For the first few minutes after the carriage departed, no one spoke.

The clatter of wheels over the estate road filled the silence, joined now and then by the rhythmic pounding of the horses and the muted jingle of harnesses outside. The movement of the carriage was far smoother than any ordinary wagon, yet there was still a faint swaying to it that reminded them they were truly leaving the estate behind.

Esther sat nearest the window, her hands folded over her lap at first as if she were trying to behave properly, but it did not take long before her excitement won over her manners. She leaned ever so slightly toward the glass, her eyes shining as she watched the familiar grounds of the Rubenhart Estate slowly begin to slip away.

She wasn’t able to see them much when she first travelled there two years ago from their destroyed village, as she had cried too much, so much she had slept unconscious on Airam’s lap during the whole trip, but now she could really see it.

Hermione, meanwhile, sat with her back perfectly straight, her hands neatly placed atop the folds of her gray gown. She looked composed enough from the outside, almost princely in her elegance, but inwardly she was in complete disarray.

It was bad enough being trapped inside a carriage with him.

It was even worse having to sit directly across from him.

Her gaze kept betraying her. Every few moments, against her better judgment, her eyes would lift from her lap and drift toward Ulrich before she could stop herself. He sat opposite them in that same way he always seemed to possess, one leg slightly crossed over the other, one gloved hand resting against the carved armrest, the other holding a thin stack of documents Fabian had likely thrust upon him at the last moment. Even inside a carriage, even during a journey, he somehow looked as though he belonged on a throne rather than on a cushioned bench.

Hermione quickly looked away again, annoyed with herself.

Why was she even looking at him so much?

It was not as though his face had changed since yesterday. Or the day before. Or in the two years she had spent under his roof. It was the same cold face, the same sharp crimson eyes, the same maddening composure that made everyone around him feel either watched, judged, or somehow lacking.

And yet today, dressed like that, with the dim carriage light catching in his dark red curls and the deep crimson of his waistcoat, he looked almost unfairly—

Hermione’s cheeks heated.

She immediately turned her face toward the opposite window.

’It’s all because of him!’

Airam, seated between her sisters, noticed the faint pink on Hermione’s cheeks and narrowed her eyes slightly. She said nothing, but her stare lingered on Hermione for a brief moment before shifting toward Ulrich. Unlike Esther’s eager wonder or Hermione’s hidden agitation, Airam’s silence was watchful. She did not relax even within the carriage. Her back remained straight, though not with noble grace; hers was more like ready for anything.

Ulrich, for his part, did not appear particularly interested in conversation.

His eyes moved over the pages in his hand with quiet focus. From time to time, the carriage light shifted across his face as they passed beneath rows of tall trees, plunging his features into shadow before revealing them again. There was something irritatingly calm about him, Hermione thought. Irritating because the rest of them were all, in one way or another, unsettled by this outing, and yet he looked as though this were merely another dull obligation in his day.

Well, this is his city, she convinced herself with that.

Esther was the one who finally broke the silence.

"Are we very far from the city?" She asked, turning from the window at last.

Ulrich lowered the papers just enough to look at her. "Not particularly. We are half an hour away."

Esther brightened immediately. "So soon?"

"So soon?" Hermione repeated. "It feels like we only just got inside."

"That is because you have spent the entire ride sulking," Airam said without looking at her.

"I am not sulking." 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"You are."

"I am sitting quietly."

"In a bad mood," Airam added.

Hermione shot her a glare. "And you are what? Delightful?"

Airam gave a small shrug. "No."

Esther let out a soft giggle, quickly covering her mouth with her fingers.

Ulrich turned another page. "Keep your fights inside and not outside."

Hermione stiffened a little at his dry tone. "We are not fighting."

"You were about to."

"I was not."

"You are arguing with me now," he said.

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it again, clenching her fists. Esther looked down, shoulders trembling slightly as she held back another laugh.

For a while, the carriage fell quiet once more.

Outside, the scenery slowly changed. The private roads and carefully maintained lands of the estate began giving way to open stretches of countryside. Esther watched with fascination as the endless greenery rolled past in long, sunlit waves. Small cottages could be seen in the distance from time to time, as well as farmers in the fields who stopped what they were doing to stare as the Rubenhart procession rode by. The armored knights surrounding the carriage made it impossible to mistake whose company this was.

Esther pressed her hand lightly to the glass. "They are all staring."

"They would stare even if the carriage were empty," Ulrich replied, unable to hold himself back from showing off his emblem. "That crest alone is enough."

The Rubenhart crest was emblazoned in gold on the carriage door: elegant, proud, impossible to ignore. To the people of the territory, it was less a decoration than a declaration.

Esther smiled faintly at that, though after a second her expression softened into something more thoughtful. "Is New Ruben very big?"

Ulrich folded one of the documents and set it aside. "For a first city, yes. Larger than anything the three of you have seen."

"It will be crowded then," Airam said.

"It will."

She frowned a little and turned her gaze toward the window. That was exactly the part she liked least.

Hermione caught that brief tension in her elder sister’s expression and, despite herself, understood it. Crowds meant eyes. Eyes meant whispers. And whispers could turn ugly very quickly when witches were involved, no matter how refined their gowns or how polished their manners.

A little over an hour later, the rolling green countryside gave way to wide, meticulously paved stone roads. The carriage began to slow as they entered the bustling heart of New Ruben.

Esther pressed her hands to the glass, captivated. It was massive. Towering stone buildings lined the avenues, their balconies draped in vibrant banners. The streets were packed with wealthy merchants, wandering scholars, and finely dressed citizens. Yet, the moment the white horses and the armored knights bearing the Rubenhart crest appeared, the crowds instantly parted. People stopped in their tracks, removing their hats and bowing their heads in respect as the carriage rolled past.

Airam frowned, pulling slightly away from the window. The number of eyes fixed on them made her skin crawl.

The carriage eventually pulled to a smooth halt in the most affluent district of the city, stopping directly in front of an elegant, multi-story building constructed of polished white stone and tall glass windows.

Hendrick Van Sittart’s armored boots hit the pavement outside before the coachman opened the door. "We have arrived, My Lord."

Ulrich stepped out first, followed quickly by the three sisters. Hermione gripped her skirts tightly, trying not to look intimidated by the wealth radiating from the street around them.

The glass doors of the establishment were already open, and a woman stood waiting in the entrance. She looked to be in her late thirties, dressed in a tailored black dress that clung perfectly to her figure. Her dark hair was pinned up in a severe, flawless twist, and she held a soft measuring tape draped casually over one shoulder.

"Lord Rubenhart," the woman greeted, placing a hand on her chest, lowering her head slightly. "You are exactly on time. As always."

"Madame Rosaline," Ulrich greeted, his tone carrying a rare, subtle note of respect. "I trust you received my exact specifications?"

"I did," Rosaline replied, her eyes sliding past Ulrich to lock onto the three girls. She stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over Airam’s stoic posture, Hermione’s defensive glare, and Esther’s nervous smile.

She walked slowly around them, her eyes darting over their shoulders, their waists, the exact shade of their hair, and the way they carried themselves. It felt as though she were mentally dissecting them piece by piece.

"Lady of the Rubenhart House," Rosaline muttered, stopping in front of Hermione and tilting her chin up with a single, manicured finger. Hermione froze, too stunned by the woman’s confidence to slap her hand away.

"They are beautiful, My Lord," Rosaline finally said, dropping her hand and turning back to Ulrich with a confident smile. "It will be a challenge to have three royal gowns ready in a month... but I will make them outshine every single woman in the Capital."

"I am leaving them in your care," Ulrich said. "Advise them well and allow them to choose the styles they prefer, but the final results must be flawless. They must be worthy of being worn at a royal banquet."

"As you wish, My Lord," Rosaline replied, bowing her head. She then turned her gaze back toward the three sisters, her professional demeanor taking over. "If you would please follow me, my beautiful ladies."

Airam and Hermione went first, trailing behind the confident tailor as she led them toward a private, lavishly decorated section of the shop reserved exclusively for high-born clients. Ulrich had sent word ahead of time, ensuring everything was perfectly prepared for their arrival.

Shortly, he asked for isolation.

As such, they left.

Esther, however, lingered by the doorway.

The bustling environment of the upscale shop, filled with strangers, mostly staff and foreign sights, was beginning to overwhelm her. She clutched her yellow skirts nervously, casting an anxious glance back over her shoulder. Ulrich was standing near the entrance, talking to Hendrick. For a moment, Esther feared he was going to leave them there alone in this city.

Sensing her lingering, nervous gaze, Ulrich paused. He turned his head, his dark crimson eyes meeting hers. He didn’t need to ask to understand the panic rising in her chest.

"I will be right here," Ulrich said calmly, answering her unspoken fear.

The simple, quiet assurance was all she needed. Esther’s anxiety vanished instantly, melting into a bright, relieved smile.

"Um!" She nodded happily, her spirits lifting as she turned and hurried off to join her sisters in the fitting room.