"My Lord."
The voice belonged to Head Butler Fabian, a man in his fifties with a neat appearance. He had served Ulrich's father with great loyalty for decades, and now that duty had passed to the son. Fabian had known Ulrich since he was a child, a baby in arms, and it was often said, in the that no one knew the young Lord better than he.
At this moment, Ulrich was in his study, smelling old papers and ink. He was bent over his desk, a quill scratching continuously as he penned letters and issued a flurry of orders destined for the various officials who managed the disparate corners of his territory. It was a vast holding, a patchwork of lands that required a specific chain of command through several other noble houses to administer effectively.
Those nobles were all seasoned men, veterans who, in the early days following Ulrich's father passing, had sought to take advantage of his youth and inexperience. They had seen a grieving orphan and smelled opportunity. But by now, they were only shadows, silently obeying his orders. They had learned quickly that Ulrich was in no way the broken boy they had expected to find.
Fabian stood just inside the doorway, waiting. He watched his Lord's hand move across the page, the scratching of the quill the only sound in the room. Several minutes passed in this companionable silence.
Finally, Ulrich set down his quill and sealed the last letter with a decisive press of his signet ring. The wax, bearing his family crest, cooled in the dim light.
"I want all of them dispatched before sundown," Ulrich said calmly.
"At once, My Lord," Fabian replied with a slight bow of his head. He paused, then added, "And I must inform you, My Lord, the tutors you requested have all arrived. They are waiting in the reception hall."
Ulrich acknowledged this with a simple nod and rose from his chair. He moved as he walked out of the room, Fabian falling into step a respectful half-pace behind him.
A full week had passed since he had adopted the three future most dangerous Witches of the world. The days since then had unfolded with a surprising, almost suspicious smoothness.
Following his lengthy and brutally frank speech, all three of them appeared to have grasped the reality of their position. It was a simple equation: whether they harbored a secret loathing for him or nursed a quiet fear of their new life, Ulrich was their shield. As long as they resided within the walls of his house, they would be sheltered by the power of his name. And, perhaps more pragmatically, they had seized upon the offer of education with an eagerness that bordered on desperation.
And so, their lessons had begun.
Initially, with no formal tutors yet in place, Ulrich had ordered the maids to act as their first instructors. The maids of his estate were no simple country girls; they had all received a thorough education in reading, writing, and numbers, making them more than capable of teaching the fundamentals. They carried out their orders, but they did so with a thinly veiled reluctance born of a lifetime of ingrained prejudice. Despite Ulrich's explicit order, some of the household staff could not entirely hide their disdain whenever he was not present. Their words would grow harsh, and their tones tinged with contempt.
That was how deeply the fear of witchcraft was embedded deeply inside the Kingdom. Yet, for all their misgivings, they were Fabian's staff, and Ulrich's word was law. They could not refuse.
Thankfully, Airam and Hermione couldn't care less about the maids' loathing toward them. Airam simply ignored it, while Hermione returned the hostility with equal measure. The youngest, however, was a different matter entirely. Sweet, innocent, and sensitive Esther took every cutting word and cold glance deeply to heart though thankfully, she always had her sisters close.
One could only wonder what Airam, in particular, would have done to those who brought Esther to the verge of tears with nothing but words. She might well have already acted on it, were it not for her understanding of her position.
Ulrich descended the stairs.
The living hall was already full.
They had clearly been waiting for over ten minutes, and yet none of them had moved. Hermione's expression made no secret of her impatience or her irritation at having been kept standing that long.
On one side stood Airam, Hermione, and Esther. On the other, four people, the tutors he had sent for. He had asked for the best his county could offer, and they had all answered the call.
When Ulrich arrived, the first stepped forward. A woman in her forties, impeccably presented, a gown without a single crease, brown hair gathered into a neat bun, and a pair of fine glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. She bowed her head with flawless posture before introducing herself.
"Lord Count, I am Elana Etton. I am deeply honoured to have been called upon," she said with a polite smile.
"Lady Elana is an expert in the conventions of high nobility," Fabian said. "She will be instructing the young Ladies in etiquette and the deportment expected of noble women. She has tutored the daughters of counts and dukes alike."
Next, a man wearing glasses stepped forward, he appeared to be in his thirties, composed and bright-eyed.
"My Lord, the honour is entirely mine. I am Thomas Danvers, and it will be my pleasure to teach your daughters the history, geography, and politics of our Kingdom and the wider world," he said, hand resting on his chest with a warm smile.
Then a younger woman stepped forward, blonde, with an eager smile that seemed barely containable.
"My Lord, I am Linnea Danvers. I will be teaching the young Ladies literacy, speech, and poetry. Within a couple of years, they will stand as a model for any noble Lady in the Kingdom," she said, her enthusiasm spilling into every word.
Ulrich gave a brief nod before moving on to the last, and most important, of the four.
He was an old man in a white robe, a long beard resting against his chest. His expression was perfectly calm, and his gaze had been settled on the three girls from the very moment Ulrich had entered the room.
Fabian cleared his throat.
"My Lord, this is Grandmaster of Magic Brian Strelley. He has graciously answered our call and will be instructing the young Ladies in the foundations of magic," he said.
The moment those words landed, all three girls reacted but Hermione's ears perked up. She fixed her gaze on the old man with barely concealed eagerness. She was clearly the most impatient to learn.
Airam was equally eager, though for reasons that were perhaps considerably darker...
"I am grateful for your acceptance of my request," Ulrich spoke in his usual tone, stern and emotionless enough that one might genuinely wonder whether he was grateful at all. "These three are daughters of the Rubenhart House. I suggest you treat them as such, with due respect and they will certainly return it in kind," he said with a subtle warning aimed at both parties equally.
Then he glanced at Linnea.
"Before anything else, none of the three can read or write. That is to be your first priority," he said.
"Of course, I will tend to it thoroughly. Please count on me," Linnea replied immediately, a faint flush rising to her cheeks as she met his gaze.
"Good. I leave them in your care," Ulrich said.
He cast a brief glance at the three girls. Only Airam and Esther were looking back at him. He said nothing more and left.
He had somewhere to be, and a novel's worth of knowledge to put to good use.