Chapter 159: Communication is Important
Ulrich returned to the ballroom beside Louise as though he had not left King Antonias unconscious in a corridor only minutes earlier.
Louise slowed before the doors.
"Perhaps I should not return yet," she said.
Ulrich looked at her.
"Why?"
"If the King wakes and remembers anything, he may come looking for me. He will ask what happened."
"Not returning would make you more suspicious," Ulrich said. "Act normally."
Louise looked unconvinced.
"And if he says I was with him?"
"Tell him he was drunk and you left him earlier."
"That is all?"
"Yes."
Louise watched him for a moment.
"You expect people to believe that?"
"Nobody believes a drunk man over a marquis’s daughter," Ulrich replied. "Especially not Antonias."
A smile curled on Louise’s lips.
"You truly hate His Majesty."
Ulrich gave her a stern look.
There was no answer short enough to cover the subject.
Louise understood. She laughed softly and straightened the front of her dress, smoothing a crease Antonias had left near her waist. Her hair had been put back in place as well, though a few strands still rested loose beside her cheek.
The two knights guarding the doors noticed them and bowed.
"Lady Rommels. Count Rubenhart."
Ulrich gave a brief nod.
The doors opened.
Music, conversation, and the warm crowded air of the ballroom spilled into the corridor at once. Nothing had changed. No alarm had gone up. No guard hurried toward the west gallery. The guests still drank, laughed, danced, and watched the couples dancing.
Antonias’s absence had not yet been noticed.
Ulrich entered first.
His eyes moved over the ballroom before he allowed himself to look toward Kaliantha. He searched for the sisters.
They stood near a corner along the eastern wall.
They were still isolated from the other young nobles. No one had gathered around them.
But they did not look the way they had earlier.
Hermione leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, speaking quickly about something that made Esther’s eyes widen. Esther stood close beside her, nodding eagerly and occasionally adding her own thoughts. Airam listened with a detached expression, though she had not moved away from them. Her attention was on her sisters, not the crowd.
They had made their own small space inside the ballroom.
They were not smiling at the nobles who ignored them. They had stopped trying to earn approval from people who had no intention of giving it.
Esther, especially, seemed different.
Earlier, each dismissive look from the other children had made her shoulders draw inward. She had looked as though she wanted to disappear into Hermione’s side. Now she was talking with both hands moving in front of her, her face bright with excitement as she told her sisters something.
Ulrich watched from across the hall.
The dances had helped.
He had asked them to dance because they had worked hard over the past month. They had studied, trained, endured lessons, and followed every instruction given to them, only to be treated as a burden whenever they entered the capital. Ulrich had understood that kind of effort. He understood working until exhaustion and still hearing that it was insufficient.
He had wanted to give them acknowledgment.
That was all.
Instead, the dance had become something else.
Hermione had spoken to him more honestly than she had in two years. Esther had laughed without looking over her shoulder to see whether anyone disapproved. Even Airam had stopped treating every word from him as an attack for a short while.
The thought sat uneasily with him.
He had adopted them two years ago. They had lived under his roof, eaten at his table, attended tutors he hired, and worn clothing he purchased. Yet most of their education, discipline, and care had been left to Monika and the tutors. Ulrich had checked their progress, given instructions when necessary, and made sure they had what they needed.
He had thought that was enough.
In practical terms, it had been enough.
The girls had grown stronger. They had learned to read, write, fight, and control their mana. They no longer woke screaming every night after the village burned. They had goals now.
They had survived.
But he had barely spoken to them.
Not properly.
Ulrich’s gaze briefly landed on Airam.
The eldest sister stood slightly apart from Hermione and Esther. She listened, but her eyes wandered through the crowd more often than the others’. Every few seconds, she looked toward him.
When their eyes met, she looked away at once.
The dance with Airam had not improved anything. If anything, he had made their relationship worse. He had let his anger rise when she pushed too far, and afterward she had looked at him with the same guarded resentment she had worn when she first entered Rubenhart estate.
He had returned them to the beginning.
"Communication is important."
Louise spoke quietly beside him.
Ulrich glanced toward her.
She had followed his gaze to the sisters. Her expression had softened as she watched them together.
"If you care about them," she continued, "you need to speak to them. Not only when they have done something wrong or when you need something."
"I doubt they care whether I speak to them."
Louise looked at him as though he had said something especially foolish.
"Esther clearly does."
Ulrich did not argue that. Esther had become attached to him in the way a child became attached to someone who had offered safety when there was nowhere else to go. He understood that much.
"Hermione does too," Louise said.
"That is less clear."
"She argues with you because she wants your attention."
"That is a poor method."
"She is fourteen."
Ulrich looked back at Hermione.
She had stopped speaking when she noticed him watching. Her arms remained folded, but a faint flush reached her face before she turned back to Esther.
Louise leaned nearer.
"And Airam cares as well."
Ulrich’s eyes narrowed.
"No."
"Yes."
"She dislikes me."
"She is angry with you," Louise corrected. "That is not the same thing."
"It is close enough."
Louise smiled.
"You are so naive when it comes to girls, Ulrich."
Ulrich gave her a look.
"Watch over them," he said.
Louise’s smile widened.
"And what will you be doing?"
Ulrich turned toward the royal dais.
Kaliantha remained seated upon the throne.
Her face was composed, but Antonias’s absence had begun to register. She had glanced toward the side corridors twice in the last minute. The Master of Ceremonies stood a short distance from her, speaking nervously to an attendant while checking the schedule in his hands.
The masked musician remained close to the left steps.
His case rested beside him.
The other musicians had finished changing positions. The harpist sat closest to the dais, with the strings arranged tightly behind her. The false violinist had been placed exactly where the late musician described: near the steps, near Kaliantha, and near enough to the dance floor that a sudden movement might not be recognized until it was too late.
Ulrich had very little time.
"Do not let them leave your sight," he told Louise.
Her playful expression faded.
"Ulrich," she said, catching the change in his voice, "what is happening?"
"Later."
Louise’s lips pressed together.
It definitely meant never.
"Fine," she said. "But you owe me an explanation."
"I know."
Louise blinked.
Ulrich rarely admitted owing anyone anything.
Before she could ask what he meant, he had already begun walking away.
Louise watched him cross the ballroom toward the dais.
Her fingers brushed her wrist, where Antonias’s grip still burned faintly, before she raised her finger to her cheeks, where she could still feel Ulrich’s cold touch on her.
Then she turned toward the sisters.
"Girls," Louise called, approaching them "Come here for a moment."
Hermione looked suspicious immediately.
Esther brightened.
Airam watched Ulrich’s retreating back until he disappeared into the crowd.