My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

After nearly two more hours in the hands of the maids, the sisters were finally fully prepared, and by the time they descended downstairs, the day had already begun to lean toward evening.

They were led into the living room of the mansion and left there to wait.

All three of them settled on the couch, careful with the heavy spread of their gowns. Sitting down was a task by itself. Esther had to gather the pale blue layers of her skirt twice before they fell properly around her legs. Hermione adjusted the back of her red gown with a look of annoyance, then shifted until the fabric stopped pulling at her waist. Airam sat with far less visible trouble, though even she needed a moment to arrange the deep dark purple of her skirts so they would not crease badly beneath her.

The gowns were beautiful.

They were also heavy.

No matter how elegant the silk looked in the light, no matter how fine the tailoring was, none of them could ignore the weight of so much fabric wrapped around their bodies. It dragged faintly at their hips, settled thickly over their legs, and made every movement feel harder than usual. Even walking across the room had become something they had to think about.

Because of that, they chose to remain seated and conserve their energy while they still could.

There would be plenty of time later to get used to moving in them.

For now, they waited for Ulrich.

At first they spoke in low voices simply to pass the time, but before long the conversation turned toward the same subject that had occupied their thoughts all afternoon. The event. The nobles. The things they were expected to say and not say. The way they were meant to carry themselves. What they should do if spoken to kindly. What they should do if spoken to with contempt.

In the end, they were only repeating the instructions Ulrich had already forced on them at lunch.

Still, that repetition calmed Esther, gave Hermione something to focus her nerves on besides irritation, and kept Airam from sinking too deeply into silence.

No matter how stubborn they could be, all three understood the importance of tonight.

For the first time since being adopted, they would be shown to the world of nobility.

Not hidden away in Ulrich’s estate. Not spoken of in rumor. Not guessed at from behind doors.

Shown.

Seen.

Judged.

"I am so nervous," Esther said at last, her fingers twisting together in her lap before she caught herself and forced them still. "I really hope everything goes well..."

That was no surprise. Out of the three of them, Esther was the one who looked closest to trembling whenever the event came back into her mind. She sat so straight that it was obvious she was trying hard not to fidget, but the tension still lived in her shoulders and in the way her eyes lowered every few moments.

Hermione crossed her arms, careful not to crush the line of her sleeves. "We will do well. The real question is whether the others will."

She sounded confident, and in a way she meant it. She trusted herself enough. She trusted Esther to try her best. She trusted Airam to hold herself together if she decided the effort was worth making. The uncertain part was never them. It was the nobles. Their looks. Their words. Their reaction to three witches standing among them in silk and jewels under the protection of a man like Ulrich.

They were still witches.

That truth would remain no matter how beautifully they were dressed.

Hermione already knew it would be hard to stay quiet if someone spoke badly to Esther. Even imagining it made her teeth clench. Esther would try to smile weakly through it or lower her gaze and endure it, and that alone made Hermione want to start a fight before the insult even happened.

But if she was worried for Esther, she was even more worried for Airam.

Hermione turned her head slightly and looked at their eldest sister.

Airam sat with one arm resting against the couch, her posture composed, her face unreadable as always. She looked calm enough to pass for bored.

If someone pushed them too far, Airam would be the first to snap. She would not argue. She would not trade pointed words. She would simply decide enough was enough, and then everything would become far more difficult.

That, however, was the worst possibility.

The best one still existed.

Perhaps the nobles would behave. Perhaps they would whisper behind fans and sleeves, but do it softly enough not to matter. Perhaps they would smile, speak politely, and keep whatever uglier thoughts they had hidden where they belonged. Hermione did not believe things would go that smoothly, but she wanted to. At the very least, she wanted the evening to pass without turning into a disaster.

"Anyway," she said after a while, "isn’t Ulrich taking too long?"

Her tone carried open complaint now.

For someone so obsessed with punctuality, he was taking an absurd amount of time.

"Maybe Lord Ulrich needs time to get dressed too," Esther said softly.

Hermione turned to her with disbelief. "He is not putting on a gown. He is a man. He does not need half the preparation we do."

Even if she understood men of rank had their own routines, she could not imagine theirs ever stretching into the same suffocating ordeal noblewomen endured. He certainly would not be surrounded by three or four maids fussing over every strand of hair, every cuff, every layer, every fold.

The image arrived in Hermione’s mind anyway.

Ulrich sitting stiffly while several maids adjusted him like a difficult doll.

The corners of her mouth lifted before she could stop them.

"My lord."

The voice came from the doorway.

Hermione stiffened immediately.

Esther did too, so quickly that the blue layers of her skirt rustled. Airam turned her head at the same time as the other two, her expression changing least of all.

Ulrich was standing there already dressed and ready.

For a brief second, none of them spoke.

He wore black and crimson, the colors sharp and deliberate on him. Beneath the long outer coat sat a white shirt and a crimson waistcoat fitted so cleanly it looked cut to his body rather than merely tailored for it. A dark red tie sat at his throat. Over it all fell a long crimson coat with black detailing, rich in color without slipping into excess, its structure emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the straightness of his posture. His black breeches and polished shoes completed the look with the same expensive restraint. Like the sisters’ gowns, everything he wore had been made from the finest materials available. The fabric held a soft sheen where the light touched it, and every seam lay exactly where it should.

Yet none of that was what caught the sisters first.

It was his hair.

Usually, his dark crimson hair fell loose over his shoulders, softening him in ways his expression never did. Now it had been drawn back and tied neatly behind him with a dark red ribbon, leaving the full shape of his face exposed. Without the usual curtain of hair framing him, the sharpness of his features stood out much more clearly, the clean angles, the sternness in his gaze, the colder line of his mouth. Those harder edges contrasted with the delicate beauty he already possessed and made him look even more composed, and far harder to read.

Hermione stared.

Esther’s lips parted.

Even Airam’s eyes lingered a fraction longer than usual.

Ulrich’s gaze moved over the three of them in turn, taking in blue, red, and dark purple, the jewels at their throats, the finished arrangements of their hair, the way they sat suddenly straighter under his attention. Then he stepped fully into the room and closed the distance toward them with calm strides.

Esther panicked immediately and turned her burning face away so fast that one of the blue ornaments in her hair trembled.

Hermione was not much better.

Her own face had grown hot the moment Ulrich stepped fully into the room looking like that, but rather than let it show, she snapped her gaze aside and fixed it on Airam instead, as if her eldest sister’s unreadable expression could somehow save her from her own embarrassment.

It did not.

Airam caught the blush on both their faces at once. Her eyes settled on Hermione first, long and stern and mercilessly aware, and that alone made Hermione feel even worse.

She straightened at once, shook the feeling off as hard as she could, and turned back toward Ulrich with a sharp, offended look that was only half real.

"Y—You took your time," she said.

Ulrich gave her a single look.

Just one.

Hermione felt her complaint shrivel under it.

"You are ready," he said. "Then we shall leave."

He turned away as if that settled everything.

Hermione’s eyes widened. "What?!"

Ulrich stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.

That was enough to make her mouth shut at once.

She swallowed whatever had been about to come out.

’What about our gowns?! What about how we look?! Say something, at least once!’

She wanted to throw the words at his back. She wanted one proper reaction after all those hours of washing, dressing, fastening, pinning, and enduring the hands of maids all over them.

Nothing came out.

Esther looked as though she wished for the same thing, though her hope was smaller and softer, tucked behind her lowered lashes and pink cheeks. Even she seemed to want a word, some sign, some acknowledgment that all this effort had not disappeared into nothing.

Ulrich gave them none.

He simply walked off.

In the end, all three sisters followed.

Their skirts whispered over the floor as they moved through the corridor behind him, blue, red, and dark purple trailing in gentle folds. The weight of the gowns made them slower than usual, and the long walk through the mansion gave them their first real test of moving properly in so much layered fabric.

Hermione glanced sideways at Esther and frowned.

"Esther, keep your head up," she said quietly. "Straight. Don’t walk like you’re about to be scolded."

Esther startled a little and tried to obey, but her eyes still stayed too low. "I—I can’t even look at Lord Ulrich, big sister..."

Hermione stared at her. "What is he, a monster?"

"He is," Airam said calmly from the other side.

Hermione shot her a look. "You are not any better, sister. Believe me."

Airam did not answer. She only kept walking with that same cool face, her dark gown moving around her. Esther made a small distressed sound under her breath. Hermione rolled her eyes, though her own cheeks remained warmer than she liked.

Like that, the three sisters followed behind Ulrich all the way to the front of the mansion, where the Rubenhart carriage had already been prepared.

It was beautiful in a costly way; everything tied to old noble houses seemed to be. The carriage was painted a rich crimson darkened by evening light, the wood worked until it reflected the lantern glow along its edges. Gold ornamentation curved along the frame in fine worked lines, not enough to make it gaudy, only enough to make its rank definite and visible. On its side stood the emblem of House Rubenhart, proudly against the red.

The coachman was already waiting.

The moment Ulrich approached, he stepped down and opened the carriage door without delay. Ulrich entered first. The sisters followed after him in careful order, each one gathering her skirts so the fabric would not catch on the step. Esther nearly hesitated because of the narrowness of the entrance, but Hermione, already nervous by everything, gave her a quick look that pushed her forward. Airam climbed in last with far less visible trouble.

The door shut behind them with a solid click.

Outside, the coachman returned to his seat and urged the horses forward. The carriage gave one low shift beneath them, then began to move.

Behind and around them, Hendrick rode with the other knights, flanking the carriage in escort. They would not be allowed into the event itself, of course. Personal guards had their limits within royal grounds. Still, they could accompany Ulrich as far as the castle and remain there under his authority, and even that much would matter if anything went wrong before the sisters were taken fully inside.

Inside the carriage, the air held a different sort of pressure.

Hermione and Esther sat opposite Ulrich with Airam beside them, all three trying to settle themselves with some dignity despite the size of their gowns. Esther kept adjusting her hands in her lap, then stopping, then starting again a few moments later. Hermione tried to sit as though she belonged anywhere she chose to, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her whenever the carriage shifted. Airam looked the calmest of them all, one arm resting lightly against the seat, her expression unreadable in the dim interior.

Ulrich sat across from them, his gaze turned toward the window.

Then, unconsciously, his hand moved toward his waist.

Toward a sword that was not there.

His fingers closed on empty air.

For the briefest moment, his hand remained there before clenching slowly and drawing back.

The gesture was small. So small Esther probably did not notice it. Hermione did, though she did not understand it fully. Airam noticed too. Her eyes flicked once toward his empty side, then back to his face.

Ulrich’s sword was not with him.

Of course it was not. Weapons were forbidden at an event like this, except for the royal guards assigned to the palace and the royal family. Even spatial magic and artifacts like his spatial ring would be restricted within the event’s interior to prevent intrusion, portal tricks, and hidden movement. Whatever he had put away, he would not be able to call on it once they were inside.

His lips tightened almost imperceptibly.

Hopefully, everything would go well.

That had been the simple concern at first: introducing the sisters properly to the noble world, making sure they endured the looks, the questions, the malice hidden behind etiquette. That would have been enough to manage on its own.

Now it was not enough.

Now there was something larger waiting beneath the glitter and ceremony of the evening.

Queen Kaliantha’s assassination attempt.