My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Once inside Ulrich’s office, Meera wandered farther into the chamber before turning upon her heel to watch him close the door behind them.

The room was steeped in shadowed quiet, lit by the pale wash of daylight that slipped through the tall, narrow windows and fell across shelves with ledgers, sealed letters, and maps pinned beneath brass weights. A low fire breathed in the hearth, lending warmth to the stone-walled chamber, though little of it softened the strictness of the place. It was a room that seemed built in Ulrich’s image, orderly, restrained, and faintly oppressive.

When he turned to face her, Meera was already smiling at him with bright expectation, her hands lightly pinching the sides of her gown as she lifted the skirts a little in a playful display.

"So, Lord Rubenhart," she said, her eyes gleaming, "have you not something to say to me?"

"You are late," Ulrich replied, already crossing the room toward his desk.

Meera’s lips curved downward in a small sulk, though it was plain enough that she did not truly take offense. She followed him with her gaze as he went, her expression shifting into one of wounded pride.

"I made no small effort to prepare myself before coming to your home, Ulrich," she said. "Will you not praise me at least a little?"

Ulrich seated himself behind his desk and at last glanced at her. Her gown was finer than what he usually saw her wear, its bodice carefully fitted, its fabric rich, its whole presentation arranged with obvious intent. She had indeed restrained herself. That, more than the gown itself, was the true achievement.

"All for the sake of appearance, as you wished," Meera went on, spreading her hands lightly. "And I believe I made an excellent first impression upon your household, did I not?"

"You did well," Ulrich said with a nod.

He had been concerned that her true nature would show too plainly before the servants and the guests of the house, that she would cast aside decorum within moments and leave behind confusion, gossip, or worse. Yet she had held herself back. Barely, perhaps, but enough.

At his praise, Meera’s smile widened with unconcealed delight. She approached him at once, as though drawn forward by the simple fact that he had approved of her.

"Let us speak of what matters," Ulrich said before she could begin another round of teasing.

"I agree," Meera replied lightly.

Yet instead of taking the chair across from him, she came straight to his side and, without the least hesitation, settled herself upon his knees.

"I wish you would ravish me in this very suffocating, very tight gown, Ulrich," she said, one arm drifting about his shoulder. "Would you?"

Ulrich looked at her in silence.

Meera only giggled and pressed herself more closely against him. Beneath the gown she wore a tightly laced corset, one cruel enough to force her figure into bold display. The swell of her bosom rose prominently above the neckline, and the closeness of her body made everything more sensual. She was heat, perfume, softness, and provocation all at once, and she wielded each of them knowingly.

"I do not recall summoning you here for that," Ulrich said, staring at her.

"Is that so?" Meera asked, feigning innocence with such poor sincerity that it might have amused another man.

Ulrich did not move. He did not avert his gaze, nor did he indulge her. He merely regarded her with that same dry, withering stare until, after a few moments, Meera gave a sigh and rose from his lap.

"Very well," she said. "Since you are in no mood to be tempted, let us speak plainly. What is it this time? Do you have another place for me to seize? Another island for me to discover and strip bare?"

She paced a little as she spoke, her earlier playfulness not gone, only altered into sharper curiosity.

"You know I was pleased enough to be the first to set foot upon those islands," she continued. "That was a delight of its own. Yet I remain curious, Ulrich. You knew exactly where to send us, and send us you did. That is well enough. But what do you want with them?"

"That does not concern you," Ulrich replied. "Those five islands belong to me now."

Meera’s eyes widened.

"The Skargardian Crown granted them to you?" she asked, surprise breaking through her usual teasing ease.

The islands lay within Skargardian waters. Discovery alone did not make them his. Whatever hand found them, royal recognition was still required, and no petty matter at that. One island might perhaps have been secured with effort and favorable terms. Five was another matter entirely. Meera knew well enough that Ulrich was no darling of the nobility, and so the thought that he had obtained all five was startling indeed.

Ulrich gave no answer.

He did not need to. He was not a man who lied for sport, and his silence was confirmation enough.

A smirk curled on Meera’s lips.

"What are you planning, Count Rubenhart?" She asked him with renewed interest.

Ulrich ignored the question.

"I asked you to place me in contact with the most seasoned veterans of the sea," he said. "Did you manage it?"

At that, Meera’s expression shifted. The flirtation did not vanish, but it gave way to the look she wore when speaking of the waters, of ships, of men who made their lives amid storm and salt. This, at least, was a matter she took seriously.

"I did," she said. "But they shall not bend to you so easily as you seem to think. They are wary of you."

"They will not remain so once I cast gold upon the ground," Ulrich replied. "They will leap for it like starving hounds."

Meera laughed, delighted.

"How cold you are," she said. "It is one of the things I love best in you, Ulrich."

Then, at last, she moved away from him and took the chair opposite his desk, crossing one leg over the other.

"Even so," she said, resting one elbow against the arm of the chair, "if you wish me to persuade them, I shall need more than that. I have many acquaintances, yes, and I can carry word to them, but I do not command their trust. That, Count Rubenhart, you must earn yourself."

Ulrich leaned back in his chair. "Gold will not buy their loyalty, I assume."

"Could they be blamed?" Meera tilted her head. "Here in your own territory, your people may sing your praises and reap the benefits of your wealth, but beyond these borders, Count Rubenhart is a name whispered with caution. You are infamous. To men who survive by their wits on the open water, you are a dangerous nobleman who hates everything unlawful. They will always suspect a snare hidden beneath your coin, and so they will remain wary."

"I have no intention of throwing them to the depths. I do not need disposable swords. I require leadership. I need men who know the changing tides, who have weathered storms and survived the brutal realities of the ocean."

"I understand your need for capable captains," Meera replied, tapping a finger against the armrest of her chair. "But the more capable a sailor is, the more strongly he guards his independence. If you want their true allegiance, Ulrich, you will have to be honest with them. You cannot lead them blindfolded."

Ulrich let a dry, fleeting amusement reach his eyes. "You did not seem particularly difficult to convince."

Meera’s smile returned. "Indeed. But that is only because I love you, Ulrich."

When he glanced at her, she let out a bright laugh. "Oh, do not give me that freezing look! I am serious. I simply took the opportunity to see you again, and to fill my coffers while doing so. What better arrangement could a woman ask for? But I must warn you, as devastatingly handsome as you are, those cold, aristocratic charms will not work on a tavern full of burly, salt-crusted scavengers."

Ulrich fell silent, his mind already turning the problem over. He stared at the flickering shadows cast by the hearth before finally raising his gaze. Pulling open an iron-bound drawer at his desk, he retrieved a plump leather pouch and tossed it across the wood.

"Reach out to them," he commanded. "Tell them I will meet them at Grayhaven."

Meera caught the pouch deftly mid-air. She loosened the drawstrings, letting the firelight catch the glittering gold coins packed inside. The sight brought a satisfied curve to her lips. "I can arrange such a gathering."

"Mind your choices," Ulrich warned, his voice hardening. "I want disciplined men, not mindless beasts. Seek out those who possess experience and at least a rudimentary grasp of order and manners."

"I know exactly the breed of scoundrel you tolerate, my lord. Do not worry," Meera chuckled. She leaned forward then, resting her chin on her hand. "But they will demand a reason before they make the journey. What exactly shall I tell them this meeting is about?"

"Tell them I need them to train men," Ulrich replied.

Meera’s delicate brow arched in surprise.

"Train them for the sea," Ulrich clarified, holding her gaze.

"You mean... how to navigate the coastal waters?" She asked, a rare note of confusion creeping into her voice.

Ulrich gave a single, curt nod. "To navigate. And to fight upon the open water."

The playfulness drained completely from Meera’s face, leaving behind a stunned silence. She understood his words, yet she struggled to believe the scale of the ambition he was casually unveiling. To secure five secluded islands, to hire seasoned sea scavengers, to train inland guards for naval warfare...

"Could it be..." She started, her voice dropping to an awed whisper as she observed the calm look in his deep red eyes.

Ulrich shifted his attention downward, his gaze sweeping over the expansive inked map of Skargardia and its surrounding oceans spread across his desk.

"I am intending to build a fleet."