My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

After lunch, Ulrich allowed the sisters a short rest, but it lasted barely an hour before the maids were summoned and ordered to begin preparing them for the evening event.

This time, the process was far more thorough than what they had gone through the day before at the estate.

Yesterday had only been preparation for the journey.

This was preparation for the event.

This was preparation to be seen.

The three sisters were separated first and led into adjoining bathing rooms where the water had already been drawn. Steam curled softly through the air, carrying the scent of flowers, oil, and something richer underneath, something smooth and expensive that did not belong to common soap. The bathwater had been mixed with perfumed oils meant to soften the skin and leave behind a faint, refined fragrance. After that came milk treatments worked over their arms, shoulders, necks, and legs until the maids seemed satisfied with every inch of them.

Their skin had already been beautiful before. That much could not be denied. All three of them had inherited the same naturally clear, pale, porcelain tone from their mother, though it settled differently on each sister. Hermione’s had a sharper elegance to it, Esther’s looked almost delicate enough to bruise under the eye, and Airam’s pale beauty carried a colder, a darker impression. Yet by the time the bath was done and the last of the scented water had been poured away, even that natural beauty seemed polished into something brighter. Their skin looked luminous, smooth as cream, almost unreal in the soft light of the bathing chambers.

Then they were brought before the dressing tables.

What followed was somehow even more exhausting.

The maids moved around them in practiced silence and careful coordination, each one taking charge of a different task. Some knelt at their feet, tending to their toes and smoothing scented cream into their skin before carefully shaping and polishing their nails. Others worked on their hands, trimming, buffing, rubbing oils into their fingers and palms until they looked as delicate as painted porcelain. At the mirrors, other maids handled their faces with the same tireless attention, applying masks, brushing out lashes, softening their cheeks, tidying their brows, and smoothing away any small flaw that might have been missed.

Nothing was neglected.

No part of them escaped attention.

It felt as though the entire purpose of the afternoon was to strip away anything ordinary until only something polished, composed, and worthy of the royal court remained.

The whole process was even more overwhelming than yesterday morning.

For Esther and Airam especially, it bordered on suffocating.

Hermione handled it the best out of the three. She had complained far more when this sort of treatment first became part of her life, but two years of being dressed, corrected, bathed, measured, adjusted, and presented had worn away much of her resistance. She was not entirely comfortable with it, but she had learned how to sit still through the fussing and let herself be transformed. More than that, she could not truly bring herself to hate a process that ended with her looking beautiful. Even when she rolled her eyes or muttered under her breath, there remained a part of her that enjoyed being adorned so carefully.

Esther was another matter.

She sat with her back straight and her hands folded when they were not being held by a maid, trying so hard to behave well that it only made her look more helpless. Every new touch made her shoulders tense at first. Every instruction earned a quick nod. She thanked them too often, apologized when she moved wrong, and blushed whenever they praised her. Still, the kindness of the maids did a great deal to settle her. They spoke to her gently, reassured her whenever she looked too uncertain, and handled her with a fond patience usually reserved for something fragile and precious.

It was difficult not to be fond of Esther.

She was sweet without trying to be charming, shy without coldness, and so naturally lovely that dressing her up felt less like improving something plain and more like framing something already exquisite. Her hair, her eyes, the softness of her features, the small, nervous expressions that kept crossing her face, everything about her drew tenderness from the women attending her. By the end, they were treating her almost like a treasured doll, fussing over the smallest details with quiet delight because they wanted her to look flawless.

Airam inspired a very different mood.

From the beginning, she made it clear that she disliked having unfamiliar people so close to her. She did not fidget or complain much, but that made her worse, not better. She simply watched. Her stare followed every maid who approached her, unreadable enough to keep them on edge. When one of them reached for a tool or leaned too near her shoulder, Airam’s eyes moved there at once. At one point, her gaze settled on the sharp nail file resting on the dressing table, and she looked at it for so long that the maid nearest her grew visibly nervous.

Even so, Airam endured it.

She did not lash out. She did not pull away. She did not make trouble beyond the quiet tension she carried like a blade hidden in plain sight. If anything, that restraint made the entire thing stranger. She clearly hated being touched by people she did not know, hated being made to sit still and be handled, hated the feeling of others deciding what to do with her body for hours at a time, and yet she accepted it in the end. Whether that acceptance came from discipline, indifference, or simple understanding that resistance would only drag the process out longer, none of the maids could tell.

So they worked carefully around her and prayed for the best.

Time dragged.

The room remained full of soft voices, brushed fabric, the faint clink of glass bottles and metal tools, the smell of powder and oil and floral water, the warmth of lamps, the scrape of chairs shifting slightly across the floor. Again and again the sisters were turned this way and that, told to lift their chin, hold out a hand, sit straighter, relax their shoulders, keep still for a moment longer. It seemed endless.

By the time the skincare and grooming were finally complete, nearly two hours had passed.

The sisters looked exhausted.

Their hair still had to be finished. Their gowns still had to be put on. Jewelry still waited. Final adjustments still remained. Yet despite the fatigue settling into the room, another feeling began to replace it, at least for two of them.

Excitement.

Hermione glanced toward the gowns with open interest she did not bother hiding anymore. Esther’s eyes followed a moment later, wide and bright despite her lingering nervousness. Whatever they felt about the capital, the nobles, or the evening ahead, the dresses remained something they had been waiting for.

Esther watched nervously as it was finally time for her to wear the gown tailored for her by Rosaline and her crew.

The maids led her to the center of the room and turned her gently toward the tallest mirror while one of them lifted the gown from its stand with both hands, careful not to let the silk drag against the floor. Even before it was put on her, Esther could only stare at it. The dress was made in a clear, delicate blue, pale enough to look almost silver where the light struck it and deeper where the silk folded over itself. It was soft in color without being weak. The layers gave it body and depth, so that every movement of the fabric caught a slightly different shade beneath the surface.

"It is so pretty..." Esther whispered.

One of the maids smiled at her reflection. "It will be prettier on you, my lady."

That only made Esther blush harder.

They started with the first layer beneath it, a fine white chemise that slipped over her skin, cool and light. The fabric settled softly over her shoulders and down her body, thin enough to protect the gown from her skin without adding bulk beneath it. After that came her stockings, pulled carefully into place and fastened smoothly so there would be no wrinkling beneath the skirts. Esther stood obediently through all of it, lifting one foot when asked, then the other, her hands gathered under her chin whenever no one needed them.

Next came the structured underbodice.

The maid carrying it stepped behind her while another stood in front, guiding Esther to hold still as it was wrapped around her waist and chest. It was firm without being cruel, shaped to support the line of the gown rather than crush her into it. The laces were drawn gradually, tightened bit by bit, so the fit stayed neat and elegant. Esther sucked in a small breath when it settled properly around her.

"Too tight?" a maid asked at once.

"N-No," Esther said quickly. "It is fine."

The maid in front of her gave a knowing little smile. "You may breathe, miss."

That earned a shy look and an even smaller nod.

After the understructure was secured, they added the first skirt layer, light and full enough to give the gown its shape without weighing her down. Then came the underskirt in its proper fabric, a softer blue than the outer gown, almost mist-pale, with a smooth finish that caught the light in a quiet sheen. It fastened snugly at her waist, falling in a clean line before widening gently around her legs. One maid knelt to spread the fabric evenly while another adjusted the back so the fullness sat correctly rather than bunching.

Only then did they bring the gown itself to her.

Two maids held it open while Esther stepped carefully into it, one slippered foot at a time, and they drew it up around her with slow, practiced hands. The inner bodice was the first to settle against her torso, fitted close enough to show her shape while still keeping the sweetness that suited her age and face. The silk over it was the same clear blue as a bright winter sky seen through cold glass. It had a faint translucent quality in the outer layers, especially at the sleeves and upper draping, which gave the whole dress a softened finish rather than a heavy one.

The bodice was shaped with delicate seams that narrowed at her waist. Fine stitching ran along the edges, nearly invisible unless one stood close enough to study it, and small seed pearls had been sewn along the neckline so sparingly that they looked like drops of light rather than decoration for its own sake. The neckline itself sat modestly, open enough to flatter the line of her throat and collarbones while keeping the innocence that matched Esther much better than anything too sharp or bold ever could.

The sleeves came next.

The inner sleeves were fitted and smooth from shoulder to wrist in the same pale blue silk, close enough to make her arms look even more slender. Over them fell a second layer of sheer silk, split softly along the outer length so the under-sleeve showed through when she moved. That top layer had been edged in very fine silver embroidery, not thick enough to weigh it down, only enough to give the fabric a quiet finish along the seams and cuffs. When the maids adjusted them properly, the movement of the silk gave her arms an airy grace, light and delicate without losing shape.

Then they arranged the overskirt.

This was the part that made Esther stare at herself in real disbelief. The outer layers had more volume than the ones beneath, but they did not hide the dress under heaviness. They framed it. Several layers of silk and gauze had been cut so the front opened slightly over the lighter underskirt, allowing the softer inner blue to show beneath the clearer, brighter outer fabric. Each layer had a different weight. The innermost fell in a smooth line. The next added softness. The uppermost, made from a thinner silk with a faint transparent finish, shifted when she moved and gave the gown depth that changed with every turn of the light.

The back was fuller than the front, gathered and arranged into elegant folds that fell from her waist and hips without becoming too wide. A maid crouched behind her to spread each section carefully with both hands so the drape remained even. Another fastened the final closures at Esther’s back, tiny covered buttons and hidden hooks set so neatly that the gown seemed almost poured onto her rather than assembled around her piece by piece.

When they stepped back for a moment, Esther could only look.

The blue suited her immediately.

It made her skin look even fairer, her eyes clearer, her softness more striking. It did not overpower her. It carried her instead, letting her look refined and noble without losing the gentleness that made her Esther.

The maids were not done.

They brought matching shoes next, pale blue satin with a small, elegant heel and delicate fastening at the ankle. Esther sat while they slipped them onto her feet and adjusted the hem so it brushed just above them without catching. Then a ribboned sash in a slightly deeper blue was tied at the back of her waist, the bow arranged with care so it added shape without making the gown childish.

Her hair had already been prepared earlier, softened and brushed until it gleamed, but now they finished it to match the dress. Sections were lifted, pinned, and guided into place with patient fingers. Some of it was left to fall in gentle length, while the upper part was arranged away from her face so her features stayed open and visible. A few delicate ornaments were added near the sides, small silver pieces worked finely enough to match the embroidery at her sleeves and neckline.

At last, the final box was brought over.

The maid who opened it did so with the air of presenting the last important touch rather than a mere accessory. Resting against the dark cushion inside was a choker, slender and elegant, made to sit close around Esther’s neck. The band itself was pale silver worked with fine detail, narrow enough to remain graceful, and at its center was a blue gemstone set in a refined oval frame. The stone was clear and rich without being dark, a deeper blue than the gown, enough to anchor all that softness with one concentrated point of color. When the maid fastened it around Esther’s throat, the gem rested just above her collarbones and drew the eye at once.

Then came the earrings.

They matched the choker perfectly: silver settings, small suspended blue stones, light enough not to drag at her ears but bright enough to catch the candlelight whenever she turned her head. One maid fixed them carefully into place while another adjusted a loose strand of Esther’s hair behind her shoulder so the jewelry would show properly.

When everything was done, the room quieted for a moment around her.

Esther stood before the mirror with both hands gathered at her waist, her blue skirts falling in soft layered folds around her feet, the gemstone resting at her throat, the earrings trembling faintly when she breathed. She looked at her own reflection with wide, shocked eyes, then lifted her fingers as if to touch the choker before stopping short and simply standing there, flushed and very still.

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