My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Ulrich did not wait for the demons to settle into their formation.

The instant the first dagger cut through the darkness, he moved.

His arm remained locked around Kaliantha’s back, holding her close enough that there was no space for an attacker to slip a blade between them. Her body pressed against his side as he took a swift step across the marble, drawing her with him before the dagger reached the place where she had stood.

The blade missed by the width of a hand.

It passed through the dim air beside her gown, close enough for Kaliantha to hear the sharp whisper of metal.

Ulrich did not give the assassin a second chance.

He turned his body, keeping Kaliantha shielded behind the line of his chest, and swept them both into another step. The movement was too fast to resemble the court dance they had performed only moments earlier, yet it still carried the same strange rhythm. His feet crossed the marble with perfect pace. Kaliantha followed because she had no other choice, one hand gripping his coat while his arm kept her firmly against him.

Another masked figure moved from the darkness on Ulrich’s right.

Then another emerged to his left.

The bands across their masks glowed pale white.

Thin lines of light ran over black or silver half-masks, curving across their cheeks and temples in patterns that looked almost decorative until Ulrich understood their function. The marks were too bright to be hidden. Each assassin stood out against the darkened ballroom like a moving sliver of moonlight.

They had made themselves visible to one another, though clearly Ulrich had missed the four other assassins who had just put on the masks. As expected, five people wearing the same strange masks would have been too suspicious.

The darkness was meant to blind everyone else: the panicked nobles outside the barrier, the royal guards who could not reach the center of the ballroom, and Kaliantha herself.

But the demons had ensured they would never lose track of their allies.

Ulrich could see them clearly enough now.

Five points of white light moved around the dance floor.

The masked musician stood closest, the dagger held low in his hand as he watched Ulrich’s feet. Two demons had spread wider near the broken edge of the floor, their masks appearing and disappearing behind the shadows cast by the pillars. Another circled behind them, careful not to step too quickly and reveal his position through sound alone.

The fifth remained farther away.

Ulrich did not like that.

The assassin had not attacked with the others. He was waiting. Watching for Ulrich to become occupied with a blade in front of him, so he could strike when Kaliantha was briefly exposed.

Ulrich kept moving.

The demons expected him to be trapped in the center of their circle.

Instead, he refused to remain there.

He moved Kaliantha in sweeping lines across the floor, taking space from the assassins before they could close it around them. Every motion forced the demons to adjust. Every sudden turn made them change their angles. Their plan had been designed for a Queen frozen in fear, surrounded in darkness, perhaps guarded by soldiers unable to see their enemy.

They had not expected a Count to drag her through their formation as though the ballroom still belonged to him.

The masked musician lunged.

Ulrich saw the white lines of the demon’s mask surge toward him before the dagger moved. He pulled Kaliantha backward with a swift step, then twisted her around his body.

The blade passed close to her shoulder.

Kaliantha’s breath caught, but no sound escaped her.

Ulrich did not look down at her.

He could feel her against him. He felt a slight tension running through her body, the way her fingers had tightened in the fabric of his coat, and the quickened beat of her heart where her chest pressed against his side.

But she did not fight his hold.

She did not demand that he let her go.

She did not turn blindly toward the voices outside the barrier and call for Albert or Camellia again.

She stayed silent and obedient and very shockingly calm even in this circumstance, maybe because she knew she had the Phoenix Heart as a last resort.

Ulrich was thankful for it regardless.

Kaliantha did not make herself another problem for him to manage.

She observed.

She waited.

And when Ulrich moved, she followed.

That was enough.

A second demon rushed them from the left.

Ulrich stepped backward, but the assassin had anticipated the motion. The dagger came low, aimed beneath the line of Kaliantha’s gown where a single strike could open her thigh before Ulrich could shift her away.

Ulrich’s arm tightened around her waist.

He lifted her.

Kaliantha’s feet left the marble, drawing a small gasp from her.

For one breath, her body rose against his as he carried her across the path of the blade. The hem of her gown swept above the dagger’s edge. Ulrich turned with her in his arms, his shoulder passing close enough to the assassin that he smelled damp leather and the strange, bitter scent that clung to demonic mana.

The dagger missed.

Ulrich put Kaliantha back on her feet only long enough for her balance to return.

Then he moved again.

The third demon had already come forward.

Ulrich pulled Kaliantha against his chest, placing her between his arm and the solid line of his body. Her back pressed against him as he took two quick steps to the side. The assassin’s blade flashed down in front of them, striking only the empty floor.

Metal rang against marble.

The sound was brief, hard, and bright within the darkness.

Kaliantha looked up at Ulrich.

The thin red glow in his eyes was just visible above her. He had not drawn a weapon. One arm remained around her. The other was held slightly forward, empty, ready to catch, deflect, or break whatever came too close.

"You knew," Kaliantha said.

Ulrich avoided another strike.

The masked musician had recovered from the first missed attack and came at them again, his dagger aimed toward Ulrich’s side. Ulrich stepped around the blade, keeping Kaliantha close as he shifted them both past the assassin’s shoulder.

"They are demons," Kaliantha continued.

It was not a question.

She had recognized the unnatural coordination. The masks. The barrier that isolated her from her guards. The way the attackers moved without calling to one another, as though they had rehearsed this moment until every position was known.

"Yes," Ulrich admitted.

He couldn’t lie to someone like her. She had probably by now understood maybe even that Ulrich’s strange request to dance was due to what was happening right now.

The demon behind them slashed forward.

Ulrich moved Kaliantha beneath his arm, spinning her around the safe side of his body as he took the blade past his back. It cut nothing but the edge of his coat.

"They came here to kill me," Kaliantha said.

"Five demons slipped into a royal event," Ulrich said, guiding her through another quick turn. "It is a poor showing for Skargardian security."

Even now, with blades cutting toward them in the dark, his voice remained calm.

Kaliantha’s fingers drew tighter around his coat.

"Perhaps," she replied.

The answer was quiet.

Yet Ulrich heard everything beneath it.

Perhaps the royal security had failed.

Perhaps someone inside the Keep had helped the demons enter.

Perhaps the people assigned to protect her had not merely been careless.

Another demon came close enough that the white bands across his mask lit the side of Kaliantha’s face.

Ulrich saw the strike coming too late to move her away with the careful restraint he had used until now.

The assassin’s blade was aimed for Kaliantha’s ribs.

Ulrich pulled her hard against him.

Her body collided fully with his chest. His arm wrapped more tightly around her back, holding her in place as he bent and turned. The dagger passed over them, close enough that Kaliantha heard the blade scrape against the jeweled ornament at her shoulder.

Ulrich did not release her afterward.

He kept her pressed close.

The demons were growing faster. They had seen that he would not abandon the Queen. They had understood that the only way to reach Kaliantha was to force Ulrich into a position where his hold on her became an advantage they could exploit.

They would come from multiple directions.

They would strike high and low.

They would make him choose between moving Kaliantha out of one blade’s path and exposing her to another.

Ulrich had to stop reacting.

He had to start breaking them apart.

"Your Majesty," he said.

Kaliantha lifted her eyes toward him.

"I will have to be a bit rough," he informed her, as it was starting to really become dangerous if he continued like that.

For an instant, the words might have sounded absurd in the middle of the ballroom. But Kaliantha understood what he meant.

He had been careful until now.

Careful when he moved her. Careful when he lifted her. Careful not to pull her too abruptly, not to force her into a movement that might hurt her, not to make her lose her footing on the floor.

That caution had limits.

The demons would not give him room to remain gentle.

"I understand," Kaliantha said.

There was no hesitation.

Ulrich nodded once.

Then he truly moved.

The fourth assassin rushed in from the darkness, aiming a swift cut at Ulrich’s shoulder.

Ulrich pulled Kaliantha even closer.

His arm drew her entirely against him, one hand spread across the center of her back as he shifted their bodies sideways. The demon’s dagger passed in front of them. Ulrich’s coat brushed Kaliantha’s cheek as he moved her beneath his chin, sheltering her from the line of the blade.

The assassin reversed the dagger immediately.

The second strike came lower and faster.

Ulrich turned inside it.

The edge caught his cheek.

Pain burned across his face.

A thin line opened beneath his left eye, and warm blood ran along his skin toward his jaw.

Kaliantha felt the movement of his head as the blade passed.

"Count—"

He did not answer.

The demon had entered too close.

Ulrich saw the opening.

His left hand shot forward and closed around the assassin’s arm.

The demon tried to pull away.

It was stronger than a human. Ulrich felt the unnatural density in the limb beneath his grip, the force of the creature’s muscles tightening as black mana stirred beneath its skin. The masked figure twisted its wrist, trying to tear itself from Ulrich’s hold before the Count could bring his greater strength to bear.

Ulrich did not let go.

His other arm remained wrapped around Kaliantha’s back.

He could not use both hands.

He could not simply throw her away to fight freely.

So he did not.

He adjusted his stance, planted one foot firmly against the marble, and pulled the demon toward him with his left arm.

The assassin lurched forward.

Ulrich used the movement.

He dragged the demon past the line of Kaliantha’s body, keeping her behind his shoulder, then turned his hips sharply. The assassin’s feet left the floor as Ulrich lifted through the arm he held.

The demon had only enough time to make a harsh, startled sound behind the mask.

Then Ulrich slammed it into the ground.

The impact cracked through the barrier.

The demon’s back struck the marble with enough force to shake the loose fragments of broken mana stone scattered near their feet. Its head snapped against the floor. The glowing lines on the mask flickered wildly.

The dagger remained in the demon’s hand.

Ulrich did not give it time to recover.

He drove his heel down onto the assassin’s wrist.

The bone gave beneath the force.

The demon’s hand opened.

Its dagger spun up and bounced off the floor.

Ulrich caught it in midair with his left hand.

The weapon landed cleanly in his palm, the grip warm from the demon’s hand. He tested its balance in a fraction of a second. It was not an artifact. Not the weapon from the black box. But it was sharp, well-made, and more than enough.

A fifth blade came at him.

Ulrich swept across the floor.

He brought Kaliantha with him in the same motion, keeping her tight against his side while the dagger cut through the darkness where his throat had been. The assassin passed too close, its glowing mask briefly illuminating the blood on Ulrich’s cheek and the cold expression in his red eyes.

Ulrich’s stolen dagger rose.

It was time to go on the offensive.