My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Five minutes had passed, and the dance continued.

The ballroom of Skargardian Keep remained under a silence no ceremony had ever commanded before.

Everyone watched the floor.

Prince Albert danced with Princess Camellia on one side of the wide marble space. They had regained some of their composure after the shock of Antonias’s removal, and Kaliantha’s decision to dance with Ulrich.

But neither of them held the ballroom’s attention.

That belonged to Queen Kaliantha and Count Ulrich van Rubenhart.

They moved as though they had danced together for years.

With every movement Ulrich made, Kaliantha answered him without hesitation. When he shifted his weight, she was already following the next step. When he turned, her skirts swept around her in perfect time with the movement of his arm. When she altered the rhythm by the smallest degree, Ulrich caught it at once and adjusted to her without breaking the shape of the dance.

There were no pauses between them.

No missteps.

No uncertain correction made after one partner had moved too early or too late.

Their movements flowed into each other so naturally that it became difficult to tell where Ulrich’s lead ended and Kaliantha’s response began. They had raised the pace twice already, yet neither seemed breathless. If anything, the quicker rhythm only made the dance appear more striking.

The Count’s crimson formal coat moved with every turn, while the Queen’s gown swept around him in pale, shining layers. Her jeweled hair ornaments caught the light whenever he guided her beneath his arm. From a distance, their steps seemed too light for the speed they kept.

It did not look like two people trying to impress the court.

It looked like two people who had forgotten the court was there.

"They are so beautiful..." Esther whispered.

She stood with Louise and her sisters near the side of the ballroom, her hands clasped beneath her chin as she watched the Queen and Ulrich.

Hermione did not answer.

She hated to admit it but Esther was right.

Kaliantha and Ulrich made an unbelievable sight together. The Queen had always been beautiful; even seated upon the dais, there had been something difficult to look away from in her pale face and mismatched eyes. Yet she looked different while dancing.

More alive.

The delicate restraint she wore while sitting beside Antonias had fallen away. Her movements were a picture of beauty. Every turn showed the grace of her elven blood, but there was nothing fragile about it. Kaliantha did not simply follow Ulrich because he led. She read him. She anticipated the direction of every movement and met it with her own strength.

Hermione found herself thinking of Airam.

Ulrich had danced with Airam before, and Airam had followed him through a fast rhythm with that same sharp, instinctive ability she carried into everything else. But Kaliantha was different. Airam moved to challenge Ulrich, but Kaliantha moved as though she had been born knowing the dance before the music even began.

And she was better.

Hermione could admit that much, even if the thought left a bitter little discomfort within her chest.

Kaliantha was perhaps the most perfect partner Ulrich could have found.

She was intelligent enough to understand his movements without needing him to explain them. She was calm enough not to become flustered when the rhythm changed. She was beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, especially now, with Ulrich standing so close beside her.

They looked right together.

She did not know why Ulrich had asked the Queen to dance. Perhaps he truly could not refuse after Kaliantha extended her hand. Perhaps there was some political reason behind it. Perhaps he had only meant to prevent the entire evening from collapsing after Antonias had humiliated his own family.

Still, Hermione could not help watching the place of Ulrich’s hand at Kaliantha’s waist.

She looked away.

Airam, beside her, had said nothing.

Her arms remained crossed over her chest, and her expression was as composed as ever. Yet her eyes had not left the dance floor. She watched Kaliantha with the attention she usually reserved for Ulrich, Meera, or a threat she wished to understand before it moved.

The Queen had earned that attention.

Airam had not expected much from a woman like Kaliantha when she first saw her. Beauty, authority, elegance, those things were easy to find among those born into palaces. But Kaliantha was not merely beautiful. She had intervened when Antonias lost control, sent him away without raising her voice, and then walked onto the floor beside Ulrich while every noble in the kingdom watched.

She had not done it impulsively.

Airam could see that much.

The Queen was one of a kind.

Louise watched the dance in silence beside them.

Unexpectedly, she didn’t feel envious. The sight before her was too strange, too elegant, and too far beyond anything she could have imagined earlier that evening.

And Kaliantha unlike all of Ulrich’s previous partners, wasn’t losing at all to Ulrich in control.

If anything, the Queen appeared to be questioning him with every look she gave.

Louise almost felt sorry for Ulrich.

Almost.

Across the ballroom, Kaliantha’s questioning had not stopped.

She followed Ulrich’s pace without error, but her mismatched eyes remained fixed on him. Neither gave him any sign that she had accepted his explanations.

Ulrich had answered each question carefully.

He had spoken of loyalty. He had spoken of wanting to give her a proper dance. He had admitted enough about Antonias to make it clear the King’s accusation had not been entirely false, then refused to promise that he would tolerate Antonias’s conduct in the future.

Kaliantha had understood every evasion.

She had not reached the thought that someone might attempt to harm her that evening.

That was good.

It was also becoming more difficult to maintain.

Ulrich felt it with every second that passed.

The feeling had begun as a small discomfort when he noticed the masked musician. It had grown sharper when he saw the figure watching the royal dais. Now it pressed against the back of his mind with a certainty he had learned not to ignore.

Something was coming.

They were waiting for the perfect opportunity.

And waiting for the perfect moment to reveal itself was not a strategy.

It was surrendering the advantage.

If they waited for an opening, then Ulrich would give them one.

Not a real opening.

Only something convincing enough to make them move.

"Your Majesty," Ulrich said.

His hand pressed more at Kaliantha’s waist, drawing her a little closer as the dance carried them through the center of the room. Before she could ask what he intended, he changed the rhythm.

He took a step far quicker than the one before it.

The movement was two measures faster than the pace he had held with Airam, and even that earlier dance had been considered quick by anyone watching. The music faltered for a breath. Then the musicians hurried to catch up, bows moving faster across the strings as the melody rose in response.

Kaliantha felt the shift immediately.

Her eyes narrowed.

She had no choice but to follow him if she wished to preserve the form of the dance before the court. Yet she did not merely follow. Her feet struck the marble in time with his, her skirts turning in a beautiful halo around them as she matched the new pace.

"Since we are here," Ulrich said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear, "I believe we should spend a good time rather than question one another. We have both been upset during this event."

"Spend a good time," Kaliantha repeated.

Her gaze did not soften.

"I doubt dancing is spending a good time for someone like you, Count Rubenhart."

"I would rather read or study," Ulrich admitted.

Kaliantha’s brow lifted slightly.

He drew her through a fast turn, their joined hands lifting before he brought her back into place.

"But I can enjoy a dance," he continued, "depending on the person following me."

Kaliantha stared at him.

He had complimented her.

Not with the empty flattery she had heard since she was old enough to sit beside a throne. Courtly men praised her beauty because they wanted favor. They praised her wisdom because they wanted her agreement. They praised her grace because it was safer than saying anything real.

Ulrich’s words were far simpler.

That was why they reached her.

He had not said she was beautiful. He had not called her graceful or incomparable. He had merely acknowledged what he felt in the dance itself: that she could keep pace with him, understand him, and make the dance worth having.

The truth of it pleased her more than it should have.

Her fingers squeezed his hand.

Then Kaliantha answered his raised rhythm with one of her own.

She quickened her steps.

It was not a challenge spoken aloud, but Ulrich understood it at once. She would not allow him to decide the entire shape of this dance.

Ulrich could hardly hide a tinge of amusement in his expression as he watched that. It seemed at heart, Kaliantha remained a woman who still sought some change in her monotonous life.

The music climbed.

The musicians, now fully alert, gave themselves to the faster measure. The masked musician remained among them, playing as before, though Ulrich noticed the figure’s attention return to the dance floor.

This time, Ulrich let them watch.

He guided Kaliantha through another rapid turn.

She came back to him without hesitation, and for the first time that evening, the surprise around the ballroom broke into faint, uncontrolled breaths. The dance had become too quick to be merely formal. It had become a display of balance, trust, and instinct.

Kaliantha’s gown swept around them in pale circles.

Ulrich’s coat moved with each sudden change in direction.

They seemed to slide over the marble rather than step upon it. Their feet crossed and turned with such accuracy that the floor itself appeared to carry them forward. Ulrich never pulled Kaliantha off balance; Kaliantha never forced him to correct her. Each of them felt the other’s movement before it fully happened.