My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Ulrich stood calmly as Kaliantha raised her hand toward him.

The evening had not unfolded as he had intended.

Antonias had returned to the ballroom far sooner than expected, drunk, bleeding, and furious enough to drag half the court into the scandal he should have kept hidden. Yet, in the end, his interruption had made matters easier for Ulrich. The King had destroyed his own dignity before the nobles, spoken too freely of leaving with Louise, and raised his hand against Kaliantha in full view of everyone.

Now Kaliantha stood before Ulrich with her hand extended.

He took it.

For several seconds, the ballroom did not react.

The guests’ attention had remained fixed on the distant doors through which Antonias was still being dragged away, his angry voice occasionally carrying back through the music. Then one noble noticed Kaliantha’s hand in Ulrich’s. A lady beside him followed his gaze. Another guest turned. The realization travelled through the ballroom until nearly every face had turned toward them.

Kaliantha had asked Count Rubenhart to dance.

The court stared.

A few mouths opened before their owners remembered where they were. Even the musicians faltered again, though the master of ceremonies threw them such a desperate look that they continued playing.

Kaliantha had just sent her husband away beneath guard.

And now she had taken Ulrich’s hand.

There was only one meaning the court could attach to it.

She meant to replace Antonias for the dance.

That was what passed from noble to noble in silent glances.

Kaliantha never acted without consideration.

She was not impulsive. She did not allow her temper to direct her before the court. Every word she spoke, every person she received, every invitation she accepted had a purpose behind it. If she chose Ulrich for a dance at her daughter’s celebration, after Antonias had humiliated her so openly, then the nobles assumed she meant to make a statement.

The simplest explanation was vengeance.

Antonias had embarrassed her by leaving the ballroom with Louise. He had returned bloodied and drunk, accused Ulrich before the court, and then shoved his own wife aside in his rage. Perhaps Kaliantha intended to answer that humiliation with one of her own.

Yet even that did not fully explain it.

She could have returned to her throne. She could have called for the next dance and allowed Albert to lead Camellia onto the floor while she watched from a distance. Instead, she had chosen to remain at the center of the room.

And she had chosen Ulrich.

Ulrich Van Rubenhart, who may truly have struck the King.

No one in the ballroom found that accusation difficult to believe. Ulrich had never made any secret of his contempt for Antonias, even if he had been careful about how openly he showed it. He was not a harmless lord eager to bow and agree with every royal demand. He had too much authority, too much influence, and too little patience for the King’s foolishness.

Kaliantha knew this as well as anyone.

She had to know what the dance would cause. The gossip would spread through the palace before the final song ended. By morning, every household in the capital would have heard that Antonias left his daughter’s celebration with Louise, returned injured, and watched his wife take the floor with Count Rubenhart.

It would deepen the feud between Ulrich and Antonias.

It would make the court choose sides.

Still, Kaliantha kept her hand in Ulrich’s.

For the nobles, the decision was incomprehensible, shocking.

For her children, it was worse.

Albert and Camellia had been preparing to dance when they saw their mother move toward Ulrich. They froze at the edge of the floor, their hands still apart, as Ulrich accepted Kaliantha’s invitation and led her toward the center of the ballroom.

Albert’s mouth had fallen open so widely that he seemed to have forgotten how to close it.

Camellia remained quieter, but her shock was no less obvious. Her fingers had tightened around the folds of her skirt, and she watched her mother as though the woman walking beside Ulrich could not possibly be the same mother she had known all her life.

Camellia knew her mother better than anyone.

Her mother was very level-headed, reserved. Kaliantha did not act from spite, and she certainly did not invite a man to dance simply to hurt Antonias in return.

Camellia tried to understand it.

Perhaps this was anger. Perhaps Kaliantha had reached the end of her patience and meant to repay Antonias’s public insult by placing Ulrich at her side, where Antonias could see him.

But that explanation sat poorly with her.

Kaliantha had seemed calm after ordering Antonias away. Her anger had been real, but it had not controlled her. She had looked as she always did when making a difficult decision: quiet, exact, impossible to read.

So why Ulrich?

Why now?

While Albert and Camellia stood questioning everything they knew about their mother, Kaliantha crossed the ballroom beside Ulrich. Before reaching the center of the floor, she glanced toward her children.

Albert and Camellia flinched under her gaze.

Albert immediately reached for his sister’s hand. Camellia placed her fingers in his, and together they moved into position with a stiffness neither of them could hide.

Only then did Kaliantha look back at Ulrich.

Standing beside him made their difference in height impossible to ignore. The crown of her head reached close to his chin. Ulrich’s shadow fell across her as the ballroom lamps caught against the dark fabric of his coat.

Kaliantha lifted her eyes to him.

Her mismatched eyes, one emerald and one sapphire, caught the gold light differently. The green appeared darker beneath her lowered lashes, while the blue held a clearer brightness. Both remained fixed on Ulrich’s face.

Ulrich met her gaze with his own deep red eyes.

"Forgive me," he said.

Kaliantha did not have time to ask what he meant.

Ulrich placed his right hand at her waist.

His palm settled against the fabric of her white and pink gown with perfect care, firm enough to guide her but not so close that the touch could be mistaken for carelessness. With his other hand, he adjusted his hold on hers and interlaced his fingers with hers.

Kaliantha felt the difference immediately.

Ulrich wore no gloves.

His hand was warm around hers, much larger than her own. The skin of his palm was rough, and the calluses along his fingers caught against her delicate and spotless hand when he moved.

Her attention dropped despite herself.

The calluses were thick.

They had not come from ceremonial training with a sword held only for appearances. They were the marks of years spent gripping weapons until the leather of a hilt and the weight of a blade had hardened his hands.

A man who had swung a sword countless times.

A man who had held other weapons as well.

Kaliantha looked at his hand in hers for another second before lifting her gaze back to his face.

Ulrich did not move.

He waited for her.

The ballroom had fallen into an uneasy stillness around them. Guests watched from every side of the floor, their attention caught between the Queen’s joined hand with Count Rubenhart and the fading noise of Antonias’s removal beyond the doors. Albert and Camellia remained nearby, still standing awkwardly where the first dance had been meant to begin.

Kaliantha understood what Ulrich was waiting for.

Not permission to hold her hand. He had already done that.

He waited for her decision.

For a moment, she considered withdrawing. A single movement would end this before it began. She could return to the dais, allow Albert and Camellia to take the floor, and leave Ulrich to explain himself tomorrow beneath the privacy of the royal chambers.

But every eye in the hall was already upon them.

Antonias had made certain of that.

Kaliantha gave Ulrich a slight nod.

Ulrich moved at once.

He drew her forward with a smooth step, taking the lead before either Albert or Camellia could recover from their shock. Kaliantha followed without stumbling, her skirts shifting over the marble as he guided her toward the center of the ballroom.

The master of ceremonies saw the movement and panicked.

The dance that had been prepared for Camellia and Antonias could no longer begin as planned. The King was gone, the Queen had stepped onto the floor with another man, and every noble in the room waited to see what would happen next.

He turned hurriedly toward the musicians.

"Follow Her Majesty," he ordered.

The musicians obeyed immediately.

Their hands adjusted across strings and keys. The melody changed beneath the Queen and Count’s first steps, abandoning the arrangement intended for a father and daughter. The new rhythm followed Ulrich’s pace: formal enough for the court, slow enough that Kaliantha and Ulrich could move with control across the floor.

Albert looked toward Camellia.

Camellia looked back at him.

Neither of them spoke for a moment

Then Albert lifted his hand again, still visibly uncertain, and Camellia accepted it. They moved onto the floor several steps behind Kaliantha and Ulrich, following the rhythm the Queen and Count had chosen.

Yet no one watched the prince and princess.

The court watched Kaliantha.

They watched Ulrich.

A Queen and a Count crossed the ballroom together while her husband was dragged from the hall in disgrace. No one could remember such a thing ever happening in Skargardian history, nor could anyone decide whether they were witnessing an act of royal anger, political calculation, or something else entirely.