My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Crown Prince Albert Van Skargardia.

And beside him, Julian Van Gravenberg, heir to Duke Markus and Astrid’s elder brother.

They stood together as if drawn from the same stain.

Albert carried himself with all the authority given to him as Crown Prince. The gold and dark blue of his formal attire marked him at a glance, but it was the expression on his face that made him stand out more than any embroidery could: the faint, superior smile was as present as ever.

Julian at his side looked no better.

If anything, there was something more openly rotten in him for Ulrich, perhaps because he knew him already, knew the shape of his arrogance, knew what kind of man stood beneath that noble bearing.

Behind Ulrich, the sisters went still.

Hermione’s satisfaction vanished at once. Esther’s face lost what little color it still held. Airam’s eyes narrowed into something darker than before, the cold in them deepening until it looked almost like hatred given shape.

And Astrid.

Astrid’s body tensed in a different way.

She should have been pleased.

The prince she clearly hoped to draw closer to was standing before her now. By every outward expectation, she should have been the first to greet him, the first to lower her head, the first to let some brighter expression touch her face.

But she did not.

Instead, it was her brother’s presence that seemed to seize her more than Albert’s.

That alone did not escape Ulrich but he ignored it.

Neither the sisters nor Astrid stepped forward at once.

Ulrich did not bow immediately either.

"Do you wish something, Your Highness?" Ulrich asked.

His voice came out as emotionless as ever, his expression no warmer than his tone. But anyone with eyes could see it there, buried beneath the stillness.

Contempt.

Albert saw it first.

And smiled.

"Shameful and worthless," the Crown Prince repeated. "That is what you call the future of our kingdom? Rich words from you, Ulrich." His smile widened slightly. "A man with a broken mana core blooming in his chest speaks of worthlessness as if he stands above the rest of us."

A soft gasp rose from those around them.

The insult landed exactly where Albert had intended it to.

It was not merely a slight. It was a public strike aimed at the deepest humiliation attached to Ulrich’s name. Everyone in noble circles knew it was a sore point, even if few dared speak of it openly to his face. Fewer still would have done so in a hall like this, beneath the queen’s gaze, in front of nobles and heirs alike.

But Albert was Crown Prince.

He could say nearly anything he wished, and everyone around him had long been taught to call it confidence instead of vulgarity.

More than that, Albert knew precisely what he was doing.

He knew this was the capital. He knew this was royal ground, not Rubenhart territory. He knew Ulrich, no matter how dangerous he was on his own land, could not simply answer with force here. Not without consequences that would reach far beyond a single insult.

So he pushed.

"Are you finished?" Ulrich asked.

Then he turned as if to leave.

He had no interest in wasting more time on the two clowns before him. Every moment spent indulging Albert’s childish provocations was a moment stolen from more pressing matters. He still had that lingering unease in his chest from the strange man in black. He still had the approaching danger in mind. He did not have the luxury of standing here trading barbs with spoiled royalty when he knew something far worse was still waiting to unfold before the night ended.

"No," Albert called after him. "I am not finished."

Ulrich did not stop immediately.

Albert’s voice sharpened.

"And you turn your back on the Crown Prince just like that?"

"That is rather disrespectful," Julian added at once, stepping neatly into place beside Albert as always. "Who exactly do you think you are, Ulrich?"

Behind him, Airam, Hermione, and Esther could only stare.

Even they could tell what this was.

Ulrich was not being challenged fairly. He was being baited. Cornered in public by two men who knew exactly how much protection rank gave them here. It was not courage. It was cowardice dressed in authority.

And yet what struck the sisters most was not Albert’s filth nor Julian’s arrogance.

It was Ulrich’s restraint.

The Ulrich they knew, the one from the estate, from the village, from every cold memory tied to his name, would not have tolerated this so quietly. He would have made someone regret it.

They had seen enough of him to know that much.

But this was not his land.

This was the capital.

And that changed everything.

So he remained still.

Calm, outwardly.

Only the frost gathering in his eyes betrayed anything at all.

Hermione saw it first. Airam understood it next. Even Esther, shaken as she was, could feel it. He was controlling himself, not because he lacked the will to act, but because he was forcing every impulse down beneath discipline.

Albert and Julian, unfortunately, seemed to enjoy that.

If anything, Ulrich’s silence pleased them more than if he had snapped. Back in his own territory, he had carried himself with the arrogance of a man no one could touch. Here, in the capital, they believed they were seeing him caged. Forced to bow to rules he hated. Forced to swallow contempt he could not openly repay.

To them, it was amusing.

Ulrich slowly turned back to face them.

He looked first at Albert.

Then at Julian.

"If Your Highness is done reciting insults fit for a drunken courtyard brute," he said, "then perhaps we may all return to behaving as though this is still a royal event."

Albert’s smile thinned.

Julian’s expression darkened at once.

"How dare you?" Julian spat, glaring at Ulrich. "You insult the Crown Prince when you are only a mere Count?"

"Um... please..."

The small voice cut awkwardly into the confrontation.

It was Esther.

She looked nervous enough that anyone could see it at once. Her fingers had drawn together near her skirt, and there was hesitation in her eyes, but she still forced herself to look at both Albert and Julian. Beneath the fear, there was also something else there, something wounded and quietly upset. She did not like seeing Ulrich spoken to like that. Even after everything, even after all the confusion he brought into their lives, she did not like it at all.

Julian turned sharply toward her.

"What?"

The single word cracked out hard enough to make Esther flinch.

"You did not act nearly so proud when you were in the Rubenhart County," Hermione said before Esther could shrink further.

Her arms were crossed, and though her voice did not rise, there was no softness left in it. She spoke to Julian, yes, but everyone there could hear the truth inside it. The words were aimed at Prince Albert too, but obviously she couldn’t confront him. Confronting Julian already was very limit but she couldn’t hold back.

Silence followed.

A disbelieving silence.

Even some of the nobles nearby seemed stunned. Hermione had only recently entered noble society. Julian, for all his faults, was still the son of a Duke. Speaking to him like that in public should have been enough to freeze her into caution.

It did not.

Something in her had already crossed the line of restraint.

She had watched those noble children sneer at them. She had watched Albert provoke Ulrich openly. And perhaps what irritated her most was not even the insult itself, but the fact that Ulrich was standing there taking it with that cold, controlled calm that did not suit the version of him she knew. He was enduring it because he had to. That made it worse.

Julian stared at her.

For a moment, he looked almost stupid with surprise, as if he could not believe he had just been addressed that way by one of the very witches he already considered beneath notice.

Before he could answer, Albert gave an amused laugh and stepped forward.

Now that his attention had shifted fully to the sisters, recognition fell along remembrance of that peculiar day he met them.

"I remember you now," he said. "All three of you. Clearly."

He stopped directly in front of Hermione, who had been standing nearest.

But Airam moved fast.

She stepped in front of Hermione so quickly it did not even feel like a decision. One hand caught Hermione and pulled her half a step back, while Airam herself took the front without hesitation. Her black eyes lifted to Albert’s face, and the coldness within them matched Ulrich’s.

Albert’s smile widened.

"You have grown into quite the beauty," he said.

His eyes traveled over her in a way that made Esther stiffen and Hermione’s mouth pull with disgust.

"And that gown suits you very well—"

He reached toward her face.

The gesture was casual, almost lazy, as though he already assumed the right to touch whatever pleased him.

He never reached her however.

Slap!

Ulrich’s hand moved so fast that several people did not understand what had happened until the sound tore through the silence.

Albert’s hand had been struck away before his fingers came anywhere near Airam.

The noise seemed to ring through the entire section of the hall. With so many voices fallen quiet and so many people already watching, the sharp crack of skin against skin landed almost like a blow against the room itself.

Albert froze.

Shock flashed across his face first. He looked down at his hand as if he could not quite believe it had happened. A red sting had already begun spreading across the back of it, and he could still feel the force of Ulrich’s strike burning there.

Then he slowly raised his head.

Ulrich was standing between him and the sisters now. His red eyes looked darker than before, stripped of even the thin, brittle civility he had been forcing himself to maintain.

"You don’t touch them," he said.

His voice had changed.

Until now, Albert had believed Ulrich was merely being cold, disdainful, difficult. Now he understood that everything before this had been restraint. What looked back at him now was not restraint. It was anger kept so tightly under control that it had become far more frightening than shouting ever could be.

For one brief second, Albert almost stepped back.

The instinct reached him plainly. Fear touched his face before pride seized it again. He bit down hard enough on the inside of his lip to steady himself, refusing to retreat under the eyes watching him.

Then came the humiliation.

And after humiliation, anger.

His face flushed red.

Behind him, Julian had gone equally still, though his shock showed differently. He had not expected Ulrich to dare that. Not here. Not in the capital. Not in front of the queen’s court. His mouth had already parted, no doubt ready to explode with outrage—

"That is enough."

Queen Kaliantha’s voice cut through the silence.

She had not raised it.

She did not need to.

Her mismatched eyes rested on the scene coldly.

"That is enough," she repeated.

The second time, her voice felt even colder.

Albert clenched his fist so tightly that the knuckles showed white. He shot Ulrich a glare filled with rage, and the last remains of fear he was trying desperately to bury. But he did not argue with his mother.

He turned and walked away.

Julian followed him, though not before casting one last furious look in Ulrich’s direction.

Then, just before leaving, his gaze caught on Astrid standing behind Ulrich, who was still reeling in shock from the last-minute event.

He stopped for half a beat.

The glare he gave his younger sister made her visibly flinch.

It was not the kind of look a brother should have given.

Astrid’s body stiffened at once. She looked ready to hurry after him immediately.

She had already started to move when another voice stopped her.

"Astrid."

Astrid halted mid-step.

She turned her head.

Princess Camellia was standing there, smiling.