My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

Astrid’s answer should have made the decision easy.

She was young, inexperienced, impulsive, and unsuited to being placed anywhere near a possible demon assassin. Ulrich had no reason to involve her further. Sending her back to Camellia was the sensible choice. It was the only choice a careful person would make.

Yet she stood before him with her fists clenched against her gown, trying to look angry while the insult he had just thrown at her still showed plainly on her face.

Ulrich could not bring himself to dismiss her.

That need to prove herself was too familiar.

After his mother died and he blossomed a broken mana core, Ulrich had spent years trying to become useful enough for his father to look at him differently. He had trained until his hands split around the hilt of a sword. He had studied until the lamps in his room burned down to pools of wax. He had forced himself through every lesson his body could endure, hoping that one day Eurich would stop seeing the broken mana core first.

It had never happened.

No achievement had been enough to outweigh that failure.

Eurich would watch him train, find the smallest flaw, and tell him to work harder. There was always another weakness to correct, another standard he had failed to reach, another reason recognition could wait until Ulrich became someone better.

It never came.

Even after Ulrich stopped wanting it, some part of him had continued waiting for it.

Astrid’s circumstances were different. Her mana was intact. Her father had not cast her aside. She had a name people respected, a place at court, a family powerful enough to protect her from most consequences.

Still, she carried the same look Ulrich remembered seeing in the mirror as a child.

The look of someone who feared that being born into a title did not make her worthy of it.

She wanted to be useful. She wanted someone to acknowledge that she could stand beside danger rather than hide behind guards and her father’s name. Perhaps she wanted Ulrich’s acknowledgment as well. She had watched him all evening with a mixture of anger and expectation, as if his opinion mattered despite how badly he treated her.

It was strange.

From his perspective, he had shown her nothing to deserve that esteem.

Ulrich looked back toward the masked musician.

Involving Astrid was still a poor plan.

He had no interest in exposing her to demons. She was too young for that world, too unprepared, and too likely to mistake courage for charging directly into danger. He did not know whether the man near the dais was truly alone. If there were other demons in the ballroom, any careless move could draw their attention.

But Ulrich could not approach the musician himself.

A count speaking to an unknown performer would be noticed. The royal guards would notice. The musicians would notice. Any demon watching the room would certainly notice. Even if the masked man did not know Ulrich was allied to demons, another infiltrator might know enough to find the conversation suspicious.

Astrid, however, could approach him.

A duke’s daughter speaking to a musician might be rude, inconvenient, and irritating for the man, but it would not immediately suggest an investigation. Astrid had already proven that she could make trouble naturally. No one would question her stopping a performer to complain about his music, his appearance, or some imagined breach of etiquette.

Ulrich had no trusted people nearby.

Airam would turn a small test into a public confrontation. Hermione would ask too many questions and refuse to stop until she had answers. Esther should not be involved at all. Well, truthfully, he would never involve any of those three in such danger.

Then, Louise might be capable, but she would notice too much, enjoy the mystery too much, and demand an explanation afterward.

Astrid was already involved, whether Ulrich wanted it or not.

He looked at her again.

"Do you really want to be useful?"

Astrid’s eyes widened slightly. She had expected another demand to leave, perhaps another insult. Her surprise lasted only a moment before her expression hardened.

"Yes," she said. "And do not tell me to leave again, or I will inform the royal guards. Her Highness’s safety is more important than whether I embarrass myself. If there is even a chance that—"

"Stop."

Astrid paused.

Ulrich’s voice had not risen, but the edge in it made her mouth close.

"I asked a question," he said. "Answer it. Do not begin reciting your infatuation to the Princess."

"In—Infatuation?! That is not what I was doing..."

"It sounded pathetic."

"I am worried for Her Highness," Astrid snapped, forgetting to lower her voice until a nearby noblewoman glanced in their direction. Astrid immediately drew herself back under control. "Any proud citizen of Skargardia would be worried."

Ulrich gave her a long, cold stare.

Astrid fidgeted with a loose strand of blond hair, winding it around one finger before quickly releasing it. She looked away from him for a moment.

"I—I want to help," she said more quietly. "I can help."

"Good."

Her eyes returned to him.

Ulrich shifted his gaze toward the false musician.

"I need him to remove the mask."

Astrid followed the direction of his eyes.

"And?"

"Make him react to the case."

She frowned. "His violin case?"

Ulrich nodded.

"It may contain nothing. It may contain some weapon. I do not know."

Astrid’s attention fell on the dark case beside the musician’s chair. From a distance it looked no different from the others: black wood, brass clasps, a curved handle. Yet now that she knew it might conceal something meant for the Queen, the object seemed darker than it should have.

"How am I supposed to make him react?" she asked.

"Use your imagination."

Astrid grumbled but didn’t argue.

"So I approach him," she said slowly. "I make him take off the mask, and I watch whether he protects the case."

"Do you wish a drawing?"

A vein appeared at Astrid’s temple.

"Hmph."

She turned toward the dais, already beginning to walk away.

Ulrich’s arm rose across her path.

Astrid stopped and looked up at him, puzzled.

For the first time since they began speaking, Ulrich’s expression had lost its detached irritation. His eyes were stern, but not cold in the same way. He looked at her as though he had reconsidered the entire plan in the second before she left.

"Do not take risks," he said before he could help himself.

Astrid blinked.

"What?"

"Do not take risks."

He repeated it with more force, though his voice had lowered. It carried none of the contempt he had used when dismissing her questions. For a brief instant, it sounded closer to the tone he used with the sisters when they had gone too close to something dangerous.

Astrid remained still.

His dark red eyes held hers.

"If he appears hostile, leave," Ulrich continued. "If he reaches for the case, step away. If anything feels wrong, do not argue with him. Return here."

Astrid’s lips parted, but she did not answer immediately.

The concern caught her off guard.

He had treated her as though every word she said wasted his time.

Yet now he was looking at her as though he genuinely expected something could happen to her.

"I understand," Astrid said.

Ulrich held her gaze for another second.

Then he moved his arm aside.

Astrid drew a slow breath and turned toward the royal dais. She forced herself to walk at an ordinary pace, neither too quickly nor too carefully. Her heart beat harder with every step, though she kept her chin raised and her shoulders straight.

Behind her, Ulrich remained near the windows.

He watched carefully, however ready to intervene at any moment.

And he watched Astrid approach him.