Silence lingered in the room as Elana’s movement revealed the man sitting quietly in the shadows of the hall.

Ulrich had excused himself from the dining hall barely five minutes ahead of the sisters. Yet, in that brief window, he had somehow managed to change into a fresh, impeccably tailored set of clothes, intercept Elana, brief her on his exact expectations, and take his seat behind the desk, all before the girls even walked through the door. His efficiency was almost frightening.

"Lord Ulrich..." Esther muttered. She clearly had not expected to see him again so soon, and a shy nervousness flickered across her face.

"Wh—Why are you here again?" Hermione asked, biting her lip to keep herself from outright shouting the question.

Ulrich slowly shifted his gaze toward her. "I believe I mentioned that I will be personally overseeing your progress over the coming month," he said. "I must ensure none of you embarrass the Rubenhart name when the day arrives."

"E-Embarass?" Hermione sputtered out upset.

"You heard it," Ulrich replied, leveling her with a dry stare that instantly drained the fight from her posture. "Work hard and learn well. I expect perfection in your behavior within thirty days."

"Hmph. I really don’t want to go to this ridiculous capital anyway," Hermione huffed, turning her head away haughtily to hide her shrinking confidence. "Perhaps you should just leave us here at the estate if we turn out to be so terribly unready."

"I want to go, though..." Esther said softly. She cast an eager glance toward their instructor, her small hands balling into determined fists. "I will listen closely, Elana! I promise to make sure I am completely ready for the Princess’s birthday!"

"That is the perfect spirit to have, Lady Esther," Elana praised with a warm, encouraging smile before turning her attention back to the older sisters. "For today’s lesson, I will teach you the basics of court dance etiquette."

"D—Dance?" Hermione repeated, the bratty tone vanishing from her voice in an instant.

"Indeed. Dancing is an essential, non-negotiable skill for any high noble lady," Elana explained, her tone taking on a gentle cadence. "During grand balls and royal banquets, there will inevitably be moments where the nobility takes to the floor. When charming gentlemen approach to ask for your hand, my beautiful ladies, shouldn’t you be perfectly prepared to glide across the room with them?"

A shade of pink flooded Hermione’s cheeks.

"T—That... well..." She stuttered, awkwardly looking away and trailing off into silence. Despite her earlier complaints, she clearly did not hate the idea. The romantic notion of a grand ballroom and a charming partner still deeply appealed to the girl who used to secretly obsess over fairy tales.

Beside her, Esther, not different than Hermione concerning fairy tales, was bubbling with excitement, eager to begin the lesson. Airam, on the other hand, let out a quiet breath. To her, this entire ordeal sounded like a real drag.

"Then we shall begin," Elana said, stepping back to open up the center of the hall. "Spread out, please. Keep a reasonable distance between yourselves so you do not hinder your sisters’ movements."

Airam, Hermione, and Esther quietly obeyed, shuffling across the floor to take their designated positions.

"Before we ever concern ourselves with footwork or rhythm," Elana began, "we must address the very first interaction of any courtly dance: the invitation."

She clasped her hands elegantly in front of her waist, standing with a flawless posture.

"When a gentleman approaches you at a royal banquet, he will offer his hand and request a dance," she explained, pacing slowly before the three girls. "How you respond, whether you accept or decline, sets the tone not only for the dance itself but for how you are perceived by the rest of the court. Every eye will be watching. Your response must be graceful, poised, and above all, dignified."

Hermione leaned forward slightly, her earlier reluctance completely forgotten as she hung on every word. Even Esther stood perfectly still, her wide eyes locked on their instructor. Airam remained motionless, though she was at least paying attention.

"Let us begin with accepting an invitation," Elana said. She turned toward Esther, offering her right hand with a smooth motion, acting the part of the gentleman. "Lady Esther, if you please. The gentleman extends his hand. You do not snatch it, nor do you hesitate in a way that suggests reluctance."

Elana gently guided Esther’s hand, placing the girl’s fingertips lightly atop her own palm. "Your touch should be as light as a feather, yet firm enough to show confidence. You must meet his eyes, offer a polite, reserved smile, and say, ’I would be honored, my Lord.’ Or, if he is of equal standing, ’It would be my pleasure.’ Let us try it."

Esther giggled slightly, but quickly composed herself. She lifted her hand, placing it delicately on Elana’s. Looking up, she offered a bright smile. "It would be my pleasure!"

"Excellent enthusiasm, Lady Esther, but perhaps tone the joy down just a fraction," Elana corrected gently with an amused smile. "You are a noble lady accepting a dance, not a child receiving a sweet. Mystery and restraint are your greatest assets."

Elana then turned to Hermione. "Now, Lady Hermione. Let us practice the art of refusal."

Hermione straightened up.

"There will be times when you must decline a dance," Elana explained. "Perhaps you are fatigued, perhaps your dance card is full, or perhaps the gentleman is of a lower station and accepting would send the wrong political message. However, a refusal must never feel like an insult. An insulted noble is a dangerous enemy."

Elana stepped back and extended her hand to Hermione, mimicking a suitor’s approach. "The gentleman asks. You do not step back. You do not look away in disgust."

Hermione didn’t even bother to feign a polite posture. Instead, she stared at Elana’s outstretched palm as if the mock suitor had just offered her a handful of mud. Her upper lip curled into a picture-perfect sneer, and her features twisted into an expression of annoyance as she tried to picture the man she was going to refuse, maybe a certain red-haired man....

Her next words may have indeed been influenced a lot by Ulrich’s image flashing in her head.

"I wouldn’t even touch his hand," Hermione declared, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. She looked down her nose with disdain and huffed. "I would simply look him up and down and say, ’Do I look like someone desperate enough to humor you? Leave my sight before you ruin my evening.’"

She tossed her silver hair over her shoulder, pleased with her own unapologetic response.

Esther blinked rapidly in shock, while Elana’s flawless, serene smile finally cracked, twitching just the slightest bit at the corners.

"While... remarkably assertive, Lady Hermione," Elana chuckled, "that is precisely the kind of response that sparks immediate blood feuds between aristocratic families."

From the shadows at the back of the room, a low, unimpressed voice cut through the quiet.

"If your goal is to find a poisoned dagger buried in your back before the second course is even served, then by all means, use those exact words."

Hermione flinched. Her haughty facade crumbled into dust instantly as she whipped her head toward the desk. Ulrich was there, shooting her an icy gaze, pinning her in place.

He thought of staying silent, but he really was concerned she might actually answer like that to someone during the event, so he chose to speak.

"We are attending a royal celebration," Ulrich continued sternly. "You are not in your Coven, declaring open war on the capital’s nobility. You belonged to the Rubenhart Household. Try again. And this time, use your brain rather than your misplaced pride."

Hermione’s face flushed red hearing that, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly at the insult.

Elana cleared her throat softly, reclaiming the room’s attention. "Let us attempt a different approach, Lady Hermione. A graceful rejection. A gentleman asks, but you must decline. You offer a very slight, apologetic tilt of the head..."

Hermione took a brief breath; she wasn’t going to let provoked that easily!

Refusing to look back at Ulrich, she forced her features to soften, mimicking Elana’s earlier instructions. She offered a strained but passable apologetic smile. "I am deeply flattered, my Lord, but I must beg your pardon. I am seeking a moment of rest."

"Much better," Elana praised gently, though she kept a cautious eye on the girl’s trembling shoulders.

Elana then shifted her gaze toward the eldest sister, who had been watching the entire exchange with complete apathy. "Now, Lady Airam. It is your turn. Let us see how you would handle an unwanted suitor."

Airam stared at Elana’s extended hand. She didn’t adjust her posture. She didn’t tilt her head. She simply looked Elana dead in the eye and spoke in a voice devoid of emotion.

"No."

Elana kept her smile, though she sighed inwardly.

It looked like she was going to have a tough month.