Chapter 87: The Sisterly Dinner with Ulrich and Meera

"Oh my," Meera muttered. "This is certainly a dinner of a rare kind."

Stepping into the dining hall, she was greeted by the intoxicating aroma of roasted meats, glazed root vegetables, and spiced wine. The long, rectangular table was already laden with an extravagant array of dishes. It was a feast fit for a king’s banquet, utilizing rare spices and ingredients that would cost a commoner a year’s wages. Yet, judging by the indifferent faces of the staff, it was merely an ordinary evening meal for Count Rubenhart.

Ulrich strode past the lavish spread without a second glance, taking his customary seat at the head of the table. The three sisters flanked him according to their usual arrangement. Airam sat quietly on one side, while Esther and Hermione took their places opposite her. Meera was guided to the far end of the long table, directly facing the Count. Edmar stepped forward to pull out a high-backed chair for her, and she settled into it with a gracious smile.

Almost immediately, a small tension appeared over the table.

Esther sat stiff, her nervous gaze darting like a trapped bird between Ulrich and the strange woman seated across from him. Hermione was far less subtle, staring blatantly at Meera while her mind worked, still trying to determine if this was the same mysterious woman she had glimpsed in the courtyard two years ago. Airam, unbothered by the atmosphere, kept her dark eyes fixed intently on the glazed pheasant in the center of the table.

The room remained silent until Ulrich finally picked up his silver fork and took his first bite. Exactly on cue, the three sisters picked up their own utensils and began to eat.

Meera watched this synchronized display with quiet amusement, finding the girls’ strict obedience to the Count surprisingly cute. She followed their lead, placing a small cut of meat upon her tongue. The rich, complex flavors exploded in her mouth, unlike anything she had ever scavenged from the sea. It took every ounce of her willpower to maintain her delicate, aristocratic posture and not devour the entire plate like a starving sailor.

"Now," Meera began, wiping her lips delicately with a linen napkin. "I am quite curious about these three wonderful beauties Lord Rubenhart has taken in. Would you tell me a little about yourself, Esther?"

"M—Me?" Esther squeaked, nearly dropping her spoon.

"Indeed," Meera smiled warmly. "You are quite sweet, aren’t you? Lord Rubenhart has spoken a great deal about the youngest sister to me."

"I—Is that so?!" Esther panicked. She whipped her head toward Ulrich, her eyes wide with shock.

Besides her, Ulrich calmly sliced his meat. He briefly registered the audacity of Meera’s lie; he had never once breathed a single word about the girls to anyone outside the estate walls, but he saw no reason to interrupt his meal to correct her.

"U—Um, I just try my best not to be a bother to Lord Ulrich," Esther stammered, a delicate blush creeping up to the tips of her ears.

"Oh goodness, I am sure you are no bother at all. You are far too sweet for that," Meera chuckled, causing Esther’s face to burn even brighter.

Having flustered the youngest as planned, Meera shifted her smiling gaze down the table. "He also spoke quite highly of the middle sister, you know."

"C-Cough! Cough!"

Hermione, who had just taken a sip from her goblet, choked. She pulled back from the table, coughing as the water went down the wrong way. Monika quickly stepped forward, gently patting the girl’s back and wiping her lips with a fresh cloth.

Once she recovered her breath, Hermione shot a watery, flushed glare at the guest. Meera merely smiled back, the picture of innocent charm.

"I see the Count’s descriptions were entirely accurate," Meera noted lightly, making no move to elaborate purposefully.

She looked as though she were about to turn her attention to Airam, but Hermione’s pride simply could not bear the suspense. "W—what exactly did he say?" She blurted out.

Hermione gripped her napkin tightly. She could hardly understand Ulrich speaking of her to a stranger. He barely spoke to her within the walls of his own home. The mere idea of him discussing her character in the outside world was bizarre, and yet, a hopeful part of her needed to know what he thought.

Meera let the silence stretch for a moment before her smile softened into something seemingly genuine, hiding a smirk beneath. "He called you a very hardworking girl."

"Oh..." Hermione breathed, the tension draining from her shoulders as a new, embarrassed warmth flooded her cheeks. She gave a small, jerky nod.

She certainly had not expected that. She spent hours secretly practicing her magical spells and refining her control over the elements, pushing herself to exhaustion in the training grounds. She had always thought her efforts went unnoticed by the distant, cold Count. It seemed Ulrich saw right through her quiet facade after all.

Unable to help herself, Hermione stole a glance at the head of the table. Ulrich, however, did not even look her way, his attention fixed on his supper. Stung but strangely pleased, Hermione quickly looked back down at her plate.

"And would the eldest sister be just as curious?" Meera asked, finally turning her gaze toward the most intriguing of the trio.

Airam did not look up. "No," she replied.

Without missing a beat, the black-haired witch stabbed a massive, glistening cut of roast venison with her silver fork and shoved the entire piece into her mouth. She had miscalculated the size her small jaw could accommodate. As she chewed with aggressive, stubborn force, a thin trickle of savory juices leaked from the corner of her lips and trailed down her pale chin.

On her right, Ulrich stopped eating. He lowered his fork to his plate with a soft click and leveled a cold stare at the eldest sister.

Airam, her cheeks bulging as she continued to munch strongly, met his gaze without flinching. She chewed on, unrepentant, while the juices continued to threaten the collar of her fine silk dress.

When Ulrich’s icy stare deepened into a hardened reprimand, Airam let out a quiet grunt through her nose and began to search blindly around her place setting for a napkin. Finding nothing but an empty tablecloth, she paused. Without breaking eye contact, Ulrich smoothly retrieved his own linen napkin and extended his hand, holding it out to her.

Airam snatched it from his fingers. She hastily wiped the grease from her chin and lips, balled the stained cloth into a wrinkled heap, and dropped it carelessly beside her elbow.

Almost instantly, Ulrich’s stare intensified again, pinning her in place. The unsaid demand was deafening in the quiet room. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Airam paused mid-chew. She glared back at him, her dark eyes flashing with silent rebellion. Yet, after a tense standoff that lasted mere seconds, she gave in. Snatching up the crumpled linen, she smoothed it out with exaggerated care and placed it neatly beside her porcelain plate, exactly where it belonged. Only then did Ulrich return to his meal, his expression unchanging.

Observing this entirely silent exchange from across the table, Meera had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into peals of laughter.

It was fascinating, certainly. There was no need for spoken commands or shouting; they communicated entire arguments through nothing more than shifts in posture and eye contact. Meera had initially assumed the timid, sweet Esther was the closest to the Count’s heart, but she realized now she was mistaken at least in the understanding part. The eldest sister, with her quiet rebellious attitude and eerie composure, understood Ulrich’s silent language better than anyone else in the room.

Meera found herself really amazed by the trio. When she had first heard the hushed, shocking news of Ulrich adopting three witches, she had pictured chaotic, untamed girls completely at odds with his strict aristocratic world. Now, watching them interact, she began to understand why he had chosen them. They were strange, yes, but so was Ulrich..

They fit perfectly into the abnormal world Ulrich had constructed. Despite their contrasting personalities, the sisters had assimilated into the rhythms of the Estate. Their posture, their quiet restraint, the very way they moved, it was not born merely from a fear of Ulrich’s judging glares, but from unspoken alignment with his nature.

Witnessing this hidden, domestic side of Ulrich brought a warm flush of pleasure to Meera. He was not a warm, doting father by any stretch of the imagination, but he was definitely a vigilant, exacting guardian. And watching the feared Count Rubenhart silently argue with a teenage girl over a crumpled napkin was, without a doubt, the most entertaining thing Meera had seen in years.