My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

An hour had passed since Hermione successfully finished her punishment and rushed off to find Esther.

She had tried to return shortly after, but Ulrich swiftly barred her, and Esther from re-entering the study. Though he had previously told Esther she could see with her sisters, he had changed his mind regarding Airam. He wanted to observe the eldest girl just a little bit longer.

Currently, Airam was standing perfectly still, her small, bloodied hands pressed flat against the curved magical barrier. Her pitch-black eyes were locked onto him, unblinking. She had been staring at him in that exact posture for ten long minutes.

It was a quite a scary sight. Yet, in a cold, analytical way, Ulrich had to admit he admired her resilience. She refused to yield. If only she would channel that tenacity toward a better purpose, rather than attempting to murder anyone who posed even the slightest perceived threat to her sisters.

"My Lord."

A polite knock rang out at the wooden door.

It was Fabian.

"Enter."

The door swung open, and Fabian stepped inside, pushing a serving cart laden with silver-domed plates. Although it was only late afternoon, Ulrich had specifically requested an early meal to break his hunger.

Moving with professionalism, Fabian began to arrange the dishes on the desk. However, as he worked, he couldn’t help but shoot brief, pitiful glances toward Airam’s glowing prison. Just how many hours had the child been trapped inside that spell? And yet, Ulrich showed no intention of removing it.

Fabian hesitated, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something on the girl’s behalf. But Ulrich cut him off before he could utter a single word.

"You may leave, Fabian," he said.

"My Lord..." Fabian sighed, bowing his head in defeat before quietly wheeling the empty cart out of the room.

Left alone once more, Ulrich calmly proceeded to uncover the warm, delectable meal.

From within her magical cage, Airam’s dark gaze drifted downward, locking onto the lavish spread fit for a Count. The food was piping hot, its rich, savory aroma easily slipping through the permeable magic of the barrier.

Picking up his silver fork, Ulrich speared a succulent meatball. He raised it toward his mouth with excruciating slowness, ensuring that Airam watched the entire process. Maintaining perfect, aristocratic posture, he finally took the bite.

Airam’s gaze darkened considerably as she watched him chew. Slowly, her eyes flicked away from the plate, landing on her blank notebook. After a long moment of internal debate, she finally turned away from the glass, dragged herself into her chair, and began to write.

Ulrich gave her a sidelong stare as he took another bite. Perhaps he should have simply ordered food earlier and let her watch him eat it from the very beginning. It would have saved a great deal of time. Regardless, as long as she finally obeyed him, the method didn’t matter.

Knock!

A sudden rapping echoed from the door. It was too soon for Fabian to return, and it didn’t sound like Monika.

"Um... it’s Monika... please let me enter."

The voice trying to disguise itself was entirely too young and high-pitched to be his maid. It was definitely Hermione.

Ulrich had instructed Fabian and Monika to keep both her and Esther securely away from the study, but it seemed the two girls had managed to slip past them.

Without saying a word, Ulrich casually raised his fork toward the door. With a flick of his wrist, a secondary crimson barrier materialized, sealing the door shut.

Immediately, the brass doorknob rattled, jerking downward several times to no avail.

"That damn Ulrich locked the door!" Hermione cursed loudly from the hallway.

"Y—You have to respect him, big sister! It’s Count Rubenhart..." Esther’s timid, trembling voice rang right beside her.

"Did he brainwash you, Esther? Damn it, I will never forgive him, hey! Wait!"

"Monika! We just want to check on elder sister!" Esther cried out, her voice pitching into a pleading one.

It seemed the Monika had finally caught up to her escapees.

"Please, do not bother the Count. I can guarantee you that nothing bad will happen to Airam," Monika said softly, trying to corral the girls.

"I don’t trust Ulrich!" Hermione snapped back.

"It’s Count Rubenhart! Y—You cannot disrespect the Lord like this, Hermione!" Monika gasped, clearly horrified by the girl’s brazen insolence.

Ulrich continued to eat in peaceful silence, mildly entertained as he listened to the noisy dispute echoing through the wood. Thankfully, the voices soon began to fade down the hall, signaling that Monika had successfully managed to drag them both away.

After another hour had slowly ticked by, Ulrich finally finished his meal. He had just resumed reading his novel when a sudden, dull thud caught his attention. Lowering the book, he raised his gaze toward Airam’s prison.

She had collapsed onto her desk, her bruised fingers still stubbornly clutching her pen.

He stared at her motionless form for a long, silent moment. She wasn’t acting this time. It seemed her body had finally given out entirely. She would have lasted much longer, and certainly wouldn’t have collapsed so completely had she not spent hours aggressively breaking her nails, wounding her wrists, and stupidly slamming her head against the barrier.

Setting his book aside, Ulrich stood up and approached her desk, staring down at her work. She had, in fact, been writing the exact phrase he had demanded. However, the notebook was a chaotic, smeared mess of dark ink and fresh blood. She had forced herself to write despite her bleeding fingertips, only succeeding in making her injuries significantly worse.

With a silent thought, he dismissed the glowing crimson barrier. He reached over the desk, gently pulling her limp form forward before lifting her into his arms.

He briefly paused to look down at her face. At the very least, when she was unconscious, her murderous expression softened into something peaceful. She finally looked like a girl of her age.

Well, he couldn’t entirely blame her for being so wary. In the wake of her mother’s death, she must feel a strong responsibility to protect her two younger sisters. Yet, looking at the depth of her hostility, Ulrich suspected that something else, something traumatic that occurred long before her mother’s murder had hardened her.

Stepping out of the study, he carried her upstairs toward the guest wing. He headed for the separate room he had originally assigned to her, a large, personal space that had remained entirely unused, as the three sisters preferred to sleep huddled together in one bed.

Regardless of their preferences, he carried her inside and carefully lowered her onto the plush mattress.

"My Lord."

Monika appeared silently in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly before her.

"Treat her injuries," he said as he stepped past her.

"At once, My Lord," Monika nodded, immediately moving toward the bed.

As he stepped out into the hallway, Ulrich spotted Hermione and Esther rushing toward the room. They skidded to a sudden halt the moment they saw him emerging. Hermione immediately grasped Esther’s arm, pulling the younger girl behind her back while glaring up at him with unhidden wariness.

"Where is Airam?" Hermione asked.

"She requires medical treatment because of her own stupidity," Ulrich replied coldly. "If you truly care about her well-being, tell her to refrain from needlessly harming herself once she wakes."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away. The moment his back was turned, both Hermione and Esther scrambled past him, rushing into the bedroom.

Ulrich continued down the hall, making his way to his private study. Taking his seat behind the grand mahogany desk, he was immediately confronted by a towering pile of paperwork. Fabian had clearly gathered every pressing issue that had accumulated during his long absence.

"My Lord."

Fabian entered the study quietly, stepping up to stand beside the desk.

Ulrich had already picked up his favorite pen and started writing, but he gave a slight nod to indicate he was listening.

"Several of our allied partners and the merchants currently in cooperation with us... wish to immediately terminate their contracts," Fabian reported.

"How many, and who?" Ulrich asked, his hand never pausing in its fluid script.

"I have compiled a list, but the numbers keep increasing by the hour," Fabian said, gently placing a written ledger on the edge of the desk.

Ulrich barely spared the document a glance.

"Among them, our main wine transporters and major sponsors have also requested to formally withdraw their support," Fabian continued.

Ulrich remained completely silent, the scratching of his pen the only sound in the room.

"Perhaps, My Lord, the three young ladies shouldn’t be formally adopted just yet. Perhaps through some other, quieter means, we can—"

"No," Ulrich cut him off.

He finished the final stroke of the letter he had been writing and signed his name with a heavy flourish. Lifting the parchment, he blew lightly across the surface to dry the ink and clear away any stray dust. His eyes scanned the document one last time, checking for any minute errors.

It was a formal, legally binding declaration of adoption. Airam, Hermione, and Esther were to be officially recognized as daughters of the Rubenhart House. From this day forward, they would all bear his name.

Up until now, he had only verbally declared his intentions, a move that had already caused a massive uproar and spread scandalous rumors throughout the entire kingdom. Now, he was carving that decision into law.

He folded the parchment, melting a dollop of crimson wax over the seal and pressing his signet ring into it.

He raised his gaze and handed the sealed letter directly to Fabian.

"See that this is sent directly to the King," he ordered.

He had already prepared and filed the necessary local documents for the three girls. However, sending a personal, direct letter to the royal family was a calculated move. It was his way of confirming the adoption on a national scale, making the crown fully understand that he was not bluffing. It was a bold declaration of his intent.

Obviously, the King legally couldn’t do anything to stop a noble from adopting wards. But by making it an official correspondence, Ulrich wasn’t simply being respectful; it was a intelligent, subtle political maneuver to force the crown to formally read, acknowledge, and tacitly accept his decision.

Fabian took the sealed letter, exhaling a soft, deeply resigned sigh.

As expected, Ulrich was not a man to cower or walk back his decisions. He was going to push this forward to the bitter end, regardless of the severe economic and political repercussions it would bring down upon the County.

It was a bold move to send such a letter directly to the royalty, specifically to the Queen, since she was the one truly managing the Kingdom’s affairs in the King’s stead.

And it was widely known that the Queen despised witches...