My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Ulrich strode down the long corridors of the estate, Meera keeping pace beside him. Their walk was filled almost entirely with Meera’s animated prattle, her voice echoing lightly off the stone walls, while Ulrich offered only brief responses. For those who knew the Count, this was a change from the norm. Both were maintaining a careful veneer of propriety, yet beneath it, Ulrich seemed to be exercising a rare, enduring patience against the tide of Meera’s exaggerated curiosity.

A dozen paces behind, the three sisters trailed them, making little effort to conceal their presence. Their silken skirts brushed against the flagstones, a quiet rustling that Ulrich either did not hear or simply chose to ignore. Emboldened by his indifference, they pressed on.

"She acts far too familiar with him," Hermione whispered, her eyes narrowed at the pair ahead. "It’s weird."

Esther wrung her hands, her gaze darting nervously. "Do you truly think so?"

"Look at them," Hermione insisted, her tone tinged with suspicion. "When Ulrich speaks, they all stay silent. He speaks, and others listen in silence. Why is he the one listening now, while she chatters on as if she owns the estate?"

Never had Hermione witnessed anyone speak so daringly to the Count. Meera’s casual demeanor bordered on insolence, yet Ulrich did nothing to correct her. Rather, he carried himself as though this reversal of power were ordinary, a rhythm to which he was long accustomed.

The oddity of it all had not escaped the others in the manor, either.

"Do you suppose..." Esther’s voice dropped, tinged with dejection. "Do you suppose she is to become Lord Ulrich’s wife?"

Hermione scoffed softly. "It would hardly be a surprise."

At two-and-twenty, Ulrich was well past the age when most noblemen secured their lineage. At the very least, he would have had to have been formally betrothed. It was a matter of quiet scandal among the nobility, though Hermione recalled rumors of a past engagement, an arrangement severed shortly after the death of Ulrich’s mother. Since that day, his heart had remained a fortress, despite the endless barrage of marriage proposals sent his way.

He was, after all, a Count presiding over one of the kingdom’s most prosperous territories. His wealth was huge, built upon the sprawling, sun-drenched vineyards of Skargardia. Exporting the finest wines across the kingdom brought him fortunes and political influence.

Yet the question burned in the sisters’ minds: who was this Meera, that she could reduce a man of such wealth and strong presence to a quiet, compliant escort? Ulrich was known to seize control of any conversation by force of will. He didn’t really like idle chatter. Yet here he was, indulging this unknown woman. Worse still, she was a ghost. No one in the household had ever seen her before today, nor had her name been whispered in high society.

Driven by curiosity, the three sisters continued their shameless pursuit until Ulrich finally halted before the doors of his private office. He pushed the door open, stepping aside to allow Meera passage before following her into the room and pulling the door shut with a solid click.

"Hurry!" Hermione said, lifting her skirts and rushing forward. The temptation to press her ear against the door was too great to resist, and both Esther and Airam followed, despite Esther’s lingering hesitation.

Unfortunately, their path was suddenly blocked. Before they could reach the iron handle, they found themselves staring into a veritable wall of muscle and armor. Edmar had taken up a stance outside the study like a guard, standing as immovable as a fortress gate.

Hermione had to tilt her chin sharply upward just to meet Edmar’s eyes.

"Would you kindly step aside?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"No, my lady," Edmar replied, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "Lady Meera and the Count are discussing matters of great importance. They require strict privacy."

Hermione scoffed. "We are daughters of the House of Rubenhart!"

Edmar stared down at her, his expression unchanging. He shifted his massive body and turned toward the door. "If you insist, my lady. I shall knock and ask the Count if you may enter—"

"No! Wait, not that!" Hermione interrupted in panic.

There was no chance Ulrich would allow them inside, and the mere thought of being caught attempting to eavesdrop sent a flush of heat to her cheeks.

Edmar paused, turning an inquisitive gaze back upon her.

Hermione cleared her throat, straightening her posture. "Hmph. Whatever it is, it hardly matters. Let’s leave."

Esther’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, and she nodded.

Airam, however, did not move. The eldest sister remained rooted to the stone floor, her dark eyes fixed intently on the towering man before her.

"Who is she?" Airam asked.

Edmar looked down at the pale girl. Despite his intimidating figure, there was not a single ounce of nervousness in her posture.

"She is Lady Meera," Edmar replied, offering nothing more. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"Who is she to Ulrich?" Airam asked then, her voice devoid of the youthful cadence one might expect for her age.

Edmar paused.

He fell silent, his brow furrowing as he searched for an appropriate answer. How was he supposed to answer that?

He thought back to the ramblings of his captain every day, whenever, almost out of nowhere, she would bring up Ulrich’s name and tell how much she missed him and his warmth.

"She is the Count’s favorite woman," Edmar answered finally, very serious about his answer.

Airam’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. She stared at the towering man intensely.

"Is she here to become the Countess?" She asked.

"Countess?" Edmar repeated, a frown pulling at his features.

He could not think of Ulrich bestowing such a formal, binding title upon Meera, nor could he imagine Meera ever accepting it.

He knew enough about his captain to know that she cherished her freedom far too much to let herself be shackled by the duties of a noble estate, no matter how head over heels she was for Ulrich.

Airam did not wait for any answers. She merely lingered in the silence, her gaze boring into the doors as though she could pluck the secrets straight through the wood. Then, without a word of farewell, she turned on her heel and glided away, her dark skirts brushing silently against the tiles.

Edmar let out a quiet breath, watching her small figure retreat down the shadowed corridor to join her waiting sisters.

He really wondered where Ulrich had found those girls, and to what dark ends had he brought them here?

For the better part of two years, the Count’s motives had been impenetrable. Ulrich moved like a man playing a game on a board no one else could see. But his choice to adopt these three strange witches baffled Edmar more than anything else.

Edmar could only assume the Count harbored some dark, hidden purpose for the girls. To the casual observer, they were merely pampered wards. They dined on spiced meats from silver platters, wore dresses of fine silk, and slept in chambers warmed by roaring hearths. Yet Edmar knew better than to trust the Count’s outward generosity. Ulrich never acted on charity, and he certainly did not adopt three orphaned witches without a precise reason.

No. The man was dangerously cunning, far too smart for his own good.

Over the past two years, Edmar had watched him from the shadows. He remembered the strange orders given to Meera and the crew, and his instructions and his demands.

Nothing Ulrich did was ever a mere coincidence. Edmar was certain of it.

The gold Ulrich paid was handsome enough to buy any mercenary’s soul, but it came with a chilling realization. It was terrifying to serve as a blind instrument in the Count’s schemes, carrying out dangerous tasks without ever knowing what they were building toward.

But the time for second thoughts had long passed. Meera and the rest of them, being part of her crew, were already submerged in whatever dark tide Ulrich was summoning.

When they first accepted his demands, they had believed it to be just a small job, like when he had hired them to bring him to the Blue Scar, which was actually a dangerous job.

It was meant to be a simple job for a hardened crew of sea scavengers, men who made their living plundering wrecks and dodging the royal galleons along the jagged coasts. But as the scale of the Count’s plans began to reveal itself, the illusion of a quick payday vanished. Edmar found himself deeply bewildered by the monumental tasks Ulrich laid at their feet. Why place such kingdom-shifting burdens on a crew of salt-bitten rogues?

It was certainly not out of blind trust. Ulrich was the farthest thing from naive. Instead, the Count had taken advantage of their greed and survival instincts perfectly. He knew a crew like theirs would never dare cross a man of his immense power and ruthlessness. He had backed them into a corner of luxury, wielding their loyalty like a finely sharpened blade.

Meera, for her part, seemed unbothered by the invisible chains tightening around them all. She executed Ulrich’s demands, happily taking his gold in return without a single backward glance at the danger. Edmar and his men had been no different at the start. The rivers of coin Ulrich poured into their hands had blinded them to the reality of their situation. That boundless generosity had not been a reward; it was a leash. Now, they were inextricably bound to the Count’s enterprise.

Staring down the empty, stone corridor where the three young witches had vanished, Edmar felt a pang of pity. Those girls had no idea how deeply they were already ensnared. Ulrich had showered them with comfort, safety, and status, quietly weaving a web of absolute dependency around them until they had nowhere else to turn.

Their reactions just moments ago, Hermione’s bristling irritation, Esther’s fearful dejection, and Airam’s cold probing were all distinctly different, yet they showed the exact same truth. The trap had already sprung, and they were chained to the Count just as securely as he was with the others.

Well, at the very least, Meera wasn’t that naive and easy to deceive. She was as much in control as Ulrich was, despite how head over heels she acted.

Perhaps that was what Ulrich appreciated in Meera and made him endure her eccentricities.