My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

When the call for the Skargardian Waltz was announced, Ulrich did not share the excitement rising through the hall.

The other nobles responded exactly as expected.

Voices lifted, smiles spread. Men straightened their sleeves and adjusted their cuffs. Women exchanged glances, lowered their lashes, or pretended not to notice the attention already turning toward them. For unmarried men and women in particular, a shared Skargardian Waltz was never only a dance. It was an opening, a chance to impress, to charm, to linger in memory. Entire courtships had begun from less.

It was because of that reputation that the dance held so much weight in Skargardia.

People liked to romanticize it, to speak of it in soft voices as though the kingdom itself had been built on couples who first met beneath chandeliers and slow music. Ulrich had no patience for such sentimentality, but even he could not deny what the dance did. It brought people close. It demanded contact, rhythm, attention, and mutual control. Two strangers could reveal far more to each other in a single dance than in half an hour of careful conversation.

To Ulrich, however, none of that made it interesting.

Its value was symbolic.

That was all.

The reason he had forced Airam, Hermione, and Esther to learn it so thoroughly had never been personal appreciation. He knew how important the Skargardian Waltz was to the kingdom. He knew how closely nobles watched these things, how easily they measured belonging through custom. If the sisters danced it well, then even people inclined to despise them would be forced to acknowledge the effort. Not accept them fully, perhaps, but acknowledge them. In a court like this, that alone could matter.

He glanced briefly toward them.

The three sisters were still standing near Camellia and Astrid.

For a fleeting instant, Ulrich found the sight oddly satisfying.

Three future villainesses, standing beside two important female leads of the story, and none of them openly at each other’s throats. Considering what he knew of the novel, that alone felt almost unnatural.

Still, there was no reason for him to remain at their side now.

He had already watched them dance often enough to know they were capable. Whatever their personal complaints, all three had learned the steps properly. They would not humiliate themselves through incompetence. More importantly, his continued presence near them would only make matters worse. Boys already found him intimidating enough without encouragement. Most would not dare approach the sisters if he remained too close, and however irritating noble youths were, the girls needed those interactions eventually.

Women, of course, were another matter.

Men hesitated before him. Women far less so.

His rank, his looks, and the aura around him made many cautious, but it did not stop them altogether. A certain type of woman, especially in noble circles, often found danger easier to romanticize when it was dressed well and carried a title.

None of that concerned him tonight.

His attention had to remain elsewhere.

Finding the infiltrated demons, if such a thing were even possible before they moved, was already difficult enough without wasting time on the dance floor or hovering over the sisters like some paranoid watchdog.

The task was near impossible, truthfully.

But what other choice did he have?

The larger problem remained unchanged.

The demons involved in tonight’s assassination attempt should not know Ulrich was one of their hidden allies.

That fact was restricted carefully for a reason. Only a handful of high-ranking demons knew the truth of his position. Even within their own hierarchy, knowledge was controlled tightly. Ulrich was too valuable a card to leave carelessly exposed. If word of his involvement spread too far, then the very network meant to protect his usefulness could become the thing that destroyed it.

The demons were not fools.

They distrusted one another almost as naturally as humans did. Important assets were hidden, compartmentalized, and only disclosed where necessary. Ulrich’s cooperation was one of those secrets.

Even the demons who had entered Skargardian lands through routes connected to his territory had not fully understood why their movement had gone so smoothly. They benefited from his hand without seeing it directly. That was how it had to remain.

Ulrich was cautious by nature.

The demons who had chosen to cultivate him were cautious as well.

So yes, any expendable demon sent tonight to kill Kaliantha, or die trying, was not supposed to know he was an ally. If one of them noticed him acting in open opposition to their mission and survived long enough to speak, the consequences would become tiresome very quickly.

Not fatal, perhaps.

But troublesome.

And Ulrich hated trouble that could have been prevented.

In truth, that part changed little about his original intent. He already planned to eliminate whatever infiltrator he could identify. The real concern lay elsewhere.

Not the lesser demons.

The potential observers.

Zagon had been too calm. Too detached. That alone made Ulrich wary. Men like him did not trust reports delivered secondhand if they could position their own eyes near the event. If expendable demons had been sent to act, then it was possible some higher-ranked presence was also hidden nearby, not to intervene, but to watch.

That was what concerned him.

If one of those hidden observers saw Ulrich acting too early, too precisely, or too personally in Kaliantha’s defense, then questions would follow.

His thoughts narrowed.

If only he could determine the timing of the attempt.

Timing would change everything.

If he knew when the strike was meant to happen, he could position himself naturally, react within believable limits, and avoid looking like a man who had prepared in advance. Without timing, every movement risked becoming either too late or too suspicious.

His eyes swept the hall again.

Surely they would not attempt to assassinate Kaliantha during the waltz.

The space before the throne had been opened too widely now. Once the dance began, the central floor would be exposed beneath everyone’s attention. Too many eyes. Too much distance. Too little cover. Anyone rushing the queen there would be seen almost instantly unless the plan relied on complete chaos.

Then what timing were they aiming for?

Ulrich kept his gaze moving across the hall, his thoughts turning over the same problem without finding a clean answer.

"Ulrich."

Louise’s voice reached him from behind just as his thoughts were beginning to narrow too sharply.

He turned.

She stood there with a faint smile and one hand extended toward him, palm lifted in a gesture that needed no explanation.

"As promised," she said.

Ulrich looked at her hand, then at her face.

"I do not remember promising anything."

Louise tilted her head. "Would you refuse the daughter of a marquis after making her wait?"

Ulrich let out a quiet breath through his nose.

In truth, refusing her now would only draw more attention than accepting. A dance was ordinary. A refusal, after what had just happened with the Crown Prince, would be noticed too easily. And for the next few minutes, nothing should happen. Or at least, if anything did, it would likely reveal itself soon enough even from the dance floor.

So he took her hand.

Without another word, he led her toward the center where the other couples had already begun to move beneath the first measures of the Skargardian Waltz.

Louise’s smile widened slightly.

Once they reached their place among the dancers, she set one hand lightly upon his shoulder while he took her other in his own and placed the second at her waist. Then they began.

The Skargardian Waltz was built on elegance disguised as ease. A measured step forward, a smooth sweep to the side, the closing of the feet with perfect timing, then the turn, then the glide again. It asked for discipline more than passion, control more than flair. Even at its lightest, it punished hesitation.

Both of them moved flawlessly.

That much was unsurprising.

They chose a slower rhythm, one of the more graceful patterns rather than the faster, showier ones some younger nobles preferred. Louise likely chose it because she wished to enjoy the dance. Ulrich chose it because it allowed him to keep more awareness of the hall around him.

"As always," Louise said, looking up at him, "you are flawless in nearly every regard, Ulrich."

He guided her cleanly through a turn.

"I wonder which regard I fail in."

"Social skills," she said at once.

"Perhaps."

Louise’s mouth curved. "Would you at least look at me while we are dancing?"

Ulrich lowered his gaze fully to her then.

She was pouting very slightly, not enough to make herself look childish, only enough to make the complaint visible. And she was not wrong. Even now, a part of his attention remained elsewhere, scanning movement at the edge of the room, noting changes in distance, exits, servants carrying trays, guards shifting positions.

It was discourteous.

He knew it.

So for the next few moments, he allowed himself to indulge the dance properly. His hand settled a little more firmly at her waist. His lead sharpened. The rhythm of his steps grew cleaner, more decisive, and Louise felt the change at once.

Her smile softened.

Now he was truly dancing with her, not merely enduring the motions.

She let herself follow his lead completely, her skirts sweeping in an arc each time he turned them, the hem brushing the floor in pale ripples under the chandeliers. Around them, other couples rotated in widening circles, silk and velvet passing in ordered motion, but Louise’s attention remained fixed entirely on the man before her.

Several minutes passed like that.

She found herself more at ease than she had expected, and more pleased than she wished to show too openly. There was a steadiness in dancing with Ulrich that few others could match. He never fumbled, never overreached, never mistook confidence for roughness. Even his restraint had precision to it.

"As expected," she murmured, "there truly is no man quite like you, Ulrich."

He looked down at her, but said nothing.

Perhaps encouraged by that silence, Louise continued.

"If you have ever wondered why I enjoy provoking Ashara so much, it is because I was jealous of her."

Ulrich’s expression did not shift.

Louise gave a small laugh at herself, though it lacked mockery this time.

"No, more than jealous," she corrected softly. "Envious. I still am, perhaps. She had what I wanted. Or rather, she had the place I wanted. You chose her over me, and no matter how much you deny it now, no matter how completely you cut things off, she still has a place in your heart."

Ulrich’s hand remained steady at her waist.

"Is this your way of influencing my choice," he asked, "should I decide to take a Countess?"

Louise chuckled and shook her head.

"I am still envious of Ashara," she said, "but I do not believe she remains a real threat to that position."

She lifted her gaze to him more seriously.

"What your father did was not a simple cancellation. Breaking the engagement so suddenly, and without proper cause, humiliated House Frost. No Arcadian house of standing accepts that kind of insult quietly. I am certain you understand."

"I have no intention of making Ashara my Countess," Ulrich replied.

And he meant it, at least in the plainest sense.

Still, he understood exactly what Louise was implying. Though he had been younger when the matter ended, the insult had not vanished with time. House Frost would not have forgotten. Houses like that never forgot anything that touched pride, especially not public slight disguised as private decision.

Louise seemed satisfied by his answer.

She moved a little closer during the next turn, enough that the rhythm between them softened, enough that her breath brushed faintly against the front of his coat when the dance slowed.

"Then I suppose," she said, her voice lower now, "that I stand ahead of her."

Ulrich looked at her in silence.

Had she always been this direct?

Perhaps she had.

Perhaps he had simply never cared enough to notice. In those years, his eyes had been only fixed on Ashara to look properly at anyone else, and what little attention he had spared Louise had likely been filtered through the irritation of old family arrangements and quiet rivalry.

But looking at her now, he could not call her a bad woman.

Ambitious, yes.

Persistent, certainly.

A little calculating, even now.

But not bad.

She wanted a place. She wanted security, rank, perhaps even something resembling happiness. There was nothing particularly monstrous in that. It was the same thing most nobles wanted, only with more honesty than many dared show aloud.

What Ulrich still did not understand was why she wanted those things with him.

"You are," he said simply.

Louise’s smile brightened at once.

She did not answer with more teasing this time. Instead, she only let herself stay a little closer as they continued to move through the dance, pleased enough with that small admission not to press harder for the moment.

Ulrich, meanwhile, had already begun considering when to end this cleanly.

A few more minutes. No more than that.

Then he would separate, resume watching the hall, and continue trying to pin down the shape of the attack before it surfaced. His thoughts had already started to drift again, moving from Louise back toward the dais, the guards, the circulation of servants...

And then his eyes found the sisters.

He had expected to see them dancing by now.

At the very least, he had expected to see one or two nervous young nobles hovering nearby, awkward but willing. Camellia and Astrid had been taken to the floor already. It only followed that the three sisters would soon be drawn into the same rhythm.

Instead, they stood apart.

Not merely standing.

But isolated.

And shunned.