After their morning baths and a light breakfast, the three sisters retreated to their respective chambers, only to be immediately ambushed by a flurry of maids. Their objective: prepare the girls for their very first excursion outside alongside Ulrich.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione snapped, glaring at her reflection in the ornate vanity mirror. Three maids fluttered anxiously around her, meticulously pinning her silver hair and adjusting the lace of her bodice.

Ulrich rarely cared what the girls wore while confined within the estate walls, so long as their daily attire suited the station of a noble house. However, for their grand debut in his city, he demanded they be nothing short of breathtaking. It was a calculated maneuver. Thankfully, all three sisters possessed an otherworldly delicate appearance, and Ulrich fully intended to weaponize their looks. He wanted his people so completely dazzled by their appearance that they would forget even that the sisters had witch’s blood.

By now, the estate servants were well accustomed to Hermione’s temper. The maids tending to her simply offered wry, apologetic smiles, continuing their work with deft hands. Truthfully, Hermione no longer bullied them the way she had upon first arriving. Over the past two years, the relation between the sisters and the household staff had smoothed into a proper, functional relationship between masters and servants.

Despite her loud complaints, Hermione understood the logic behind this exhausting preparation. She knew Ulrich was doing everything in his power to overwrite their identities as Witches. It was annoying, though she didn’t resent it quite as strongly as Airam did, because she recognized it was his way of keeping them safe.

"I will not let anyone take you from me."

Without warning, the memory of his words from two years ago flashed vividly in her mind. It felt as sudden and real as if he were standing right behind her, uttering the promise with that intense yet calm gaze. A warm flush of pink crept across Hermione’s cheeks.

"G—Get it done quickly!" she sputtered, suddenly flustered as she clenched her hands tightly in her lap.

"Yes, My Lady!" The maids flinched, their hands moving at double speed to finish the styling.

Unsurprisingly, the beautification process dragged on far longer than their standard morning routines. In her own room, Esther was enjoying the pampered treatment, humming happily as the servants dolled her up.

Airam’s chambers, however, felt more like an execution block. The eldest sister despised sitting still for so long. She didn’t say a single word of complaint, nor did she actively threaten anyone, but she didn’t have to. The terrified maids could feel cold sweat trickling down their spines every time they accidentally met Airam’s dead, soulless stare reflected in the vanity mirror. Her silent aura of menace was more than enough to make the servants work faster.

Nearly two hours later, the doors of their respective chambers finally opened. The three sisters stepped out into the grand corridor, stopping dead in their tracks as they took one another in. The transformation was definitely there.

The gowns they wore were constructed from fabrics far richer and more decadent than even the wildly expensive daily wear they had grown accustomed to. Airam was draped in a sleek, midnight navy blue gown that perfectly complemented her dark presence. Esther resembled a radiant sunbeam in a bright, cascading yellow dress, while Hermione looked flawlessly elegant in a sophisticated, pearl-gray ensemble that accented her silver hair.

Looking at each other, none of them could even find the breath to complain about the time it had taken.

"You both look so beautiful, sisters!" Esther cheered, immediately rushing forward to admire the stitching on their skirts.

"W—Well, of course we do," Hermione replied, crossing her arms and lifting her chin with a satisfied, prideful smile. The mirror hadn’t lied; she looked really perfect.

Airam merely pinched a handful of her voluminous navy skirt, lifting it an inch off the floor. "It is heavy."

"That is simply how one must dress as the cherished daughter of a Count’s house," a gentle voice interrupted. Monika approached from the end of the hall, offering the girls a warm, approving smile.

"Monika! The gowns are amazing!" Esther beamed, skipping over to the head maid.

"If you are pleased, Lady Esther, then you should direct your thanks to the Lord of the house," Monika replied softly. "He personally selected each one of your gowns."

"W—What?" Hermione blurted out, dumbfounded. She looked down at the delicate silver embroidery of her gray bodice.

’He actually has surprisingly excellent taste, doesn’t he?’ She thought, entirely against her will.

But almost instantly, a furious shade of red flooded her cheeks. Why in the world was that stoic, cold-hearted man the one meticulously picking out their dresses?!

"L—Lord Ulrich actually picked these...?" Esther muttered, a soft, bewildered tone in her voice as a rush of warmth flooded her chest.

She felt really touched. In her mind, the fact that he was thorough enough to personally select their gowns proved exactly how deeply he cared for them. Obviously, Ulrich’s ’care’ was far more rooted in political strategy than that kind of affection, but Esther was already drifting blissfully into her own idealized world. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Airam, on the other hand, barely reacted. She knew precisely why Ulrich was putting on this elaborate pageant, and she had no intention of complaining about it. Survival was survival, even if it came wrapped in heavy navy silk.

With careful steps, the three sisters descended the grand staircase, tightly gripping the voluminous folds of their skirts to avoid tripping over the expensive fabric.

As they reached the polished marble floor of the main hall, they immediately spotted Ulrich near the entrance. He was engaged in a quiet conversation with Fabian, likely issuing instructions.

When he finished, he turned, his gaze falling upon the sisters.

Simultaneously, the girls took in Ulrich’s appearance. As always, his presence was quite striking. His shoulder-length, deep crimson curls framed his aristocratic features, perfectly matching his piercing, dark red eyes. Today, he wore a tailored crimson waistcoat layered beneath a beautifully structured dark overcoat that fit him impeccably. They had seen him dressed formally before, but today his attire had an entirely new level.

For a brief moment, silence blanketed the hall as the sisters stood motionless on the bottom step.

Hermione and Esther remained frozen, suddenly overcome by nervousness. It felt as though they were awkwardly waiting for something, perhaps an acknowledgment or an approving remark from him.

Hermione was the first to snap out of the spell.

’What in the world am I waiting for?!’ She scolded herself strongly in her mind. Mortified by her own hesitation, she quickly marched off, intentionally ignoring him.

"Where exactly are you going?" Ulrich’s calm voice echoed across the hall as he watched her head into the estate.

Hermione froze and spun around, her cheeks burning.

"The carriage is waiting outside," Ulrich pointed out, leveling her with an unamused stare.

"I—I was simply taking a small detour!" She stuttered, swiftly pivoting on her heel and storming out through the massive front doors.

Esther then stepped forward, nervously wringing her hands as she looked up at Ulrich. "I... I just wanted to say that—!"

Ulrich looked down at her in silence, waiting for her to continue.

However, it was too much for Esther.

"N—Never mind!" She squeaked, immediately hiking up her yellow skirts and sprinting out the door after Hermione.

Lastly, Airam descended the final step. She stood there for a few seconds, locking eyes with Ulrich in a long, silent stare before wordlessly walking past him and out the door.

"Have a safe trip, My Lord," Fabian called out softly as Ulrich finally moved to follow them.

Stepping out into the courtyard, the sisters stopped in awe. Before them sat an opulent, gold-trimmed carriage, pulled by a team of massive, immaculately groomed white horses.

Ulrich bypassed the carriage, walking straight toward a stern, heavily armored middle-aged knight. The man removed his plumed helmet, revealing sharp, weathered features, graying black hair, and intense blue eyes. It was Hendrick Van Sittart, the seasoned Commander of the Rubenhart Knight Order, a loyal veteran who had served under Ulrich’s father.

"My Lord, we are ready to depart," Hendrick announced, striking his breastplate in a respectful salute.

Ulrich briefly scanned the formation. A full dozen armed knights sat mounted on warhorses, positioned meticulously ahead of and behind the grand carriage to ensure maximum security.

"Carry on," Ulrich said.

Hendrick bowed his head respectfully and marched off to issue the final orders to his men.

Seeing the Lord approach, the coachman hurriedly scrambled down from his perch. He pulled the carriage door open with a deep, sweeping bow. "My Ladies."

"Thank you so much!" Esther said cheerfully, gathering her yellow skirts and stepping lightly into the plush cabin.

Hermione quickly followed inside. Airam boarded last, settling in without a word.

The carriage interior was spacious, allowing all three sisters to sit shoulder-to-shoulder on one bench. Being so slender, they fit perfectly, leaving the opposite bench empty.

A moment later, Ulrich climbed aboard, taking the empty seat across from them. The door clicked shut, sealing them inside.

With a sharp crack of the coachman’s whip and the synchronized thud of armored hooves, the Rubenhart carriage lurched forward toward the bustling City of New Ruben.