My Step-Daughters Are The Villainesses

There was another gift.

It rested at the very bottom of the case, set apart from the three presents the sisters had prepared. Unlike the cheerful blue, careful red, and plain white packages, this one had been wrapped in deep crimson paper. It was square, modestly sized, and tied with a narrow silver cord.

For several seconds, Camellia simply stared at it.

The Rubenhart crest was stamped into the wax seal.

Her eyes lifted toward the sisters.

"Is this from one of you as well?" She asked.

Esther looked from Camellia to the crimson parcel.

Then she shook her head.

"It is not mine."

"Nor mine," Hermione said.

Airam’s gaze narrowed as she examined it, but she too gave a short shake of her head.

Camellia looked back down.

The crimson parcel sat in her hands with an unexpected weight.

Hermione’s eyes widened first.

"W—Wait."

The others looked at her.

Hermione pointed toward the gift.

"Is that Ulrich’s present?"

Esther blinked.

"Eh?"

Her face became openly bewildered.

"Lord Ulrich bought a gift for the Princess?"

Airam remained silent. Yet her attention sharpened at once, her dark eyes fixed upon the crimson wrapping as if the parcel itself had become suspicious.

None of them had known.

Ulrich had purchased presents after hearing what the sisters wished to give Camellia. He had arranged for the finest materials, for the music box, the pen, the silver frame, and all the small details each girl had requested.

But he had apparently chosen something himself as well.

And he had told no one.

Camellia lowered her gaze to the gift in her hands.

Her heartbeat skipped.

It was absurd.

She had received countless gifts throughout her life. Noble houses had sent rare jewels, enchanted artifacts, antique books, expensive dresses, works of art, exotic flowers, fine horses, ceremonial weapons, and boxes of gold. Every birthday, every royal holiday, every formal appearance had brought another mountain of offerings chosen for her position rather than for herself.

Yet none of those presents had made her feel like this.

Her fingers touched the silver cord.

Why had he prepared something for her?

Why had he hidden it beneath the other gifts?

Was it meant to remain undiscovered until the sisters’ presents had been opened? Or had Ulrich simply not considered that anyone would find it before the formal gifts were presented?

Camellia did not know.

She only knew that, for some reason, the small crimson parcel made her more nervous than a ballroom full of nobles watching her dance.

She loosened the knot.

The silver cord fell away.

Then she unfolded the crimson paper.

Beneath it rested a leather box.

It was the same rich crimson as the wrapping, though darker and more refined, its surface smooth beneath her fingertips. A slender silver latch held the lid closed, and a tiny camellia flower had been pressed into the leather at its center.

Camellia’s breath caught.

Slowly, she undid the latch.

The lid opened.

Her emerald eyes widened.

A pendant rested inside.

It was shaped as a camellia flower in full bloom, its petals formed from pale pink crystal so delicate that they almost appeared soft. A small, clear gemstone lay at the center, holding a faint silver radiance. The flower hung from a fine silver chain, light enough to disappear against the skin but strong enough to endure far more than ordinary jewelry.

It was exquisite.

Not ostentatious.

Not heavy with royal gemstones or designed to draw the attention of everyone in a room.

It was simply beautiful.

A flower made to resemble her name.

Esther leaned forward, unable to hide her awe.

"So beautiful," she whispered.

Hermione’s mouth fell open.

For several seconds, she could not speak.

This could not possibly be Ulrich’s gift.

Ulrich van Rubenhart, who spoke as if every word cost money. Ulrich, who offered stern advice instead of comfort and regarded courtship customs as though they were unnecessary military rituals. Ulrich, who could stand before the Queen with blood on his face and give only the shortest possible answer.

She had expected him to offer a book.

Perhaps ’A History of Skargardian Queens’.

Or ’The Responsibilities of a Future Monarch’.

Something formal. Something sensible. Something so sternly practical that Camellia would need several days to find out whether it had been intended as an insult.

But this?

A pendant shaped like a camellia flower?

It was far too elegant.

Far too personal.

And, Hermione thought with rising disbelief, far too romantic.

Why would Ulrich offer the princess such a thing?!

Camellia seemed not to notice Hermione’s growing horror.

She placed the leather box gently on the table and lifted the pendant from its velvet lining. The silver chain slid through her fingers as she raised it toward the morning light.

The crystal petals caught the sunlight.

A soft, rosy gleam passed across the flower.

Camellia turned it slowly, studying the careful work. It was not merely a flower-shaped jewel. Fine lines had been carved into every petal, so subtle that they appeared only when light passed over them. They resembled veins in a living flower, or perhaps the faint channels of a spell formation.

"It is an artifact," Camellia murmured.

"There is a note," Esther said.

Camellia looked back into the box.

A folded sheet of cream-colored paper rested beneath the pendant’s velvet setting.

She picked it up.

Airam leaned slightly closer, her attention caught by the writing before Camellia had even unfolded the paper.

"It is Ulrich’s handwriting," she said.

The strokes were clean and perfect. Even on a small note, his handwriting looked like him: restrained, exact, and impossible to mistake for anyone else’s.

Camellia unfolded the page.

At the top, in Ulrich’s neat hand, was written:

[For the Princess Camellia Van Skargardia.]

Below it was a brief explanation.

The pendant was not an ordinary piece of jewelry.

It was an enchanted artifact commissioned specifically for her.

Camellia read the first lines silently. Then, as Esther and Hermione looked at her expectantly, she began to read aloud.

[The Camellia Ward is designed for discreet protection. It is not intended as a weapon, nor as a substitute for royal guards. Its purpose is to give its wearer a moment of safety when she has none.]

The room grew quiet.

Camellia’s gaze moved down the page.

[When its wearer is threatened by hostile intent, the central gem will activate and form a brief veil around the body. The veil will not stop a sustained assault, but it will deflect a single lethal strike, disrupt minor curses, and resist the first effects of poison or sleep-inducing magic.]

Hermione’s expression changed.

The romantic pendant was not simply romantic.

It was protection.

Ulrich had given Camellia an artifact meant to save her life.

Camellia read on.

[The enchantment also contains a minor signal rune. When activated, it will release a pulse of silver mana visible only to those carrying its paired detection stones. Two such stones are to be provided toward the closest and trustful parties.]

The final paragraph was shorter.

It did not explain another rune or another defensive effect.

It simply read:

[Princesses are often surrounded by people, yet are not always protected. Wear it if you wish. If not, keep it somewhere secure. — Ulrich Van Rubenhart.]

When Camellia finished reading, fell over the room.

The words remained suspended in the air.

Hermione was the first to react.

She slowly raised a hand and pressed her palm to her face.

She felt profoundly embarrassed.

For even a moment, she had believed Ulrich’s gift was romantic.

The pendant was beautiful, yes. The flower had been shaped after Camellia’s name, the craftsmanship was exquisite, and it had clearly been commissioned specifically for her. But the note was very much Ulrich. There was no confession hidden within it. No clumsy affection. No attempt to flatter the princess.

It was a warning.

An instruction.

A careful explanation of how to use an artifact designed to keep Camellia alive.

A gift from a man who had apparently looked at the future of the kingdom, considered the dangers surrounding its princess, and decided that she required another means of survival.

The worst was that Hermione actually found Ulrich’s gift nice, and especially the note, very cute.

It was charming.

Worse, it was charming without Ulrich seeming to understand that it was charming.

The blockheaded, stern, seemingly emotionless Count had somehow chosen a pendant shaped like a camellia flower, ordered it in secret, included protection strong enough to save a life, and ended the accompanying note with words that made a girl’s heart ache.

All without intending any of it romantically.

Hermione could not help thinking that it was probably how Louise had fallen for him.

Ulrich did not seem to try.

That was perhaps what made him dangerous.

"It is so romantic," Esther whispered.

Her hands had clasped together beneath her chin. Her cheeks carried a soft blush, and her blue eyes shone as she gazed at the pendant.

To Esther, the meaning was obvious.

Ulrich had made certain Camellia would be protected.

He had not simply purchased a beautiful necklace. He had given her something that could stand between her and death. And he had done it quietly, without standing before her to demand thanks or recognition.

How could that not be romantic?

"I—It is not!" Hermione retorted immediately, cutting off her little sister’s naive dreamery.

Romance was the last thing in Ulrich’s mind!

Airam meanwhile wasn’t impressed either.

"It is just Ulrich being Ulrich," she said dryly.

She did not find the gift surprising.

Perhaps the flower pendant was more refined than she would have expected. Perhaps the message was more thoughtful than most people would imagine Ulrich capable of writing. But the structure of it was exactly what she expected from him.

No birthday greeting.

No ornamental words.

No unnecessary praise.

Just a description of the artifact, its effects, its limitations, the proper way to conceal its purpose, and a direct statement of why it had been made.

A complete manual.

Airam could almost imagine Ulrich writing it with the same expression he wore when explaining an estate matter or correcting one of Esther’s impulsive plans. He would not have considered it awkward. He would not have paused to wonder whether a pendant shaped like a camellia might appear overly personal.

He had simply thought Camellia could be in danger.

So he had made certain she possessed protection.

That was all.

And, perhaps, that was why it meant more.

While the sisters debated the gift in their own ways, Camellia remained quiet.

The note rested in one hand.

The pendant lay in the other.

Its thin silver chain slipped between her fingers, and the camellia flower turned slowly in the light pouring through the windows. The pale pink petals glimmered softly. At its center, the small crystal caught the sunlight and held it like a secret.

Camellia stared at it.

She had received gifts that cost more than entire villages could earn in a year. Gold had been offered to her. Jewels. Dresses. Historical artifacts meant to be displayed behind glass. Gifts chosen by noble houses eager to secure her favor or prove their loyalty to the throne.

They had always been beautiful.

But this was different.

This had been chosen with her safety in mind above flattery, flirt, and everything else.

Her fingers closed gently around the pendant.

A smile slowly blossomed across her pink lips.

It was not the plastered smile she wore for the court.

It was not the gracious expression expected of a princess accepting another ceremonial offering.

It was soft and genuine.

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