The Villainess is the Villainess [Otome Isekai LitRPG]

Book 3: Chapter 16 - The Devil Dances at Noon [Part 2]

“A corporate entity,” she answered loftily. “Obviously.”

“The answer, dear Seraphina… is fire,” sighed Rashana as she looked away.

Seraphina coloured, then rallied with admirable speed. “Naturally. I was merely using the occasion to demonstrate my willingness to dance and honor Al-Lazarian culture.”

“How very noble of you. Then I needn’t feel the least bit of guilt. Do send me the relevant materials. And, I should like an office in the city, if you please. My people shall communicate the details to yours.”

She smiled, radiant and maddening.

***

Making what could only be described as a graceful, if rather brisk, retreat from the second-years’ dormitory required of Seraphina the utmost exercise of her self-command. In truth, she wanted nothing so much as to strike something. Viciously. Repeatedly. A small, inoffensive stone presented itself in her path, and with little ceremony, she delivered to it a quite spirited kick. The stone soared across a flowerbed, beheading several late-autumn blooms before embedding itself into a tree.

Securing Rashana’s involvement had certainly constituted a victory—but one that could only be called Pyrrhic. For now, the girl had bound herself, through an ill-considered promise, to perform an infamously scandalous dance before the entire student body at the upcoming harvest festival.

Seraphina had been outmaneuvered.

Various schemes flitted through her mind. A sudden illness might suffice. A manufactured crisis with the Empire, perhaps, or even the release of a horde of monsters upon the Kingdom—something dramatic enough to shift attention away. But each option reeked of cowardice, and Seraphina, for all her faults, her pride would not permit such a course of action.

She wandered into one of the quieter gardens and seated herself upon the rim of a stone fountain. There, in the bubbling waters, danced Tia, spinning and twirling like some elemental sprite. The sunlight, refracted through the spray, caught her batlike wings and cast scattered rainbows across the marble. It was, Seraphina admitted, quite charming.

Yet beyond the simple beauty of the scene, something more important struck her. There was in Tia’s dance a mastery of the Glamour, of illusion, that was as effortless as it was enchanting. A slow smile curled upon Seraphina’s lips. Perhaps, in certain contests, one need not win to prevail.

She extended her hand, upon which the Fae creature lighted with glee, shucking her sodden garments with the unabashed freedom of a creature wholly untroubled by propriety.

“Tia,” Seraphina murmured, adopting a tone of coaxing sweetness, “do you recall how once you covered half the forest in Glamour? I shall be needing something of that sort soon. There will be cake in it for you.”

“That sounds lovely!” piped the Fae. “I hope it is a berry cake! I love those.”

She delicately retrieved a small handkerchief—one, as fate would have it, embroidered long ago by Rashana as a birthday gift—and began to dry the fairy’s luminous skin with tender strokes.

Seraphina de Sariens would indeed make her appearance. She would dance the Dance of the Seven Veils and enflame the hearts and minds of all who bore witness to it.

However, she would just have to make sure that her important bits were not seen, or simply erased from memory.

***

Sunlight streamed through high windows, catching specks of dust in delicate motes that danced lazily in the air. Seraphina stood in the centre of the empty training hall, the wooden floor polished and gleaming beneath her slippered feet. The slippers themselves were delicate things, pointed upwards at the tips and of the finest make. The girl was wrapped in seven silk veils, though for modesty’s sake, she wore her undergarments underneath.

There was a rustle of silk as Seraphina gathered the first veil around her slender form.

From a quiet corner of the room, Melisiandre de Vallieres watched her pupil attentively, golden eyes serene and thoughtful. Usually, their lessons were punctuated by the sharp clash of swords, but today, much to Seraphina's surprise, her instructor had allowed their session to transform into this unconventional rehearsal.

Her teacher had said something about “Fighting is akin to dancing, my dear—you'll find that each follows similar rhythms. The same notes, more often than not, can be found in different songs."

Seraphina took a calming breath, lifting her arms slowly, allowing the veil to cascade fluidly down her shoulders. She stepped lightly forward, turning her body in a delicate arc, her arms weaving intricate patterns in the air. The veil floated gracefully around her, its delicate fabric whispering against her skin.

As she spun, the veil unravelled, fluttering gently before settling to the floor in a soft, fluid heap. With each subsequent veil, her movements became more intricate, more daring. She dipped and swayed, her lithe form bending and curving in a language of elegance and subtle allure. Her wrists and hands moved deftly, fingers articulating each note of the imagined melody, each step deliberate yet instinctive.

"It is a curious and bold choice, the Dance of the Seven Veils," Melisiandre remarked mildly, her voice carrying an amused undertone. "It is notoriously difficult—and not without a fair bit of scandal."

"It is simply an integral part of Al-Lazarian culture," Seraphina replied smoothly, concealing her annoyance beneath a carefully maintained expression of innocence.

Melisiandre raised an eyebrow, smiling gently. "Indeed. Only princesses from the ruling Holder Houses dance it… or the cheapest of their whores in the Flower Quarter. The quality and interpretation of the dance rely solely on the dancer’s skill. Poetry written in the lines of the body or obscenity to stoke male lust. Tell me, dear girl, from whom did you learn these initial steps? You display quite impressive familiarity with them."

"Oh, Rashana taught me the basics," Seraphina replied airily, avoiding her teacher's knowing gaze.

In truth, every movement had been meticulously memorized from long hours spent “testing” The Maiden of the Wisterias. But some things, she reasoned, were best kept hidden beneath carefully woven veils of her own making.

“Of course, the de Lehman’s have brought foreign stock into their line.” Melisiandre nodded, though a subtle gleam in her eyes suggested she knew better than to take Seraphina entirely at her word. Nonetheless, she offered no further challenge and continued to observe quietly.

As the dance drew to a close, Seraphina executed a final flourish, the last veil drifting delicately from her fingertips like the settling of evening mist. Her chest rose and fell gently, her breath measured despite the effort.

"Truly," Melisiandre said softly, stepping forward with warmth in her gaze, "you have created art. Your movements were lovely, dear Seraphina, and speak of grace beyond mere training. You should also think upon what this dance teaches."

Seraphina flushed faintly, unable to suppress a modest smile. Art indeed. Perhaps Melisiandre was right. Perhaps fighting and dancing were but two faces of the same elegant coin.