My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

"Ulrich Van Rubenhart."

Ulrich turned his head at the sound of the voice and looked at the woman who had called him.

Louise Van Rommels.

He had known her since childhood.

She had been one of the first noble children he came to recognize back when he still attended formal gatherings under the watch of both his father and mother, when every banquet felt too bright, every conversation too rehearsed, and every older noble looked at children not as children at all, but as future names to be weighed and placed.

Louise had been there in those early years.

Never especially close to him, never someone he sought out of his own will, yet never truly distant either. She had belonged to that familiar circle of old noble houses whose heirs kept crossing paths whether they wanted to or not. Seasonal receptions, name days, royal ceremonies, hunting feasts, winter balls, faces repeated themselves often enough that memory took root whether affection followed or not.

But Louise had never been just another noblewoman in Ulrich’s life.

Once, she had nearly become his fiancée.

Not because he had wanted it.

Not because she had wanted it either, as far as he knew.

It had been his father’s idea.

Eurich Van Rubenhart had preferred Louise over Ashara. Louise was born of Skargardian blood, daughter of a marquis from within the kingdom, a perfectly respectable match with all the advantages a man like his father valued. Ashara, by contrast, had been from Arcadia. A foreign noble. Suitable by rank, perhaps, but foreign all the same, and Eurich had disliked that from the beginning.

The thought still carried a bitter edge.

His father’s preference had always been steeped in hypocrisy. Eurich himself had married a woman from Arcadia. Ulrich’s mother had been every bit as foreign as Ashara, and yet he had never found fault with that when it benefited him.

She had reminded him of that.

Ulrich still remembered it clearly: his mother’s voice, the sharpness hidden beneath her grace, the way she had cornered Eurich with his own contradiction until even he had been forced to retreat. More than that, she had wanted Ulrich’s happiness above politics. She had known how deeply he loved Ashara, and she had chosen his heart over convenience.

In the end, Ashara had been chosen.

Not Louise.

Then the Countess died, and with her death went the only steady force that had ever stood between Eurich and his worst instincts.

Afterward, his father called off the engagement between Ulrich and Ashara.

Ulrich had long suspected that Eurich meant to return to the earlier plan after that, to reopen the matter of Louise Van Rommels and bind their houses as he had first intended. The signs had been there.

But Eurich died before he could press the matter fully.

That had been the end of it.

Or perhaps only the interruption of it.

Still, Ulrich felt no particular resentment toward Louise herself. She had not engineered any of that. If anything, among the people gathered in this hall, she might well be the only one who could speak to him without calculation so obvious it bordered on insult.

He looked at her only briefly before his gaze shifted away again, searching for the dark-haired stranger.

He had to follow him.

That strange feeling had not left his chest. It still lingered there, faint but insistent, scraping at the back of his instincts in a way Ulrich had learned never to ignore.

But when he turned back toward the direction the man had gone, he did not find him.

The man was gone.

Ulrich’s eyes swept across the hall.

He looked once to the left, then farther beyond the line of pillars, then toward the nobles gathered near the musicians, then toward the side entrances. Nothing.

His expression hardened.

He looked toward the sisters next.

At first glance, they were safe.

That was the important thing.

No one stood too close to them. No hands reached toward them. No immediate danger showed itself. But that was where the reassuring part ended. They were no longer mingling with the younger nobles as intended. Instead, they stood somewhat apart from the cluster, and even at a distance, Ulrich could read the mood in their posture.

Something had happened.

Ulrich was not surprised.

He had expected difficulties.

Still, he had at least hoped the exchange might go tolerably with some of them. That there would be one or two among the younger nobles with enough sense to speak carefully. But Airam and Hermione were not easy girls to soothe once their tempers had been touched, and if Esther had been insulted, if their precious youngest sister had been frightened or hurt, then forgiveness would not come quickly.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me for much longer?"

Louise’s voice sounded beside him again, closer this time, drawing his attention back whether he liked it or not.

Ulrich finally turned toward her properly.

"Louise," he said.

She smiled at that.

"It has been a long time, Ulrich," she said. "I believe the last time we truly saw one another was during His Highness’s formal recognition as heir."

"I do not remember," Ulrich replied.

Louise gave a soft chuckle.

"How cold," she said, though there was more amusement than offense in it. "I wanted to say you have not changed at all, but now I am not so sure."

Her green eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at him.

"I mean the witches," she added. "Adopting them, presenting them here, dressing them as noble girls. Has Count Rubenhart finally gone soft?"

Ulrich glanced once more toward the place where the strange man had disappeared, but it was useless. There was nothing to follow now.

So he looked back at her.

"What do you want, Louise?" He asked.

"I wanted to speak with you, of course," she replied. "I have been standing among people I do not particularly enjoy for most of the evening, and men have been pestering me without pause. Speaking to you is a far easier arrangement."

A small laugh escaped her.

"Though, conveniently enough, no one dares interrupt for long once they notice I am beside you. You frighten them too much."

Ulrich looked at her without any change in expression.

"If they are too frightened to approach me," he said, "then they do not deserve to call themselves nobles."

There was open cold mockery in his voice now.

He had little respect for men who hid behind hesitation and then pretended it was prudence. One might feel pressure in the presence of a stronger man. One might even be overwhelmed for a moment. But to avoid action entirely out of fear, especially in a hall like this, among one’s peers, was pathetic.

Louise’s smile widened a little at that.

"There," she said. "That sounds more like the Ulrich I remember."

She moved to stand beside Ulrich while his attention remained on the three sisters from across the hall.

Even after Louise approached him, his gaze stayed fixed on them.

Louise followed his line of sight, then smiled faintly.

"How is Ashara, by the way?"

Ulrich did not look at her.

"Who knows," he replied.

Louise tilted her head slightly with open amusement.

"Are you sure?" She asked. "Did you not meet her recently? I saw her last year. As expected, she never truly recovered from the way you rejected her, broke off the engagement, and sent her away. When I brought up your name, she gave me such an angry look." She let out a light laugh. "I do enjoy teasing her. She is very easy to provoke."

Ulrich’s expression did not shift, but inwardly, he thought that nothing had changed.

The few times he had seen Ashara and Louise in the same room, they had never done anything but quarrel. It was never loud enough to draw attention, never vulgar, never open, but the dislike had always been there. Louise had likely never forgiven the fact that he had chosen Ashara over her. Whether it was affection, pride, or simple rivalry that had been wounded, Ulrich had never cared enough to ask.

"Do you have nothing better to do?" Hee said at last, his tone dry.

Louise had grown into a beautiful woman, that much no one could deny. But beauty had not softened the rest of her. She was still sharp, observant, and fond of pushing at old bruises simply to watch how people reacted.

"Not particularly," she replied. "My father wishes for me to marry soon. Proposals keep arriving, and I keep refusing them."

Ulrich gave a small, indifferent nod.

"Hm."

Louise glanced at him sideways, then let a trace of displeasure enter her face.

"Do you want me to say it plainly, Ulrich?" She asked.

"I am not interested in marriage," he answered immediately.

"You are at the right age," she said. "And so am I. I am quite certain you are being pestered from every direction as well, so why not help each other?"

"Find someone else."

"No one else matches."

Ulrich finally turned and looked at her properly.

"Julian Van Gravenberg," he said. "He is the son of a Duke."

Louise made a face immediately.

"Oh, Gods, no. I would rather die than bind myself to that man. He is exactly the one my father keeps bringing up, and I cannot stand him." She shook her head vehemently. "Not his voice, not his face, not the way he carries himself. Nothing."

For the briefest instant, Ulrich almost smiled.

At least on that point, they agreed completely.

Julian was rotten in the same way the Crown Prince was rotten. Not identical, but close enough that one could see why they remained near each other. Men like that always found each other.

"A perfect pair," Ulrich thought coldly, though he did not say it aloud.

Louise watched him for a moment, perhaps catching the flicker of agreement in his face.

"At least consider my offer," she said. "I would take very good care of your precious three witches. You may trust me on that."

Her gaze drifted toward the sisters as she spoke.

Ulrich followed it.

Trust her? Perhaps in the practical sense. Louise was capable, educated, and well-born. She knew perfectly how to run a household, how to hold a title, how to maneuver through noble circles, and how to keep appearances intact. Yet when he imagined her trying to manage the three sisters, especially Airam, he nearly found the idea absurd.

No woman alive could truly handle those three except Anna-Maria herself.

Still, Louise’s words did not leave his mind as lightly as he expected.

A marriage.

He was of age. More than that, it was expected of him. Expected by the house, by the nobles watching him, by the structure of the world itself. A count was meant to continue his line. That was not romance. It was duty. It had always been duty.

Until now, Ulrich had been focused on other matters. The story. The future. The threads of the novel unfolding around him and the constant need to keep certain events from falling into disaster. The sisters alone were enough to consume his attention. But even so, he could not ignore his own position forever. House Rubenhart still required a future beyond him.

He looked at Louise again, this time with clearer consideration.

And there was, in truth, very little to fault.

She was noble, intelligent, highly educated, accustomed to rank, and more politically aware than most of the women in this hall. Her thinking aligned with his more often than not. She would not be a burden to the house. On the contrary, she would likely make an excellent Countess.

Perhaps dismissing the possibility outright would be foolish.

"I will think about it," he said.

Louise’s eyes widened.

For once, the composure she wore cracked in honest surprise.

"Really?" She asked, turning fully toward him now.

"Do not make me repeat myself," Ulrich said.

That pulled her back quickly enough. The surprise remained, but it shifted into something brighter.

"I need to be sure," she said, and this time her voice held less teasing than before. "If I am to silence my father’s endless pressure, I would rather do so with certainty."

Ulrich exhaled softly through his nose.

"I am serious," he said. "Tell him whatever you wish."

Louise stared at him for one heartbeat longer, then smiled widely.

"Then would you reserve a dance for me later?" She asked.

"If I am not occupied."

"You will not be," she said with a soft laugh.

Then she stepped away from him.