My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

"Smart."

The word left Ulrich in a low mutter as his eyes traveled across the assembled quartets.

Astrid turned toward him at once.

"Smart?" Her gaze returned to the trembling musician. "He arrived late to a royal celebration. He should be barred from performing at prestigious events altogether."

The man’s shoulders sank. He hugged his violin closer to himself, while Astrid picked his fallen bow between two fingers as though she disliked even touching it.

Ulrich looked at her.

For an instant, Astrid reminded him of Hermione. The same quick indignation. The same certainty that she had understood a situation before anyone needed to explain it. Hermione could be difficult, but at least she possessed enough sense to recognize when she had reached the edge of her knowledge.

Astrid, apparently, did not.

"You should leave," Ulrich said.

Astrid blinked.

"What?"

He did not answer. Instead, he stepped toward the musician.

The man retreated at once until his back met the base of the nearest marble pillar. His face had become pale enough that Astrid almost felt sorry for him.

"M-My lord, I apologize," he stammered. "Please do not punish me. I only wished to perform tonight. I did not mean to offend anyone."

"I do not care about that," Ulrich said. "How long have you practiced the violin?"

The musician stared at him.

"My lord?"

"How long?"

"F-Five years, my lord."

Ulrich considered him.

Five years was enough. The man would know the posture expected of a performer, the way a trained hand held a bow, the difference between someone struggling with a difficult composition and someone who had never properly learned the instrument at all.

"So you are competent," Ulrich said. "You can judge another violinist’s ability merely by hearing him play."

The musician’s expression shifted from fear to confusion.

"I believe so, my lord. I have studied under Master Verdan of the Royal Conservatory. He has performed before the King himself, and his ear is—"

"Stop speaking."

The man’s mouth snapped shut.

Ulrich held out his hand without looking away from him.

Astrid frowned, still gripping the bow.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Give him his bow."

Astrid hesitated. She did not like receiving orders from Ulrich, especially after the way he had spoken to her. Still, the musician looked close to fainting, and she had no desire to keep holding the thing. She thrust it toward him.

The man took it with both hands, clutching it against his violin.

Ulrich spoke again.

"Listen to me carefully."

The musician nodded so fast that his loose hair fell into his eyes.

"There is at least one person among the evening’s musicians who should not be there. Perhaps more than one."

The musician went still.

Astrid’s irritation faded a little. She turned toward Ulrich.

"What do you mean?"

He ignored her.

"I want you to identify them," he told the musician. "Do it without attracting attention."

"Identify them?" the man repeated weakly.

Ulrich’s red eyes fixed on him more strongly.

The musician swallowed.

"I mean... yes, my lord. If I can listen close enough, I may notice someone who has been given an instrument without having the skill to use it. A person can learn the appearance of a musician. They can hold a violin and wear the right clothes. But if they are forced to join a quartet, they would struggle to follow the others."

"Exactly."

Ulrich glanced toward the quartets stationed around the ballroom.

The performers had been placed at different points of the hall so that the music could reach every part of the celebration. At a casual glance, the arrangement looked ordinary. The musicians played in matching formal attire, their bodies swaying in time with the dance. Yet a false performer concealed among them would possess a reason to be there. They would gain access to restricted passages. They could move around the ballroom without inviting suspicion. They could carry a long case, a sharpened bow, sheet music, or any number of objects that guards would overlook once they accepted the person as part of the entertainment.

A violin case was large enough to conceal more than an instrument.

Ulrich had been searching among the guests because that was the most likely route for an assassin to enter. Yet the demons had likely replaced some guards.

Why would they stop at the guards?

An extra musician was not an oversight.

It was an opening.

"You will move among the quartets as though you are searching for a place to join," Ulrich continued. "Listen. Watch their hands, their posture, and the way they follow the music. Find the weakest player."

The musician’s eyes widened.

"My lord... there may be someone inexperienced. A young performer, perhaps, or a person who is simply nervous."

"Then use your judgment."

"I—I understand."

"There may be more than one. Do not confront them. Do not show surprise if you recognize anything strange. Learn their names, if you can, and return here to tell me."

The musician looked toward the nearest quartet, where a pair of violinists played beneath a painted banner of the Skargardian royal crest. His throat moved as he swallowed.

"What if they ask why I am watching them?"

"You are a musician without a quartet," Ulrich replied. "Behave like one. Ask to listen. Offer to turn pages. Pretend you are hoping one of them will need a replacement. I do not care how you do it, provided you do not make them suspicious."

The man nodded again, holding his violin against his chest with greater care.

"I will find them, my lord."

"You have ten minutes."

Ulrich turned away before the musician could say anything further.

Astrid remained beneath the pillar, staring after him. The violinist looked at her once, flinched at the expression still on her face, and hurried toward the nearest group of performers with short, anxious steps.

For several seconds, Astrid did not move.

She could not understand what Ulrich was doing.

Had he decided that a badly played violin posed some insult to his standards? That sounded absurd, even for him. Yet the seriousness in his face had not been the irritation of a perfectionist.

He had been hunting for something.

Astrid looked across the hall just in time to see Ulrich take a glass of wine from a passing servant’s tray. He raised it to his lips and drank as though he had not just sent a terrified musician to spy on the royal entertainment.

"What is he planning?" She muttered, furrowing her brows.

Her gaze followed him as he walked away.

For the first time that evening, her anger toward Ulrich had been joined by a thin, unpleasant thread of unease.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!