My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

"Astrid."

At the sound of Princess Camellia’s voice, Astrid turned at once.

Camellia was looking at her with a gentle smile, as if nothing unpleasant had happened only moments ago. For a brief second, Astrid glanced after her brother, but Julian could do nothing now. Not when the royal princess herself had called for her.

He had no choice but to keep walking.

So he followed Crown Prince Albert in silence, though the prince’s face still burned a deep, furious red from the humiliation of having his hand struck away so casually before the court. Even from behind, the stiffness in Albert’s shoulders made his shame obvious.

Astrid let out a quiet breath of relief once they were gone.

Then she turned back to Camellia and composed herself quickly, smoothing down the front of her gown before lowering into a proper curtsy.

"Your Highness, you look exquisite tonight," Astrid said. "That gown suits you perfectly."

And it did.

The pink-silver dress seemed almost made for Camellia alone. The pale rose of the fabric matched the soft color of her hair without swallowing her in it, while the silver threaded through the layers caught the candlelight in a way that made every movement look clean and luminous. Nothing about her appearance felt heavy or overdone. It was regal without strain, delicate without weakness.

Camellia smiled.

"You look lovely as well, Astrid."

Then her gaze shifted past her and settled on Ulrich.

He was a count. By rank alone, she had to greet him properly first. Even so, she had stepped in for Astrid before anything else after seeing what her brother and Julian had done.

"Lord Rubenhart," Camellia said.

Ulrich looked up, though only after a brief pause.

Until then, he had seemed distracted, his eyes scanning the hall in a way that had nothing to do with courtly embarrassment or the prince’s childish outburst. He looked thoughtful, but not because he was lingering on Albert’s insults. His attention was somewhere else entirely, moving over doors, pillars, nobles, servants, exits, patterns of movement.

Seeing that he had not answered the princess immediately, Esther panicked.

Her hand shot out and tugged lightly at his sleeve.

"Lord Ulrich," she whispered.

Ulrich felt the touch and glanced down at her first. Only then did he properly turn his eyes to Camellia.

"Your Highness," he greeted.

His tone had already changed. It was still controlled, still distant by most people’s standards, but compared to the cold edge he had used with Albert, it was noticeably less harsh.

Camellia inclined her head slightly.

"I apologize on behalf of my brother and Lord Gravenberg for their inappropriate conduct."

She believed he was upset. That much was plain in the careful sincerity of her expression. From her point of view, his silence, his distant look, the severity in his face, it all suggested a man still offended and controlling himself with effort.

In truth, Ulrich had already cast both Albert and Julian to the side in his mind.

They no longer mattered.

What occupied him now was the event itself.

The danger still hanging over the hall.

He searched the hall again, even while standing before the princess. Somewhere in this gathering, if the story still followed its course, there would be an attempt on Queen Kaliantha’s life. But finding the exact shape of that threat beforehand was far from simple. Even with sharp eyes, suspicion alone could not pull a hidden blade out into the open.

Would he have to wait and act at the exact moment?

If so, then watching Kaliantha herself might be the only sure path left.

"It is already forgotten," Ulrich replied at last.

Camellia seemed relieved by the answer.

Then Ulrich looked toward the three sisters, still standing nearby in awkward silence.

Hermione understood first.

She caught the cue immediately and stepped forward.

There was a tiny pause before she moved, but after hearing the princess speak and hearing how genuine her apology had sounded, she did not hold back.

"Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you. I am Hermione Van Rubenhart," she said, lightly pinching her gown before inclining her head.

Camellia smiled at once.

"The honor is mine as well, Hermione."

Airam came next.

"I am Airam Van Rubenhart," she said.

That was all.

Her greeting was dry, reduced to the bare minimum of what courtesy demanded, and she gave only a short nod instead of any softer gesture. After everything that had happened earlier, it was already more than most people should have expected from her.

Ulrich did not blame her in the slightest.

At present, he himself was only a narrow breath away from doing something far uglier than offering a cold greeting if Albert tried reaching toward them again.

Still, Camellia did not seem bothered.

"A pleasure to meet you, Airam," she said with the same calm grace as before.

She did not force warmth where there was none. She simply accepted the coldness and answered it with politeness.

Last came Esther.

She stepped forward with visible hesitation, her shoulders slightly drawn in, her hands careful, her whole posture betraying how nervous she still was. When she bowed, it came out more timid than elegant, but there was something so genuine in it that it hardly mattered.

"Um... I am Esther Van Rubenhart," she said.

Then she raised her gaze just enough to look at Camellia’s face from this close, and her expression shifted into open wonder again.

"It is a great honor to meet you, Your Highness," Esther added. "And... um... you are really very pretty."

The compliment was so direct, so shy, and so sincere that Camellia looked briefly caught off guard.

Then she laughed softly.

Just a small, bright sound that made her look even closer to her age.

"Thank you, Esther," Camellia said. "You are very pretty as well."

Esther’s cheeks warmed.

"I... still think the princess is prettier," she admitted with a small, bashful smile.

Beside her, Hermione immediately looked faintly offended.

Not truly angry, but a bit sulking.

Only moments ago Esther had been calling her and her sisters the prettiest, and now she was standing there admiring another girl so openly. Hermione kept her expression mostly under control, but the tiny shift in her mouth made her thoughts obvious enough.

Even so, she was glad.

Glad that Esther, after being treated so poorly by the others, was finally receiving the kind and proper response she deserved. Esther was too soft-hearted for the ugliness she had met tonight. Seeing someone answer her gently felt right.

And Camellia...

Hermione could not help noticing it clearly now.

The princess was nothing like her brother.

Looking at the exchange unfolding before him, Ulrich felt a quiet surprise.

Camellia was friendlier than he had expected.

In the novel, she had been colder, more restrained, and far less willing to indulge unnecessary conversation. But that had made sense there. By that point in the story, her mother had already been assassinated. A girl shaped by that kind of loss would naturally become harder, more guarded, less generous with herself.

Now, however, Kaliantha still lived.

And so Camellia stood before them not yet sharpened by grief, still composed and royal, but softer in ways the later version of her no longer was.

That changed things.

More importantly, it made one decision easier.

"Your Highness," Ulrich said, "I leave them in your care."

Camellia blinked once, caught off guard by the sudden demand.

Then she smiled and inclined her head with calm grace.

"Please do," she said. "I will help them through their first royal event as best I can."

Ulrich stared at her for a brief moment, then gave a small nod.

"I am certain you will," he said. "More than others."

As he spoke, his eyes slid toward Astrid.

The look lasted only a second, but it landed cleanly.

Astrid stiffened at once.

Heat rose into her cheeks, and for the first time since Camellia approached, she looked genuinely embarrassed rather than merely tense. She knew exactly what he meant. She had failed to keep the situation from turning ugly, and now Ulrich had made that judgment plain without needing to say it directly.

A small snicker escaped Hermione as she watched Astrid clench her gown in embarrassment and anger.

"Heh."

It was barely more than a snicker, but Astrid heard it immediately and shot her a sharp glare. Hermione only looked more pleased with herself for it until Esther caught her arm and gave it a light tug, silently scolding her before things could start again.

Ulrich ignored the byplay.

Instead, he turned his attention to the royal guard standing just behind Camellia.

The man had kept a proper distance the entire time, watchful and disciplined, but the moment Ulrich’s eyes settled on him, that discipline visibly tightened.

Ulrich looked at him in absolute silence for one breath.

Then he said, "If even a single scratch appears on them, I will scar the rest of your body to match."

The guard froze.

Ulrich did not wait for a response. He simply turned and walked away, leaving the man staring after him in open horror.

The poor fool looked as though his soul had nearly left his body.

And from his point of view, perhaps that reaction was fair. He had done nothing wrong. He had merely stood there doing his duty, and somehow that had ended with Count Rubenhart threatening to carve him apart over three girls who technically were not even under royal protection.

Unfortunately for him, Ulrich had not spoken out of random cruelty.

Ever since that strange dark-haired man had appeared and vanished just as suddenly, caution had been digging at the back of his mind. Ulrich did not think the man posed an immediate danger to the sisters. If he had, Ulrich would not have left them even for a moment. But uncertainty alone was enough. Tonight held too many moving pieces already, and he trusted his instincts too much to dismiss the unease entirely.

The guard, of course, had no way of knowing any of that.

To him, it simply felt as though his life had flashed before his eyes because he happened to be standing near the wrong people.

Camellia, however, looked more amused than alarmed.

There was a faint brightness in her eyes as she watched Ulrich go.

"The Count cares for you very much, doesn’t he?" She asked.

Esther’s whole face softened at once.

"Y—Yes," she said, then lowered her head with a timid blush. "He does..."

Hermione flushed too, though hers came with more visible awkwardness.

"T—That... well..." She began, then failed to finish properly.

Her eyes followed Ulrich’s retreating figure hesitantly for a brief second before darting away again. There was embarrassment in her expression, but not displeasure. Hearing someone else say it aloud made the truth feel strangely stronger than when she thought it privately.

Airam said nothing.

But she looked at him too.

Her eyes followed Ulrich’s back as he crossed the hall, and against her will, the memory came back with cruel clarity.

Albert’s hand reaching toward her.

Ulrich moving.

The sharp sound of the strike.

And then that voice, colder than ice and far more dangerous.

"You don’t touch them."

There had been no performance in it.

No empty dominance for show.

Only real anger.

And that, more than the slap itself, had caught her off guard.

Airam kept staring at him as he walked farther into the hall, his formal coat cutting through clusters of nobles who shifted aside without even realizing they were doing it.

Something uncomfortable stirred in her chest.

Her black eyes remained fixed on Ulrich’s figure until he disappeared deeper into the court, and she found herself still watching the space he had just left.