My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

"Airam!"

At the sound of her name, Airam looked.

Hermione and Esther were running toward her across the courtyard.

For a heartbeat, Airam could only stand there.

Then she moved.

She ran toward them.

Esther reached her first.

The younger girl crashed into Airam’s arms with a broken sob and clung to her so tightly that Airam had to brace herself to keep from stumbling backward.

"Eldest Sister!"

Esther’s voice trembled.

She buried her face against Airam’s shoulder as though she feared that letting go, even for a second, would make Airam disappear again.

"I thought..." Esther tried to speak, but the words dissolved into tears. "I thought you were gone!"

Airam’s arms closed around her.

The feeling of Esther’s small body shaking against her finally broke something inside her. She feared she would never come back.

Now she was home.

Esther was in her arms.

And Airam could no longer pretend that nothing had touched her.

Hermione reached them a moment later.

She threw her arms around both of them from the side.

"You idiot!" Hermione cried.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as well. Her voice shook with anger, fear, and relief so overwhelming that she could barely force the words out.

"Do not ever do that again! Do you understand me?! Do not ever disappear like that again!"

She sounded furious.

But the moment her hands tightened around Airam’s back, it became clear that anger was not what truly consumed her.

It was relief.

Airam held them both.

Her lips trembled.

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she stroked Esther’s blond hair.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

Esther only clung to her harder.

Hermione pressed her face against Airam’s shoulder and cried.

For a few brief seconds, the three sisters stood together in the fading light, holding one another in a tight embrace.

"Ulrich!"

At Ashara’s shout however, all three sisters turned.

Airam’s eyes immediately found Ulrich.

Ashara was holding him as he slumped against her. She was on her knees in the dirt, white hair spilling over her shoulders, one arm locked around his back as though she feared he would fall apart if she loosened her grip.

Something dark rose inside Airam.

She did not know this woman.

She did not know why Ashara was crying over him.

But then Airam saw Ulrich’s face.

His eyes were closed.

His body had gone limp.

The dark feeling vanished replaced by concern.

Airam ran toward him.

Hermione and Esther followed close behind.

"L—Lord Ulrich..." Esther whispered.

Her eyes filled again as she saw him being lifted by the guards. "W—What happened...?"

Ulrich did not answer.

He could not.

Two guards carefully took his weight from Ashara. They moved quickly but cautiously, supporting his shoulders and legs as they carried him toward the Estate.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment.

Her gaze had fallen to Ulrich’s left side.

The sleeve of his shirt hung empty.

Her face drained of color.

"W—what happened?" She asked.

Her voice came out thin.

Then Airam spoke.

"Who is she?"

She did not look away from Ashara.

Ashara had risen from the ground and followed the guards closely, tears still shining on her cheeks. Airam watched her with narrowed eyes.

Hermione glanced at the woman.

"Lady Ashara Frost," she said quietly.

Airam repeated the name in her mind.

Ashara.

Her eyes widened slightly.

Louise.

She remembered Louise’s complaints, how she spoke of the woman named Ashara with frustration, resentment, and a bitterness she tried to hide. Louise had said that no matter what happened, Ulrich had a place in his heart that belonged only to Ashara.

Airam looked at the woman again.

Long white hair.

Blue eyes.

A beautiful face twisted by grief.

So this was her.

Airam did not say anything else.

She turned and hurried after Ulrich.

"Airam, wait!" Hermione called, catching up beside her. "What happened? Is he all right?"

"He is injured," Airam replied.

Hermione bit her lip.

"I can see that, but—"

The words died.

Guilt crashed over her.

Ulrich was in that state because he had gone alone to bring Airam back.

He had fought Valdris’s men. He had faced the Valmorian soldiers. He had lost his arm. He had returned barely able to remain conscious.

And Hermione had screamed at him.

When Airam had been taken, Ulrich had stopped her from running after her. He had held her back while she fought him, shouted at him, and demanded that he let her go.

She had accused him of abandoning Airam.

She said she hated him.

She had not known what he intended to do.

When she woke later, Hendrick had explained it all. Ulrich had kept her behind because he planned to go alone. He had known Hermione would follow him even if it meant dying. He had known Esther would follow Hermione. He had stopped them because he wanted them safe.

But by then, her words could not be taken back.

Hermione’s chest constricted.

He had returned with Airam.

And he had paid for it with his body.

Esther was worse.

She walked beside them with tears still falling down her cheeks. Every few steps, she wiped at them with the sleeve of her dress, but they did not stop.

"I—I am sorry," she whispered. "I am sorry. I am sorry...so sorry..."

Esther had admired Ulrich more than anyone.

She had trusted him. She had followed him eagerly. She had smiled whenever he praised her progress in his own cold way and looked toward him whenever she wanted reassurance.

But after Airam had been taken, she had been afraid.

Terrified.

And when Ulrich stopped her from running after her elder sister, Esther had said something she had never believed she could say to him.

She had told him she hated him.

Now the words returned again and again in her mind.

She hated herself for saying them.

The guards carried Ulrich into the Estate.

The sisters followed.

Servants rushed through the halls. Knights cleared the way. Someone had already summoned physicians, and when Ulrich reached his chambers, two healers waited beside the bed with open medicine cases and stacks of clean linen.

"Lay him down," one of the physicians ordered.

The guards lowered Ulrich onto the bed.

Ashara stepped forward immediately, but the physician held out an arm.

"My lady, give us room."

Ashara stopped.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

The physicians removed Ulrich’s loose shirt.

The room fell silent.

Ashara gasped.

Ulrich’s upper body was covered in injuries.

Cuts crossed his chest, shoulders, and ribs. Bruises darkened his skin in ugly patches. Several wounds had bled through the bandages, and one side of his torso was swollen beneath the bruising, suggesting broken ribs or internal damage.

Then there were the veins.

Dark lines spread beneath the skin of his chest.

They were too black.

They twisted outward from the center of his body like stains crawling beneath the flesh.

And below his left elbow...nothing.

Only the heavily wrapped stump where his forearm had been.

"H—How..." Ashara whispered.

Her legs weakened.

She dropped to her knees beside the bed, staring at him. Her hand hovered close to his skin but did not touch him. She looked afraid that even the lightest contact might hurt him.

"What happened to you?" She choked out.

Hermione stood behind her, pale and motionless.

She had known Ulrich was injured.

She had seen the empty sleeve.

But seeing the full extent of it made the truth impossible to avoid.

He should not have been able to ride.

He should not have been able to walk into the Estate.

He should not have been able to stand at all.

A small hand caught Hermione’s sleeve.

Hermione looked down.

Esther had turned away.

The younger girl pressed her face into Hermione’s back, trembling from head to toe. She had seen Ulrich’s wounds for only a second, but that was enough. The blood, the dark veins, the missing arm, it was too much.

Hermione reached behind herself and held Esther’s hand.

"I—It is all right," she whispered.

But her own voice shook.

The physicians exchanged grim looks.

One of them carefully pressed two fingers against Ulrich’s neck.

"He is still breathing," the man said.

The other physician stared at the dark veins on Ulrich’s chest.

"Barely."

Airam stood directly before the bed.

She did not move, nor did she cry.

Her dark eyes remained fixed on Ulrich while the physicians worked around him, opening bottles of medicine, preparing vials, cutting away ruined bandages, and gathering tools from their cases.

The smell of blood and medicinal herbs filled the room.

"My lord, if you can hear me, drink this."

One of the physicians held a small vial to Ulrich’s lips.

The liquid inside was dark, smelling of bitter herbs and strong spirits. It was not a healing medicine. At least, not directly.

It was meant to dull pain.

The physicians would need to clean the wounds properly, remove damaged flesh, reset what could be reset, and keep the infection from spreading deeper into his body. None of it would be gentle. Even with all their skill, the treatment would hurt badly enough to drive an ordinary man into shock.

They needed Ulrich’s senses dulled.

They needed his mind distant enough that it would not fully understand what was being done to him.

The physician tilted the vial.

Ulrich drank without much fight.

Most of the liquid made it down his throat. Some slipped from the corner of his mouth, darkening the skin of his chin before the physician wiped it away with a cloth.

A moment later, Ulrich’s body reacted.

His breath caught.

Heat rushed into his face, turning his pale skin feverishly red. Sweat gathered along his brow and neck, soaking into the sheets beneath him. His chest rose and fell as his body fought against the pain, the serum’s poison, his ruined mana pathways, and the exhaustion that had been holding him together only through sheer refusal to fall.

He had reached the Estate.

He had brought Airam home.

And now, at last, his body no longer had a reason to obey him.

Everything he had forced aside came back at once.

The pain.

The blood loss.

The missing arm.

The strain of the Hollow Core.

The serum.

The battle.

The long road home.

"Nnghh!!"

A broken sound escaped him.

The physicians moved quickly.

One of them began unwrapping the bandages around Ulrich’s left arm. The cloth had dried against the wounds. When it was pulled free, fresh blood stained the linen beneath.

The stump had been crudely sealed at the harbor only to keep him alive long enough to travel. It had not been properly treated. The skin around the wound was swollen, bruised, and darkened in places where the something dark had spread.

The older physician’s expression twisted.

"Hold him," he ordered.

He did not speak to anyone in particular.

Ashara moved before the guards could.

She stepped to Ulrich’s side and placed one hand against his shoulder. Her other hand rested near his collarbone, ready to keep him from twisting away when the physicians began their work.

"U—Ulrich," Ashara called, her voice trembling.

The physician used a narrow instrument to clear the damaged tissue around the stump.

Ulrich’s eyes snapped open.

His whole body jerked.

A groan tore from his throat as his right hand clenched into the sheets. His eyes were unfocused at first, wide with pain and fever, searching the room as though he did not know where he was.

Ashara leaned closer.

"I—It will be fine," she whispered.

Her pale hand rose to his cheek.

"You will be fine."

She tried to smile but it did not hold well.

She had never seen Ulrich in such a state, so injured.

It reminded her painfully of that day he cried in her arms after his mother’s death.

Ulrich’s crimson eyes shifted toward her.

For a long moment, he simply stared.

"Ashara," he whispered through blurry eyes.

The name was weak.

As though he still could not decide whether she was truly standing there or whether his mind had shaped her from fever, pain, and regret.

Ashara nodded quickly, showing a small smile despite the worry.

"Yes."

Her fingers moved through his damp crimson hair, brushing the strands back from his forehead.

"I am here."