars kept him from the musicians’ direct line of sight, Ulrich watched the half-masked violinist near the royal dais.
The man continued to play.
His movements matched those of the other performers closely enough to escape notice. To anyone who did not know what to examine, he appeared no different from the rest of the quartet.
Fortunately, he had shown no sign of suspicion.
The late violinist had moved among the performers, lingered near him, and eventually withdrawn with fear written plainly across his face. Yet the masked man had not reacted. Perhaps he had dismissed the nervous musician as an ambitious player looking for a vacant place. Perhaps he had been too absorbed in the work ahead to care who passed through the ballroom.
Either possibility favored Ulrich.
He needed the demon to remain calm.
The more confidence the false musician possessed, the less likely he was to act before the arrangement changed. A man who believed he was invisible would wait for the intended opening. He would follow the plan. He would bring Ulrich closer to the answer he still lacked.
The man’s case remained near the base of his chair, placed just behind his left heel.
Ulrich scanned it from across the ballroom.
A violin case.
Long enough to conceal a narrow sword or a dismantled crossbow. Deep enough to hide a small weapon, or a potentially dangerous artifact. It could contain any number of weapons, and none of them could be guessed merely from the shape of the case.
There was also the question of whether the masked musician knew who Ulrich was.
The chance seemed very low.
Ulrich had become too valuable to the demons for Zagon to announce his involvement carelessly. If every minor infiltrator knew that Count Ulrich Van Rubenhart had allied himself with their side, then any one of them could ruin the arrangement through a careless look, a poorly chosen word, or an attempt to seek his favor in public.
Zagon was not careless.
The masked man likely knew only his own task: enter the palace, take a musician’s place, wait for the royal dance, and strike when Kaliantha entered the open floor.
That ignorance might become useful.
It would only remain useful if the man was alone.
Ulrich doubted he was.
The changed guard assignments had allowed this assassin into the palace. At least one demon had helped him pass the gates and enter the royal hall. There could be another among the guards, another disguised as a servant, another hidden among the guests with orders to intervene if the assassin failed.
Approaching the false violinist directly was impossible.
Even if the man did not know Ulrich’s connection to the demons, someone else might. A sudden conversation between Count Rubenhart and an ordinary musician would draw attention. Zagon, if he was watching from somewhere in the ballroom, would notice it.
He needed another approach.
"Servant."
A young attendant carrying a tray of wine heard him and stopped at once.
Ulrich placed his empty glass on the silver tray and took another without looking away from the musicians. He raised it to his mouth, drank once, and continued watching the masked man across the hall.
"What do we do, then?"
Ulrich stopped before the glass reached his lips a second time.
He turned his head.
Astrid stood beside him.
For a moment, he had genuinely forgotten she existed.
His expression darkened.
"What are you still doing here?"
Astrid stiffened under the force of his stare, though she did not retreat.
"The Princess is guarded," she replied. "I—If there truly is someone dangerous near the dais, we should deal with him first. I will not let him touch Her Highness."
Her blue eyes moved toward the masked musician.
The man was a stranger to her. She had no proof that he intended harm. Yet now that the possibility had been placed before her, she watched him with hatred that did not need proof to grow.
"There is no we," Ulrich said. "Leave."
"No."
Ulrich’s brows creased.
Astrid had spent the last ten minutes at his side, following him through the ballroom, interrupting his investigation, demanding answers he had no intention of giving. Her presence was becoming a problem. People would notice a duke’s daughter standing beside him for too long. The wrong person might decide it meant something. Worse, Astrid herself might draw the assassin’s attention through her clumsy attempts to observe him.
"You have remained beside me long enough," Ulrich said. "Even a strumpet would understand when she had become unwelcome."
Astrid’s face went blank.
For one heartbeat, she looked as though she had not understood him.
Then color rose immediately into her cheeks.
"What did you call me?!"
Ulrich took another sip of wine.
"Do I need to repeat it?"
Astrid stared at him in open disbelief.
The insult had been cruel. He knew that. Yet bluntness was faster than patience, and he did not have the time to persuade her politely. If embarrassment sent her away, then at least she would be where he had told her to go.
Astrid’s hands curled into fists against her gown.
"I am not a child," she snapped.
Her reaction wasn’t as strong as he expected...
Did she see through his attempt to anger her enough to leave?
He said nothing.
The silence lasted only a few seconds, but Astrid’s next words came out differently. The shock in her voice faltered. She looked down, biting her lip as though she hated what she was about to admit.
"I can help."
Ulrich’s gaze remained on her.
Astrid raised her eyes again.
"I am a lady of Skargardia," she said, her voice quieter now. "I am Duke Gravenberg’s daughter. I cannot stand here while someone may be trying to harm Princess Camellia and do nothing."
The words were simple.
Yet they stopped Ulrich more effectively than her anger had.
Until now, Astrid had seemed like an irritating, immature girl hiding behind the authority of her family name. She had spoken too loudly, assumed too much, and turned every insult into a personal offense that required an immediate answer. Her pride had appeared shallow, another ornament she wore because she had been born into a great house.
But as she stood before him, trying to keep her shoulders straight despite the flush still burning in her face, Ulrich saw what sat beneath it.
Astrid needed to prove herself.
Not merely to him.
To her father. To the court. To the people who scanned every movement she made against Julian’s place as heir, against Duke Markus’s reputation, against the expectations surrounding the name Gravenberg. She clung to her title because she feared there might be nothing worthy beneath it if she did not.
Her arrogance was armor.
Poorly worn armor, perhaps.
But armor nonetheless.
Ulrich looked at her more carefully.
The image he had formed of Astrid shifted.
She was still loud. Still bothersome. Still too willing to leap toward conclusions no sensible person would entertain.
Yet she had not fled after hearing that there might be danger. She had not run to the nearest guard and create a panic, despite clearly wanting to. She had remained because Camellia mattered to her.
That earned a measure of respect.
Now, he could see why she would be one of the female leads of that novel eventually.