My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

"Y—Your Majesty!"

Commander Marx Lambert’s voice cut through the stunned silence.

Kaliantha had still been listening to the hard, rapid beat of Ulrich’s heart beneath her cheek. For those last seconds within the broken barrier, the sound had been the only thing she seemed able to hear clearly. It had continued through every strike, every sudden turn, every moment when he carried her away from a blade.

Now the danger was over.

Her eyes opened.

The ballroom had returned around her in terrible detail: the harsh white light summoned by the knights; broken fragments of the shattered barrier drifting down like cold sparks; the nobles crowded against the outer edge of the floor; and the bodies lying across the marble.

Kaliantha pulled away from Ulrich.

At the same time, Ulrich let his arm fall from her back.

His crimson coat, which had been wrapped around her shoulders and held close during the fight, slipped down her arms. It caught briefly against the folds of her gown before sliding to the floor at her feet.

Kaliantha looked around.

Five demons lay dead across the ballroom.

Their masks had cracked open or split completely beneath Ulrich’s attacks. Dark red blood had spread from their bodies in thin streams over the white marble, gathering around discarded daggers and blackened weapons. The bitterness of demonic mana still lingered in the air, mixed with the sharper scent of blood and the dust left by the ruined barrier.

Every assassin had been killed.

Ulrich had done it.

Alone.

Kaliantha’s eyes moved toward him.

She had underestimated him.

She had known Ulrich was capable. She had known he was dangerous in ways most nobles failed to understand until they had already made a mistake. She knew he had likely struck Antonias in the corridor and had not trembled when confronted about it before the entire court.

But this...

Five demons had trapped her in a prepared barrier, cut off from her guards and from the light. They had disrupted mana, surrounded them with blades, and expected the Queen of Skargardia to die at the center of her daughter’s celebration.

Kaliantha had not even needed the Phoenix Heart.

Ulrich had handled everything himself.

"Mother!"

Albert and Camellia rushed toward her.

Camellia stopped close beside Albert. Her eyes had filled with tears she was clearly trying not to shed.

"Are you hurt, Your Majesty?" Marx demanded.

Kaliantha looked down at herself.

She raised her arms slowly, turning them over beneath the light created by the knights’ spells.

There was no wound.

Not a single cut had touched her skin.

Blood marked the pale fabric of her gown. A dark streak lay across one sleeve, and small drops had stained the bodice and skirt. But none of it belonged to her. Some had come from Ulrich when the dagger cut his cheeks, back, and arms. The rest had splashed across her clothes when he struck the demons down while keeping her held against him.

"I am unharmed," Kaliantha said.

Marx’s shoulders lowered only slightly.

"Call the physicians immediately!" He shouted.

The knights sprang into motion. Two ran through the open doors in search of the royal physicians, while the others spread across the ballroom. Some checked the dead demons for signs of movement. Others forced the shocked nobles farther from the bloodied floor and began sealing the entrances.

Ulrich barely seemed to notice.

His gaze remained lowered toward the dead demons.

The adrenaline of the battle had not left his body yet. Blood ran from the cut along his cheek. More had soaked into the sleeve of his shirt, staining the white fabric from his upper arm down toward his wrist. The torn cloth at his side and shoulder revealed other cuts, some shallow and others deeper, where blades had grazed him while he kept Kaliantha out of their path.

He had not escaped unhurt.

Yet his face showed no reaction.

After a moment, Ulrich opened his fingers.

The bloodied dagger fell from his hand.

It struck the marble with a hard clatter.

Several people flinched at the sound.

Ulrich took one step back from the bodies, then lifted his gaze toward the ballroom.

The hall stood frozen.

Nobles had pressed themselves along the walls or behind pillars, their faces pale beneath the white light. Some stared openly at the dead demons. Others looked at Ulrich with an expression that contained more fear than gratitude. A few parents had covered their children’s eyes, turning them away from the blood and broken bodies.

Demons.

Inside the Skargardian capital.

Inside Skargardian Keep.

Inside the royal ballroom, during the coming-of-age celebration of the princess.

The shock would not fade quickly.

Neither would the image of Count Rubenhart standing amid the corpses.

"L—Lord Ulrich!"

The next people to reach him were the sisters.

Esther came first, as Ulrich had expected. She rushed forward with both hands held close to her chest, her face already crumpling as her eyes found the blood on his shirt.

"Y—You are bleeding!"

Her voice shook.

She stared at his arm, where blood had soaked through his white sleeve. Then she noticed the cut across his cheek, the torn fabric at his shoulder, and the marks of other slashes across the front and back of his clothes.

The sight made her eyes fill completely.

"I am fine," Ulrich said.

He glanced over each of them.

Hermione stood behind Esther, visibly shaken but unharmed. Louise was nearby as well, her face pale, reeling in shock at what just happened. Airam remained quiet beside them, her arms at her sides and her gaze fixed on Ulrich.

They were safe.

The relief was small, but real.

Ulrich had worried, in the worst moments inside the barrier, that the dark-haired man or other hidden demons might have used the chaos to target the sisters. The assassins had focused entirely on Kaliantha, and the barrier had enclosed only the center of the ballroom.

For once, his fear had been unnecessary.

"Y—You need treatment," Hermione said.

She came closer, though she stopped just short of touching him at first. Her hand hovered near his arm, uncertain. Then she reached out and placed her trembling fingers carefully against the bloodied sleeve.

Fresh blood stained her fingertips.

Hermione flinched.

"I—It looks deep," she whispered.

"It is not," Ulrich replied.

"It is!" Esther raised her voice.

Ulrich looked at her.

Tears ran down Esther’s cheeks. She tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand, but more kept coming. Her blue eyes were wet and bright beneath the ballroom’s harsh light.

"Do not cry," Hermione said softly.

She placed one hand on Esther’s back, attempting to comfort her.

"B—But I was so scared," Esther said.

Her words broke as she spoke them.

"I was so scared..."

Ulrich looked away from the tears on her face.

He did not know how to answer that.

Airam remained silent.

She had watched him since the barrier broke with an unreadable expression. Ulrich had expected fear from Esther, worry from Hermione, perhaps quiet concern from Louise.

Airam’s calm was different.

She did not look disturbed by the blood or the dead demons. She did not stare at him as though he had become someone unrecognizable after killing five attackers. Her eyes simply moved over his injuries, assessing them with the same close attention she would give a dangerous spell or a wounded animal refusing to stay still.

Ulrich almost wanted to commend her.

Then Airam stepped forward.

Before he could ask what she intended, she took his right arm between both of her small, pale hands.

Ulrich frowned.

Airam closed her eyes.

A faint chill spread across his skin.

Dark blue runes appeared beneath her fingers.

They moved over his bloodied sleeve in thin lines, slipping through the cloth and into the wounded flesh underneath. The sensation was strange: cold at first, then numb, as though winter water had been poured directly into the cuts along his arm.

Witchcraft.

Ulrich tried to pull his arm back.

Airam’s grip tightened.

For someone so slight, she held him with surprising stubbornness.

He could have stopped her easily if he truly wished. One movement would have broken her hold. But Ulrich looked down at the concentration on her face, at the way her black lashes rested against her cheeks and her fingers pressed around his arm.

Airam was trying to help him.

Healing was not her strength.

She was not a witch who specialized in stitching skin or closing wounds. Her witchcraft was made for destruction, curses, and the sort of forces that left rooms broken after she had passed through them. The runes moving under Ulrich’s sleeve were rough and inefficient, struggling to find a proper shape.

Still, she tried.

Ulrich did not stop her.

He let the dark blue runes move over his arm while the ballroom recovered around them. He let Esther cry quietly nearby. He let Hermione stand close, watching the blood on his sleeve with anxious eyes.

Then the physicians arrived.

Their white robes moved quickly through the guards, followed by assistants carrying satchels of bandages, tinctures, and instruments. They began with Kaliantha, only for the Queen to lift one hand and direct them toward Ulrich instead.

Ulrich placed his free hand over Airam’s.

"Enough," he said.

Airam’s eyes opened.

For a second, she did not let go.

Then she withdrew her hands from his arm and took one step back. The dark blue runes faded from his sleeve, leaving only a faint coldness behind.

Airam turned away.

She crossed her arms over her chest, returning to the quiet posture she had held before.