My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

"Tomorrow, I expect all three of you to be ready by noon. We are leaving for the City."

Hermione was the first to snap out of her stupor.

"W—What...?" She asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Didn’t you prohibit us from ever setting foot outside the estate?"

"And now, I am authorizing it," Ulrich replied.

Hermione clenched her fists beneath the table. It never sat right with her how he spoke as if he owned them, dictating their lives with casual authority. Yet, at the same time, her logical mind knew he hadn’t locked them away purely out of malice or a desire for control.

The world outside the estate’s walls was dangerous. As known witches, the sisters would inevitably face a hostile public. Distrust, judgmental glares, and fearful whispers were guaranteed. That was why Ulrich hadn’t immediately thrown them to the wolves. He had given them two full years of isolation to accept their new reality, offering them the time and resources to transform their identities. His goal had always been to polish them until they were no longer seen simply as dangerous witches, but as the dignified daughters of the Rubenhart House.

Now, after two years of tutelage, Ulrich believed they were finally ready. They weren’t flawless, of course, but they were prepared enough to face the public eye.

More importantly, it was a necessary political move. As adopted daughters, they had a duty to show their faces to the people living within his territory. Ulrich needed to bridge the gap between them and his subjects, planting a seed of mutual trust. He hoped that by exposing them to the outside world, the sisters would eventually learn to care for his people, ensuring that in the future, they would fight for more than just their own survival.

Esther was already on the perfect path for this; her sweet nature had easily won over everyone working within the estate. But Ulrich knew it would be more complicated for the elder sisters, especially Airam. In that regard, the eldest sister was dangerously similar to him, completely walled off and nearly impossible to reach.

"In exactly one month, the coming-of-age banquet for the Royal Princess will be held in the Capital," Ulrich continued, ignoring their shock. "I have received a formal invitation. The three of you will be accompanying me."

If the girls had been shocked before, they were entirely paralyzed now.

It was already overwhelming enough to imagine walking through the local city that Ulrich personally ruled. But the Capital? The very heart of the Kingdom’s nobility? Esther’s hands began to tremble as a wave of nervous fear washed over her.

"During these past two years, you have been taught by the best instructors in the Kingdom," Ulrich pressed on. "Hiding you away any longer is unnecessary. In fact, it will only stunt your growth. It is time for you to face the high nobility, not as witches, but as proper aristocrats." He paused, raising his crimson gaze to lock onto them with dead seriousness.

"We are still witches," Airam interrupted, her voice cold as ice as she met his stare without flinching.

"And you are also a Rubenhart now," Ulrich shot back. "That name is the only reason you and your sisters have been allowed to live in peace these last two years. I truly hope I do not need to remind you of that fact."

Airam’s teeth tightened. Finding no viable argument against the harsh truth of his words, she simply looked away in silence.

"B—But we have never been to any events like this..." Esther spoke up meekly, her small hands wringing the cloth napkin in her lap.

"There is still an entire month until the banquet. You will be prepared by then, and I will personally oversee your progress," Ulrich said seriously and clearly with a warning.

He was determined to ensure their debut was flawless. He intended to polish them until they shone so brightly that the Kingdom’s elite would completely forget they were standing in the presence of three witches.

"S—So that’s why you were suddenly watching us during our lesson," Hermione muttered, crossing her arms.

"I am responsible for you. As such, I will watch, and I will make certain you are ready," he replied calmly.

Silence followed his declaration, lingering until Hermione finally voiced the question that had been eating at her.

"Why...?"

"Big sister?" Esther glanced over in surprise. Hermione was glaring directly at Ulrich, but for once, there was no real antagonism behind it. Instead, her expression was filled with confusion.

"Why do you care so much about making us perfect? Why go as far as parading us in front of the high nobility?" Hermione asked. "We are witches. We are universally hated by almost everyone in this Kingdom. By showing us off at an event like that, you are only going to make yourself more hated. What are you even trying to accomplish?"

Ulrich held her gaze for a long moment, his face as unreadable as ever. When he finally spoke, he answered her question with a simple one of his own.

"Do you regret your choice?"

Hermione’s breath caught. She lowered her gaze to her plate for a fraction of a second before firmly shaking her head. Esther and Airam remained silent, but their faces reflected the same truth: none of them regretted the decision they had made to stay with him two years ago.

"Then that is all that matters. Work harder," Ulrich said sternly, returning his attention to his meal.

A vein visibly popped on Hermione’s forehead. "Hmph!" She snatched up her fork and furiously stabbed at her food, ignoring him. What kind of answer was that?! He wasn’t even acting like a strict parent; he was acting like a cryptic tyrant!

"Um, Lord Ulrich?" Esther spoke up hesitantly, successfully breaking the renewed tension.

He paused, glancing over at her.

"Tomorrow... what will we be doing in the city?" She asked. Despite her lingering nerves about facing the outside world, she couldn’t suppress the bubbling excitement of finally going on an outing with her sisters.

"You must be ready by next month. Proper, fitting gowns must be ordered immediately so they can be tailored and finalized in time for the banquet. And each one of you will be required to select and bring a personal gift for the Royal Princess," Ulrich explained.

"A p—present?" Hermione blinked, bewildered.

"She is exactly your age. Find something useful and appropriate," he said.

Ulrich had his own hidden agenda, of course. In the original storyline of the novel, Camellia was the main female lead, and putting that aside, she was a Royal Princess. The three sisters and the Princess were destined to be bitter enemies. By forcing them to interact early on and present gifts, Ulrich hoped to rewrite that animosity and foster an alliance instead.

"A real Princess..." Esther mumbled, her blue eyes shining. The romance of meeting actual royalty completely overshadowed her previous anxiety. She picked up her fork, lost in a daydream. "I wonder what kind of gift would please her?"

"I don’t think that Princess is going to accept a gift from a witch, anyway," Airam said, scoffing, instantly souring the bright mood.

"I—Is that so...?" Esther’s shoulders slumped, her radiant smile fading into a crestfallen pout.

"The Princess will accept your gifts. Fortunately for her, she was not raised in a witch’s Coven, she knows manners," Ulrich replied, shooting a stern, pointed look at Airam.

Airam’s dark eyes narrowed. She clearly didn’t appreciate Ulrich’s blatant sarcasm. It seemed that despite adopting three of them, the Count still held disdain for witches and their traditions. For someone like Airam, who, as the eldest daughter, had been immersed in the deep, sacred roots of Coven stories before their mother’s death, his tone was insulting.

So she did what she does best.

She glared at him across the table.

Ulrich, as always, was unbothered by her threatening stare. Over the past two years, he had grown immune to it; he was starting to suspect it was simply her natural resting expression.

"Hmph," Hermione scoffed, joining the fray. "I doubt her manners have anything to do with being raised in a Coven. For the record, our birthdays were exactly a month ago, and we certainly didn’t receive any gifts." She pointedly looked away, aggressively cutting into her food as Ulrich glanced her way.

Monika, sensing the escalating tension, let out a soft sigh and decided to intervene gently.

"Lady Airam, Lady Hermione, and Lady Esther were all coincidentally born on the exact same day, My Lord," the head maid explained with a warm, apologetic smile. "The fifth day of the fifth month on the Kaeloran Calendar."

Ulrich barely reacted. His stoic mask remained perfectly intact. His lack of visible emotion only managed to irritate Hermione further, while Esther, who had been watching him with a sliver of hope, deflated in quiet disappointment as he casually resumed eating.

But inwardly, hearing the maid’s words struck a strange, uncomfortable chord within Ulrich’s chest. He hadn’t spared a single thought for their birthdays over the past two years, viewing such celebrations as trivial nonsense. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, a bizarre, fleeting pang of discomfort suddenly twisted in his gut.

Was he feeling that simply because Hermione had countered his argument so flawlessly?

’Gifts?’ He thought to himself. For what?

He immediately forcefully buried the unfamiliar emotion and recovered his composure.

"The new, secure life I have provided for the three of you is a lifelong gift," he replied, gracefully bringing a bite of stuffed tomato to his mouth.

"T-That doesn’t count! We didn’t even ask for it!" Hermione replied, leaping up from her chair, incapable of letting his arrogant logic stand.

Ulrich paused his chewing, glancing up at her. A faint, singular crease formed between his brows as he wondered why she was making such a monumental fuss over something trivial.

"Do you desire a present that much?" He asked her with a deadpan stare.

Hermione blushed hearing that. She threw herself back into her seat. "As if! I am perfectly fine! We are completely fine! Right, Airam? Esther?" She shot both of her sisters sharp looks, trying to drag them into the defensive front she had just created.

"I do not accept gifts from Skargardian nobles," Airam replied icily, throwing Ulrich’s earlier disdain for her heritage right back in his face with petty precision.

"Um..." Esther nervously flicked her gaze toward Ulrich. However, under his stare, she quickly lost her courage, opting to shrink into her seat and remain completely silent.