My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

After observing Airam for perhaps a minute, which was already a minute too long, Hermione finally stepped forward.

"Airam, I think you’ve done enough. It’s already morning, you know," she said.

"I know," Airam said, though she didn’t even blink. Her black gaze remained locked on the seven glowing runes hovering between her hands.

Hermione let out a long sigh. Raising her hand, she fired a concentrated beam of her own mana straight into the center of the formation, destabilizing the runes. Despite the sudden interference, Airam’s fingers twitched, fighting to wrestle the erratic runes back under control, which she really managed to do.

However, Hermione wasn’t having it. She flared her mana, flooding the formation until the runes completely shattered, dissolving into harmless sparks.

When the runes vanished, Airam snapped her head up, shooting her sister a scowl. Hermione simply smirked and dropped to her knees beside her in the grass.

"Have you even slept today? You have terrible dark circles under your eyes. You’re going to scare Esther away looking like that," she said lightly.

Airam’s hand drifted up, her fingertips brushing the delicate skin beneath her eyes. "I slept. Two hours," she said.

"That’s hardly anything," Hermione replied, her smirk fading into a frown.

Airam didn’t offer a defense. It wasn’t that she actively wanted to deprive herself of sleep, nor was she choosing to sacrifice her rest out of some obsessive need to train. The reality was that she simply couldn’t sleep peacefully. Plagued by recurring nightmares of their mother’s death, mingled with twisted, incomprehensible images, sleep had become a nightly battlefield.

Hermione and Esther suffered from similar night terrors, but theirs were mere shadows compared to the horrors their eldest sister endured. Truthfully, Hermione often marveled at how Airam managed to stay so composed while carrying such an exhausting mental burden. They had even swallowed their pride and asked Grandmaster Brian Strelley for help, but his interventions had been useless. The old mage suspected the root of the issue lay deep within Airam’s ’Root’ itself, placing it far beyond the reach of conventional magic.

Forced magical slumber was an option, but Airam vehemently refused it. She had tried it exactly once. Instead of feeling rested, she had woken up completely drained, her mind scrambled and thoroughly out of sorts. She despised that loss of control.

Letting the argument drop, Hermione sat quietly alongside her sister. For a long moment, both girls simply stared at the mound of earth that held their mother’s remains. Slowly, Hermione reached out, her hand finding Airam’s tightly clenched fist resting in her lap. She gently pried her fingers loose, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, and grasped it.

After a minute of silence, Hermione stood up, using her grip to pull Airam to her feet.

"Come on. We need to hurry back and stop Esther before she tries anything embarrassing with Ulrich," Hermione said, a fond smile returning to her face.

Airam dusted off her knees and looked up. "What time is it?"

"Time for breakfast," Hermione answered. "But before that, you need a bath. Do you want me to help you wash up?"

"I am fine on my own," Airam replied, brushing off the offer.

"You know it isn’t smart to train this late into the night, right? After we eat, you’re going to be completely exhausted for Linnea’s class. You’ll end up falling asleep."

Airam’s deadpan expression didn’t shift. "I don’t need to be exhausted to fall asleep in Linnea’s lessons."

Hermione burst out laughing. "I really have to agree with you there. I wonder what Esther finds so fascinating about poetry," she sighed, exasperated.

"I think it fits her," Airam replied thoughtfully.

She clearly wasn’t as bothered by their youngest sister’s eccentric tastes as Hermione was. To Airam, as long as Esther was happy, nothing else mattered. Hermione, however, couldn’t help but wish Esther would apply that same eager diligence to Brian Strelley’s magic lessons instead of wasting it on flowery rhymes as magic served to defend themselves.

"You are spoiling her far too much, Airam," Hermione sighed, shaking her head in exasperation.

Airam merely shrugged her shoulders in response. In truth, she could perfectly understand Hermione’s perspective.

Hermione was strict with Esther because she wanted the younger girl to shed her innocent naivety. Such softheartedness would only prove dangerous for her in the future, especially now that their family had been elevated to the ranks of the nobility. The aristocratic world was a dangerous one, and weakness was always quickly exploited.

Airam, on the other hand, took a far simpler and more brutal approach to the matter: if anyone ever dared to bring harm to Esther, she would simply kill them. No plotting or noble etiquette required.

Returning to the main estate, Airam and Hermione made their way up the sweeping staircase to the upper wing.

Airam headed straight to her private chambers to draw a bath and wash away the day’s fatigue, and Hermione decided to indulge in a warm, fragrant soak of her own while she was at it. Plentiful hot water and scented oils were lavish comforts they could easily afford now, and she refused to feign any false modesty about enjoying them!

As was now customary, dedicated maids were ever-present, trailing softly behind them and dutifully offering their assistance to the two sisters. Even though a faint trace of awkwardness still lingered between the household staff and the newly ennobled daughters, the relations were definitely much smoother and more natural than they had been two years ago.

◊◊◊

Meanwhile, within his study, Ulrich sat behind his desk.

He had just broken the wax seal of an official royal writ, the parchment unrolling beneath his fingers to reveal a formal invitation:

[

To the Honorable Lord Count Ulrich Van Rubenhart,

The Royal Family of Skargardia extends its warmest greetings and invites you to a celebration of great joy.

Their Royal Highnesses request the honor of your presence at the fourteenth birthday feast of the royal princess, Her Highness, Camellia Van Skargardia. The occasion shall be held on the 7th Day of the 7th Month of the Kaeloran Calendar, in the year 1024 A.K.

The festivities will begin at the Second Toll of the Dusk Bell, within the Grand Hall of Skargardian Keep. The evening shall include a grand banquet, music, and a ceremonial lighting in honor of the princess’s coming of age.

Your loyalty has long been a pillar of the kingdom, and the Royal Family eagerly awaits the pleasure of your company on this happy occasion.

By command of the Royal Family of Skargardia.

]

Ulrich’s red eyes swept over the contents once again.

In this world, a young woman’s fourteenth birthday marked her official coming-of-age, a milestone steeped in tradition, grandeur, and societal expectations.

Since this particular celebration was being held in honor of the Royal Princess herself, it was an affair of political importance. For a nobleman of his standing, declining the invitation or fabricating a polite excuse was out of the question. Not that Ulrich had any intention of evading his duties to the Crown in the first place; skipping such an event would be foolish.

Over the past two years, whenever grand galas, banquets, or mandatory social functions required his presence, he had always attended alone. Despite officially adopting Airam, Hermione, and Esther, he had purposely kept them ’sequestered’ behind the estate’s walls. They had simply been too limited and still ’unpolished’, unprepared to face the nobility while being witches.

However, things were different now.

He narrowed his gaze then as he stared at the date stamped at the bottom of the letter. The royal banquet was scheduled to take place in a little over a month.

It would be a tight window to finalize their preparations, but the opportunity was there. He knew with certainty that this grandiose event would serve as the perfect stage.

It was time to finally formally introduce the three sisters to the world of the aristocracy, not as mere charity cases or hidden secrets, but as the rightful, dignified daughters of the Rubenhart House and as noblewomen of Skargardia.