Before Airam, Hermione, and Esther knew it, only two weeks remained until the anticipated birthday banquet of the Royal Princess. The capital of Skargardia was, without doubt, caught in a frantic hurry of lavish preparations, and the Rubenhart estate was certainly no exception.

The initial excitement of ordering custom gowns and expensive jewelry had quickly faded, replaced by the reality of high-society expectations.

Inside one of the estate’s grand rooms, the morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor.

The open space had been completely cleared of its usual plush furnishings to provide ample room for the day’s rigorous activities. In the far corner, a hired string quartet played a continuous, sweeping melody, their bows gliding in perfect unison over their instruments. The music was meant to simulate the grand orchestras the sisters would soon face at the royal court, filling the echoing room with a lively, demanding tempo.

In the center of the floor, Linnea paced while keeping a serious gaze.

The dance lessons had moved far past the basics of simple curtsies and modest steps. They were now in the advanced stages of their training, required to master the complex, sweeping movements of the Skargardian Imperial Waltz, a dance known for its rapid pivots, demanding footwork, and the necessity of maintaining an aura of grace.

It wasn’t really a wonder from a kingdom descended from elves to be this expectant.

"Shoulders back, Lady Hermione. You are not carrying a sack of flour; you are carrying the pride of this household," Linnea’s voice cut through the sweeping notes of the violins. "Keep your chin parallel to the floor. The moment you look down at your feet, you have already signaled to the court that you lack confidence. The nobility are like wolves. They will smell that hesitation and tear you apart."

Hermione immediately straightened her spine as she forced her gaze up. She was currently practicing her steps with an imaginary partner, her arms raised perfectly in the required frame. Her footwork was technically flawless; she had memorized the complicated counts within the first hour of instruction, but the physical exertion of maintaining the posture was exhausting. She was sweating lightly beneath her practice gown, her muscles burning from the sustained tension.

Yet, Hermione refused to show a single ounce of weakness. She was deeply engrossed in the lesson, determined to execute every single pivot and sweep with perfection. More than that, she was driven by a burning, stubborn desire for validation. As she glided across the marble, executed a flawless turn, and stepped back into the starting position, her eyes instinctively darted toward the far end of the room.

There, situated behind a desk imported for this room, sat Ulrich.

He was completely silent, his dark red hair falling slightly over his eyes as he slowly turned a page of his book.

’Look up,’ Hermione thought bitterly, grinding her teeth as she transitioned into the next phase of the waltz. ’Just look up for one second!’

Since the humiliating incident in the courtyard weeks ago, Ulrich had taken to sitting in on their lessons much more frequently. But he never actually seemed to be watching them. He simply occupied the room, reading his endless supply of books, completely ignoring her flawless execution of Linnea’s routines. It drove Hermione mad. She put extra force into her next sweeping step, hoping the sharp tap of her heel might draw his attention, but Ulrich’s eyes remained glued to the yellowed pages.

"Lighter on your feet, Lady Hermione," Linnea reprimanded instantly, catching the momentary lapse in grace. "You are dancing with a noble, not stomping on a beetle."

Hermione’s face flushed red. "Yes, Madame," she muttered, quickly softening her steps and cursing Ulrich internally for distracting her.

A few paces away, Esther was faring differently. If Hermione danced with perfection, Esther danced with natural, floating elegance. She moved across the floor as though the marble were made of clouds, her steps light and her imaginary frame held with a delicate, gentle touch. She was deeply engrossed in the rhythm, humming the string quartet’s melody softly under her breath, lost in the beautiful music.

However, her technical grace was severely undermined by her crippling nerves.

"Lady Esther, you are doing wonderfully, but you must stop shrinking into yourself," Linnea advised, her tone softening slightly as she approached the youngest sister. Linnea gently tapped the underside of Esther’s chin with the tip of her cane, forcing the girl to look up. "Your steps are like water, but your presence is like a mouse. When you dance at the royal banquet, you will be surrounded by hundreds of pairs of eyes. They will be judging your dress, your hair, your jewels, and your lineage. If you look terrified, they will mock you. You must project an aura that says you belong there."

"I—I understand, Madame Linnea," Esther squeaked, her voice trembling slightly.

She took a deep breath, trying to puff out her chest and look confident, though the effect was mostly just cute. Like Hermione, Esther could not help but sneak a quick, timid glance toward the back of the room. She looked at the desk, her eyes finding Ulrich’s quiet, figure. Unlike Hermione, Esther was not looking for validation of her skills; she was looking for a sense of safety. The thought of stepping into the royal palace filled her with a paralyzing dread. The only thing that kept her from breaking down in tears at the prospect was the knowledge that Ulrich would be there. Seeing him sitting so calmly, completely unfazed by the encroaching deadline, managed to slow her racing heartbeat.

"Now, Lady Airam," Linnea sighed, a long-suffering sound that echoed over the violins. The elderly instructor turned her attention to the final sister. "What precisely are we doing with our hands today?"

Airam stood in the center of her designated space, her dark eyes stern and completely devoid of amusement. She was perfectly obedient, following every single instruction Linnea gave without a single complaint. When told to turn, she turned. When told to step, she stepped. Her balance was impeccable, her core strength impressive. But she moved with the stiffness of a soldier marching to war.

Her arms were raised in the required hold, but instead of resting her fingers gently upon her imaginary partner’s shoulder, her hands were curled into tight fists.

"A ballroom dance is not a martial arts spar, Lady Airam," Linnea said, stepping directly in front of her. The older woman reached out, prying Airam’s stiff fingers open one by one. "You are supposed to be holding a nobleman’s hand, not preparing to punch him in the throat. You must relax your muscles. If you are this tense, you will exhaust yourself before the first song even concludes."

"If someone attempts to grab me, a fist is more efficient," Airam replied, with a deadpan stare.

Linnea pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly fighting off an impending headache. "No one is going to attack you in the middle of a royal waltz. The capital’s high society fights with poisoned words and political slander, not with daggers on the dance floor. You must uncurl your hands. Soften your wrists. Imagine your partner is made of fragile glass."

Airam stared at her for a long, silent moment. She did not argue further. Slowly, she allowed her fingers to loosen, adopting a slightly more delicate posture, though she still looked as though she was actively calculating the fastest way to break her imaginary partner’s arm. Airam, too, snuck a quick, sharp glance toward the desk. She knew exactly why Ulrich was really sitting there.

He was not merely catching up on his reading. Ever since the violent ambush with the assassins of Libra, Ulrich had barely let them out of his sight. Even within the guarded walls of the Rubenhart estate, he had stationed himself in the same rooms where they took their lessons, acting as a silent armed sentinel.

Well, perhaps it was simply because the birthday event was approaching dangerously, so he had to make sure the sisters were ready and weren’t playing around during lessons.

After a moment, Ulrich closed the leather book with a dull, resounding thud.

The sudden noise caused the string quartet to falter for a brief second before regaining their rhythm, and all three sisters snapped their heads toward him in unison.

Ulrich stood up slowly, and he stepped out from behind the desk. He did not speak immediately, letting his dark red eyes sweep over the three of them.

"The physical execution is acceptable," Ulrich said. "But Madame Linnea is correct. You lack the appropriate presence."

Hermione crossed her arms, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "We have been practicing for three hours straight! It is difficult to look majestic when your feet are bleeding!"

"The nobles at the banquet will not care if your feet are bleeding," Ulrich retorted coldly, his gaze locking onto Hermione, much to her sudden anxiety. "They will only care if you look weak. If you show them exhaustion, they will see peasants playing dress-up. You are the daughters of the Rubenhart house now. You will stand taller than everyone else in that room, and you will not break under their stares."

He turned his gaze to Esther, who visibly gulped, and then to Airam, who merely stared back with her usual blank stare.

"Two weeks," Ulrich reminded them. "In two weeks, you will be thrown into the center of the capital’s royal court. I expect nothing less than perfection from all of you. You will not give them a single reason to doubt your place."

With those final words, Ulrich turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

The three sisters watched him leave in complete silence. The string quartet had stopped playing as well. Somehow, even they felt pressured by Ulrich’s words even though they weren’t even concerned...

When the doors finally clicked shut behind him, Linnea tapped her silver cane against the marble floor.

"You heard the Count," Linnea said, her eyes flashing with renewed intensity. "Positions, ladies. From the top. And this time, try to look as though you actually rule the world."

"Yes!" Esther replied with a smile, ready to give it all after hearing Ulrich’s ’encouraging’ words.

Hermione just grumbled while Airam resumed, hiding her annoyance.

They had become far more obedient as expected after that day Ulrich spoiled them of his wealth and also fought Libra.