My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Two hours passed before Ulrich woke.

His eyes opened suddenly.

He raised his head at once, only for pain to cut through him hard enough that a low grunt escaped his throat. His hand moved toward his side by instinct, but he stopped before touching the wounds beneath his loose shirt.

Airam stirred beside him.

She had not truly been asleep. She had spent most of the time sitting against the tree with one hand resting lightly near Ulrich’s shoulder, watching the road and listening for anything moving through the woods.

When he moved, her eyes opened immediately.

Ulrich looked at her.

"How long?"

Airam glanced toward the sky.

The sun had shifted higher since they left the road, though the trees made it difficult to judge precisely.

"I don’t know," she said.

Ulrich’s expression darkened.

"Why did you not wake me?"

"You were sleeping."

That is the point, Ulrich wanted to say.

Sleeping was not the problem.

Stopping was.

But he did not say any of it.

He only pushed himself upright.

The movement made his vision blur.

His legs trembled the moment he rose. The world swayed around him, tree trunks and pale morning light smearing together for an instant. He remained still until the dizziness passed, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle jumped in his cheek.

They were losing too much time.

Ulrich had no one to blame but himself.

After a few minutes, they returned to the horse.

Airam mounted first this time. Ulrich climbed behind her with more difficulty than before, using the saddle and the mare’s flank to keep himself upright. When he finally took the reins, his fingers were stiff and pale around the leather.

They resumed their journey.

At first, the rest helped.

Ulrich’s eyes had regained some clarity. His posture was straighter. His breathing was less ragged.

But the improvement did not last.

A few hours later, Airam could feel his weight beginning to sag behind her again.

His chin dipped near her shoulder.

His hand on the reins loosened.

Each time the horse slowed or stumbled on uneven ground, Ulrich would jerk himself awake and tighten his grip as though anger alone could force his body back into obedience.

Airam’s concern deepened.

His body was shutting down to protect itself.

His mana was depleted. His blood loss had not been properly treated. The serum had forced strength through him when he should have been dying, and now it was collecting its debt. Sleep was no longer ordinary exhaustion, it was his body demanding the only thing that might keep him alive until they reached help.

Yet Ulrich kept pulling himself awake.

He was forcing his body onward because he had promised to bring her home.

It was reckless.

It was stupid.

And Airam understood that there was no changing his mind.

So they traveled slowly.

They paused whenever Ulrich could no longer remain steady in the saddle. Airam gave the mare water at streams and made Ulrich drink whenever she could force the canteen into his hand. He complained every time but he drank anyway.

They continued through the afternoon.

At last, the familiar markers of Rubenhart County appeared along the road: old stone posts marked with the crest of House Rubenhart, wide fields stretching toward distant villages, and patrol routes kept clear by soldiers who answered to Ulrich’s banner.

They had reached safe ground.

Or, at least, safer ground.

It was late afternoon when they entered the county, but Ulrich did not stop in New Ruben.

The town lay ahead of them, its streets familiar, its roofs warmed by the dying sun. People moved through the market square, unaware that their lord had returned from the capital bloodied, exhausted, and missing an arm.

Ulrich guided the mare onward, past the town, past the last clusters of houses and toward the Estate.

Airam did not object.

She wanted to see Hermione and Esther more than she had ever wanted anything.

But she also wanted those final hours alone with Ulrich to last a little longer.

She did not understand why.

Perhaps it was because the road had become quiet. Perhaps it was because she had watched him fight to stay awake for her. Or perhaps it was because, for the first time since the ship, she did not feel afraid that someone would come and take her away.

With Ulrich behind her, even barely conscious, the fear had lessened.

Twilight soon fell over the county.

The sky turned violet at the horizon, streaked with fading orange where the sun had disappeared behind the hills. Then the Estate emerged in the distance.

Its high stone walls stood dark against the evening sky.

The towers rose above the trees.

Warm lights glimmered in several windows.

Airam stared at it.

For a long time, she had not thought of the Rubenhart Estate as home.

It had been a place of lessons, rules, knights, maids, and a cold count who seemed to know too much about her life. It had been a place where she had learned to sleep without fear, though she would never have admitted it.

Now, after Valdris’s ship, the bloodshed, and the certainty that she would never see her sisters again...

The Estate looked different.

It looked like home.

"We are back home, Ulrich," Airam said quietly.

Ulrich stared ahead through unfocused eyes.

Home.

The word reached him slowly.

For most of his life, the Estate had been a silent place. It had been his mother’s home before it became his. After her death, its halls had felt too large, too clean, and too empty. The servants spoke softly. The knights trained in the yard. Meals passed without conversation.

Then he had brought three sisters into it.

The Estate had become louder.

And Ulrich had not realized how much that mattered until he had nearly lost one of them.

The gates drew closer.

The guards on duty recognized them first.

One of them froze.

Then his eyes widened.

"My lord!"

The others turned.

Shock spread across their faces at the sight of Ulrich’s missing arm, the blood-stained bandages beneath his shirt, and Airam seated before him in an oversized dark coat.

"Open the gates!" One of the guards shouted. "Open them now!"

The gates swung inward.

The mare passed through.

Ulrich barely registered the guards rushing forward. One took hold of the reins. Another shouted for a healer. Voices rose all around them, frantic and overlapping, but they seemed to reach Ulrich from a great distance.

Then he heard footsteps.

Quick ones and several pairs.

Airam looked up.

Hermione and Esther were running toward them.

Esther was crying before she reached them. Hermione tried to keep pace beside her, but her face had gone pale, and her eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

"Airam!"

Airam did not wait for the horse to fully stop.

She jumped down.

Then she ran.

Esther reached her first and threw herself into Airam’s arms with a sob. Airam caught her tightly, holding her so close that Esther’s feet nearly left the ground.

"Eldest sister," Esther cried. "Eldest sister, you came back!"

Airam pressed her face into Esther’s hair.

"I am back."

Hermione arrived a second later.

She did not say anything at first. She simply wrapped both arms around Airam and Esther, pulling them together as though she feared one of them would vanish if she let go.

Airam held them both.

For the first time since the ship, she allowed herself to breathe.

Ulrich watched them from the saddle.

Then he raised his eyes.

A woman stood several steps away.

For a moment, his exhausted mind betrayed him.

Curly blond hair.

Clear blue eyes.

A face he knew too well.

His lips parted.

"U—Ulrich..."

The name seemed to come from very far away.

But he could never mistake that voice either.

The image vanished.

Long snow-white hair.

Icy blue eyes.

A familiar face twisted with shock.

Ashara.

Ulrich stared at her.

She looked real, too real.

Ashara took a hesitant step toward him. Her gaze moved over his blood-stained clothes, his exhausted face, and then to the empty left sleeve hanging at his side.

Her expression broke into horror.

"U—Ulrich..." She whispered.

She stepped closer.

"What happened to your—?"

Ulrich swayed.

The courtyard shifted beneath him.

Ashara’s eyes widened.

"Ulrich!"

He fell from the saddle.

Ashara rushed forward and caught him before he could strike the ground. She dropped to her knees with him, one arm around his shoulders, the other pressed against his chest as though she could keep him from slipping away by force alone.

"Ulrich!" She cried.

Tears gathered in her eyes.

"What happened? What happened to you?!"

Ulrich’s vision blurred.

He looked at her as though he still did not trust what he was seeing.

"What..." His voice was weak. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to discuss..." She started and trailed off.

Under Ulrich’s stare, she was unable to lie.

"I—I heard what happened in the capital..." Ashara confessed in the end with a trembling voice.

"So you came," he muttered.

Ashara did not answer.

She was looking at his missing arm again.

Her face had gone white.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice breaking. "Ulrich, come with me. You need to lie down. We need the healers—"

"Are you stupid?"

Ashara froze.

Ulrich’s tone was weak, but the familiar edge remained.

She looked down at him.

A tear slipped down her pale cheek.

Ulrich lifted his remaining hand.

His fingers brushed the tear away.

The gesture was gentle, too gentle for him.

Faith or Ashara, there had always been something about them that made the walls inside him weaken. No matter how strong he was supposed to be, no matter how much pain he could endure, he had never known how to remain untouched when it came to them.

His eyes closed.

Then he let his head fall against Ashara’s shoulder.

"U—Ulrich," Ashara choked out the words.

She held him tighter.

More tears slipped down her face as she wrapped both arms around him. Then, with help from a guard rushing to her side, she forced Ulrich upright.

"Help!" Ashara shouted.

Her voice rang through the courtyard.

"Someone call the physicians immediately!!"