My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Meera sat in stunned silence, struggling to process what she had just heard.

She had suspected it, deep down, from the moment he had demanded she scout those isolated islands. But to hear Ulrich confirm it aloud was another matter entirely. He intended to build a fleet. An armada of warships capable of dominating the tides.

Ulrich already possessed a formidable military force, a highly disciplined army of footmen and cavalry designed solely to police and protect his vast terrestrial borders. To expand his military power to the open water meant he intended to extend his reach far beyond his own territory. It was clearly a personal ambition. And knowing him, this was no idle whim.

He definitely harbored a good reason for such a monumental undertaking, and her curiosity burned. Yet she knew better than to pry. He had already revealed an immense secret simply by speaking his intentions aloud.

She drummed her fingers lightly against the armrest, redirecting her approach. "I wonder... is the Crown aware of this grand endeavor?"

It was a crucial question. Building a fleet was no ordinary enterprise. The Skargardian Royal Family already viewed the private armies of provincial nobles with barely concealed anxiety, forever paranoid about the threat of rebellion or a coup d’état. The construction of a naval armada would almost certainly be viewed as a direct challenge to the throne’s supremacy. If Ulrich had kept this ambition a secret from the capital, it meant he could be courting treason, and Meera needed to know the true peril of the currents she was agreeing to walk in. She had to know if, by taking Ulrich’s gold, she was aligning herself against the royal family.

Ulrich understood her hesitation instantly, though he met her concern with a dry, slightly mocking look.

"For a pirate," he said, "you are awfully concerned with the opinions of kings."

"I am not a pirate," Meera protested, pushing out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

"You sail unsanctioned waters and plunder abandoned islands and forgotten shores," Ulrich replied. "The Crown would draw no distinction."

"I do not steal from the living," Meera corrected, sitting up straighter and smiling sweetly as she puffed out her chest. "I merely liberate lonely, rotting artifacts left behind by careless people. If anything, Ulrich, I am a noble treasure hunter."

A faint, almost imperceptible shadow of amusement crossed Ulrich’s face at her crafty defense. He shifted, resting his cheek against his knuckles as he regarded her.

"I have no intention of antagonizing the royal family," he said. "But as the Count of this territory, I am burdened with the watch over the eastern seas. I must protect my lands and my people from any threat that approaches our shores, be they demons, foreign invaders, or simple cutthroats."

Meera chuckled at his answer. "A noble justification. Yet building an entire war fleet requires a staggering fortune. And I know you, Count Rubenhart. You are not a man who throws away gold on useless, defensive vanity."

"Think whatever you wish," Ulrich replied, his eyes narrowing slightly, "but that is the truth I work under, and it is the truth you will relay to the veterans you seek. You may assure them there is no backhanded trap waiting to spring. Truthfully, if not for necessity, I would never allow their kind to set foot upon my lands. But I need their expertise. I need them to forge my inland guards into capable knights of the sea."

He sat back, his expression returning to stone. "Tell them this: I will offer them gold, and I will offer them rare privileges within my domain. But they will receive these only if they accept my terms, follow my orders, and behave themselves strictly according to my laws."

For the next hour, Ulrich laid out the details of his demands. Despite her earlier playful boredom, Meera sat perfectly still, her mind cataloging every name, route, and sum he mentioned. When the situation required it, the playful woman vanished, replaced by an intelligent woman who understood exactly the dangerous game they were preparing to play.

When he finally finished speaking, Meera smiled.

"Understood, my Lord."

"Do not disappoint me," Ulrich warned, rumbling at her playful tone.

Meera’s smirk deepened. She rose from her chair and moved around the desk. Ulrich watched her approach without moving, his expression impassive as she stepped into his space and settled onto his lap for the second time.

She coiled her arms slowly around his neck, her fingers tangling lightly in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I never disappoint," she whispered, her breath warm, tickling against his skin.

Leaning in, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips gently against his in a sensual invitation.

"My Lord," she whispered against his lips.

Before Ulrich could react, a soft knock on the door shattered the quiet intimacy of the room.

"My Lord," the muffled voice of Fabian, the head butler, called from the corridor. "Dinner is prepared."

Meera pulled back, her eyes flashing with annoyance. She let out an exasperated breath, her hands dropping from his shoulders. "Gods above. I was this close to being taken in the office of the Count Rubenhart."

Ulrich did not offer a flicker of sympathy. He merely took hold of her waist and lifted her off his lap as he stood up. Straightening his coat, he moved toward the door, leaving a sulking Meera to trail behind him.

By the time Ulrich pulled the door open, however, Meera had completely shifted her demeanor. The frustrated temptress vanished, instantly replaced by the picture of refined, aristocratic grace. She smoothed the front of her gown and tilted her chin upward, her expression perfect and untouchable.

Edmar, still standing guard like a mountain of steel in the corridor, dipped his head respectfully. "Lady Meera. Your meeting has run rather long."

"Too short, I fear," Meera sighed, projecting a perfect, melodramatic melancholy. "We barely had any time to truly get into it before the butler so cruelly interrupted us."

Fabian, standing a few paces away, stiffened as he realized the blatant implication of her words. "I—I must sincerely apologize, my Lady, if I have interrupted your... proceedings," he stammered, bowing so deeply that they all could see the unfortunate void in the middle of his head.

"Ignore it," Ulrich said, stepping past the flustered elder man.

He was perfectly in time for Ulrich but not for Meera, who had other plans for ending the talk.