Chapter 194: A Dance Between Sisters

Supper had ended some while before, the last of the broth scraped clean from wooden bowls and the fire allowed to settle into embers, when Ulrich told them plainly that they ought to retire to the tent if they hoped for proper rest before the early start awaiting them at dawn. Yet the three of them lingered instead, unwilling to trade the last of the evening for sleep so soon after eating.

Or rather, it was Hermione who insisted on staying, since she understood better than her sisters what waited for them once they crossed back within the Estate’s walls: long days confined to its halls and gardens, lessons stacked upon lessons, and precious little cause to feel open sky above their heads or grass beneath their boots.

She did not fault Ulrich for the shape their lives would take. He watched over the three of them with a caution that had only sharpened since Libra’s attack, and she understood the thoughts behind that vigilance even when it chafed against her. Still, she wanted to wring a little more from the evening while she could, especially with the landscape spread so handsomely around them, the stream running silver-dark under the rising moon, the tall grass silvered with dew, the mountains beyond holding the last violet light of the sunset against their peaks.

Ulrich did not press the matter further. He allowed them their small stretch of freedom, settling instead near the fire with his sword within reach, watching them without watching them, the way he always did.

"Once we’re back, it’s straight into lessons again," Hermione said, letting out a long breath through her nose.

"I’m so happy to see Monika, Linnea and the others again," Esther said, bouncing where she sat.

"I’m only interested in what more the Grandmaster has to teach me," Hermione said.

"At least we won’t have to endure dance lessons with Elana anymore," Airam said from the side.

Hermione turned toward her, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

"You must be terribly disappointed, then, Airam."

"No."

"But eldest sister," Esther chimed in, tilting her head, "you looked like you were enjoying yourself so very much when you danced with Lord Ulrich."

"I did not enjoy it. It was exhausting," Airam said, folding her arms.

"Exhausting, and yet you managed such elegant footwork with him. Isn’t that right, Esther?" Hermione rose to her feet and pulled Esther up with her by the wrist. "You looked positively absorbed in it."

She dropped into an exaggerated approximation of a court bow, then began sweeping Esther through the same steps, prompting a fit of giggling from the younger girl as she stumbled to keep pace.

"And with such a spectacular finish," Hermione added, twisting Esther through the final pose Airam had struck in Ulrich’s arms: the one where he had held her suspended nearly parallel to the floor, her hair black spilling downward. Hermione reenacted it with herself standing in for Ulrich and Esther playing Airam, dipping her sister low with theatrical flourish.

Airam said nothing. She only regarded her sisters with a flat stare, one eyebrow lifted just slightly higher than the other.

"I think eldest sister looked very pretty!" Esther said, breaking free of Hermione’s grip and skipping toward Airam with her hand already outstretched.

Airam glanced at that small offered hand, at Esther’s bright, hopeful face waiting beneath it, and felt the corner of her mouth give way despite herself. She took the hand.

Hermione stepped back to give them room, and the two moved toward the bank of the stream, where the grass grew shorter and the ground was flatter, though far from suited to dancing. It was a slow rhythm they fell into, stumbling in places, the uneven pebbled earth catching at their heels more than once. None of that mattered. Esther beamed the whole while, her laughter rising over the murmur of the water as Airam guided her through each turn with patient, careful hands.

Five minutes on, Airam brought them to a gentle stop, and Hermione closed the distance between them before Esther had even caught her breath.

"My turn now." She seized Airam’s hand and drew her forward, and this time Airam yielded, letting herself be pulled into the rhythm rather than resisting it.

"You’re hopeless," Airam said after the third misstep. "Stop treading on my foot."

"S—Shut up!" Hermione blushed.

Airam only smiled, tightening her grip on her sister’s hand. "Keep your footing even. Don’t try to do more than the steps ask of you."

"When did you turn into Elana?" Hermione shot back.

"Since my younger sister still hasn’t learned to dance properly," Airam said, unbothered.

"Hmph."

"I think you both look wonderful!" Esther called from where she stood at the water’s edge, clapping softly.

Hermione and Airam continued on, tracing the same worn pattern of steps across the grass, until at last it was Airam who drew back, releasing her sister’s hand and stepping aside to make room once more.

Esther darted forward eagerly to take her place, reaching for Hermione’s hands beneath the darkening sky.

"I see that Lady Esther wishes for more," Hermione said, smiling as she caught her sister’s fingers in her own.

"I do!" Esther replied, giggling before falling into step, letting Hermione guide her through the same simple turns Airam had taught moments before.

Airam stood apart from them now, arms loosely crossed, watching the pair with an expression far softer than the stare she’d worn only minutes earlier.

Near the campfire, Ulrich kept his gaze fixed on the three of them as they moved together across the grass, their laughter carrying easily over the crackle of the flames.

The Rubenhart knights stationed around the camp watched as well, exchanging smiles at the sight of the three sisters dancing and laughing beneath the stars. Over the two years they had spent guarding them, the men had grown genuinely fond of the girls, fond enough that a few began clapping along to no particular rhythm, which only seemed to embolden the sisters further, their steps growing bolder and their laughter louder in response.

They carried on for perhaps twenty minutes more, until weariness finally caught up with all three of them, cheeks flushed pink beneath the glow of firelight and the drifting sparks of fireflies weaving low over the stream.

"Get them ready for sleep," Ulrich said at last, addressing the female knights among his retinue. They nodded and moved to collect the sisters, drawing them a short distance from the main camp, though still safely within the barrier’s reach, so they might change in privacy.

Five minutes later, the three returned dressed in their nightgowns, hair loosed from its earlier braids and falling freely down their backs. Travel gear made for poor bedclothes, after all, and no one wanted three cranky girls come morning.

"Good night, Lord Ulrich!" Esther called out, beaming and waving one hand high above her head.

Ulrich nodded his head toward her before turning his attention back to the fire.

"G-good night."

The stutter caught his ear, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Hermione standing there with her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest, a flush rising in her cheeks that owed nothing to the fire’s warmth. When his gaze lingered on her a moment longer than strictly necessary, she broke first, hurrying after Esther and disappearing through the tent flap.

His eyes moved last to Airam, who met his stare, almost daring him to use a spell once more on her to put her to sleep. But she said nothing. She simply turned and followed her sisters inside, letting the canvas fall closed behind her.

"You should get some rest, my lord," Hendrick said, appearing at his side.

Ulrich looked up at him.

"Later. Keep the rounds going."

"My lord." Hendrick bowed his head and withdrew to relay the order.

Ulrich turned his attention back to the fire, drawing a stick idly through the coals as his thoughts wandered.

Camellia’s coming-of-age ceremony had gone better than he’d dared hope. He had managed to save Kaliantha, secure the three sisters’ place within the nobility, and, beyond anything he’d planned for, see them earn the friendship of the Princess herself, the very woman who stood as the novel’s leading lady. He could hardly have asked the fates for more.

And the girls themselves had exceeded every expectation he’d carried into that ballroom. Perhaps this feeling settling warm in his chest was what people called pride. Two years of effort, of resources poured carefully into their training and their standing, and it had paid off far beyond what he’d calculated.

He was still turning the thought over when his ears caught something sharper than the crackle of the fire, the soft fall of a footstep. It shouldn’t have alarmed him; his knights kept constant rounds near the barrier’s edge. But beneath the footstep came something else, a faint tremor along the crimson barrier’s boundary, one only he could feel.

He rose without hesitation and crossed the camp toward the disturbance, clearing the stream in a single stride before slowing his pace as he neared the barrier’s perimeter. Invisible to the naked eye, it revealed itself only when tested with a faint crimson ripple spreading outward wherever something pressed against it.

When Ulrich reached the edge, he stopped short and stared into the darkness beyond.

A man stood there.

Dark-haired, dark-eyed, dressed in a black coat cut in the same fashion he’d worn once before, in a ballroom, speaking of the sisters as though he had always known them.

He smiled when he saw Ulrich looking.

"Are you having a good trip, Count Rubenhart?"