My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

That night, Ulrich woke slowly.

For several seconds, he did not move.

The room was dim, lit only by the low glow of a single lamp near the bedside. The pain remained, but it had changed. It was no longer the all-consuming agony that had dragged him through the journey from Hiddlestone. The physicians’ treatment, the restorative ointments, and several hours of unconsciousness had taken the edge from it.

His crimson eyes opened.

They were calmer now.

Less fevered and less strained.

Ulrich drew a slow breath and tested his body carefully.

His chest still hurt. His ribs protested when he shifted. The stump of his left arm was wrapped tightly beneath fresh layers of bandages, and a dull phantom pain pulsed through the missing limb. The dark veins caused by the serum had not vanished, but they had receded slightly beneath the physicians’ ointments and mana treatment.

His body had survived.

Over the past days, he had endured one disaster after another.

He had only recently begun recovering from the poison that had nearly killed him before the capital.

He had expected trouble when he left Rubenhart County.

Ulrich always expected trouble.

But even his most pessimistic calculations had not reached this far.

A battle against an Imperial commander.

Airam’s abduction.

The exposure of the sisters’ connection to Valmoria.

Somehow, events had surpassed even his own worst predictions.

Ulrich slowly pushed himself upright.

He leaned back against the headboard and paused when dizziness brushed through him. His breathing remained controlled, though his face tightened slightly with pain.

Then he noticed someone beside the bed.

Ashara had fallen asleep with her head resting on her folded arms.

She sat in the chair close to him, close enough that one of her hands still rested near the edge of the mattress. Her long snow-white hair had fallen loose around her shoulders and across her face. Her breathing was faint.

Ulrich looked at her quietly.

He did not understand Ashara.

She had come all this way after hearing that he had been injured during Camellia’s event. She had crossed the distance from Arcadia despite the years of coldness between them.

Despite the way he had treated her.

Despite the way he had forced her away.

In the novel, their relationship had been colder.

More distant.

Ashara still carried feelings for Ulrich, but she had kept them buried beneath formality and resentment. She had not come to him so openly. She had not sat beside his bed. She had not held his hand or cried over him in front of the people of the Estate.

But the novel took place three years from now.

A great deal could happen in three years.

There was a real possibility that something would have to happen between them in the future, something that would turn the remaining warmth between them into the distant, fractured relationship described in the story.

That hadn’t happened yet and likely wouldn’t.

Their relationship was strained and distant, but it was not distant enough for Ashara to ignore news of his injury.

Not distant enough for her to leave him alone when he was close to death.

Ulrich’s gaze remained on her sleeping face.

A strange longing rose inside him.

He had chosen to cut ties with her.

He had told himself it was necessary.

Ashara did not belong on the path he had chosen. His life was full of demons, witches, political enemies, and dangers that grew greater every day. If he kept her close, she would become another weakness someone could use against him.

It should have been easier if he had never seen her again.

If she had remained in Arcadia.

If years and distance had allowed both of them to forget.

But Ashara always seemed to find her way back.

Ulrich lifted his hand.

He hesitated.

Then, almost reluctantly, he reached toward her.

His fingers gently brushed a strand of white hair away from her cheek.

Ashara stirred.

Her lashes trembled.

Ulrich withdrew his hand at once.

A second later, Ashara’s icy blue eyes opened.

At first, they were unfocused with sleep.

Then she saw him.

Her eyes widened.

"U—Ulrich?"

She rose so abruptly that the chair scraped against the floor.

The movement made her wince, but she ignored it. Her gaze rushed over his face, his posture, the bandages, and the way he sat upright against the headboard.

"Are you all right?" She asked.

Her voice trembled.

Ashara’s hand lifted toward him automatically.

Then she stopped herself.

Her fingers curled back against her chest.

Ulrich watched the motion.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Ashara looked down.

Her hands clenched slowly against the folds of her dress.

"I told you," she said quietly. "I came to see whether you were all right."

She looked back at him.

"I heard about the demons. I heard you had been injured."

She had come earlier than expected.

She had not thought Ulrich would face Valdris.

She had not imagined she would find him missing an arm and lying between life and death.

Ulrich’s expression did not change.

"You should leave."

Ashara stiffened.

Her fingers tightened.

"Why?" She asked.

The question was small.

"Do you hate seeing me that much?"

Ulrich’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Ashara’s voice began to shake.

"I know you care. You would not—"

"Ashara."

Ulrich cut her off.

She fell silent.

Her eyes had already begun to shine with tears.

The sight sent an uncomfortable pang through Ulrich’s chest.

He disliked seeing her cry and he disliked that he was usually the reason.

Ulrich reached out with his remaining hand.

His palm rested against her cheek.

Ashara went still.

The warmth of his hand against her skin made her breath catch.

"Get some sleep," Ulrich said quietly.

His fingers brushed lightly beneath her eye.

"Leave tomorrow. I will be fine."

Ashara leaned slightly into his touch before she could stop herself.

Then, as Ulrich began to withdraw his hand, she caught it.

She held his hand between both of hers.

"Do not throw yourself into danger like that again," she said.

Ulrich looked at her.

"There was no choice."

That was not entirely true.

There had been choices.

He simply had not been willing to take any of them.

Ashara’s grip tightened around his hand.

"Perhaps," she said. "But if something happens to you..."

Her gaze fell.

Then she looked back at him, tears still gathering in her eyes.

"Remember that there are people who will be sad."

Her voice softened.

"I will be sad."

Ulrich said nothing.

He stared at her.

In the room’s dim light, Ashara looked so beautiful.

So pure and bright.

Too precious for the life he had built around himself.

She was beautiful in a way that made him want to protect her from every ugly thing he carried. And that was exactly why he had tried to push her away, even more after he received Silas’s memories.

He did not want to pull her into his path.

He did not want demons, witches, enemies, and politics to reach her because she remained close to him.

He did not want to be the reason she suffered.

"I am sorry," Ulrich whispered.

Ashara blinked.

"What?"

She had barely heard him.

Ulrich sighed.

Then the faintest trace of amusement touched his expression.

"Leave," he said. "Or do you wish to stay the night in my bedroom?"

Ashara’s face turned pink.

Ulrich continued calmly.

"Considering how clingy you have been toward me, people may begin whispering that you did more than visit me."

Ashara froze.

The color rushed from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

"I—"

Ulrich watched her.

"I did not—"

Her voice failed.

Her eyes widened in outrage.

"I—Is that how you are sending me away?"

Ashara stood so quickly that the chair nearly fell backward.

Ulrich gave her a dead stare.

Ashara stared at him, flustered.

Then she turned on her heel and stormed toward the door.

"I cannot believe you!"

The door slammed behind her.

Silence returned to the room.

Ulrich looked toward the closed door with a small smile.