MHHC Chapter 130

Preparation

Hermann continued, watching Adelheid's expression with careful attention.

"After I explained that it was for the herb greenhouse, attitudes improved somewhat—but the idea of deliberately cultivating herbs that grow wild throughout the forest in spring does seem, to the estate residents, a little…"

He let the sentence dissolve, his unease too delicate to finish. Adelheid said nothing, turning her gaze back to the window.

In truth, she had anticipated this to some degree.

People were generous toward the benefits they could see with their own eyes, but distant sacrifices made for the future—vague expenditures with no immediate return—cut deeper, felt more like a wound than an investment.

And the word "greenhouse" itself would have invited its own particular resistance. When your most urgent concern was finding enough to eat, the notion of coddling plants under glass must have seemed like an extravagance designed to mock you.

"I do feel the need myself to stockpile more food and firewood than usual, to prepare for sudden cold snaps like we had this winter."

"What if… we made the greenhouse smaller than currently planned?"

"No."

Adelheid shook her head, the motion deliberate, unyielding. The herb greenhouse was a necessary investment—there was no argument to be made against it.

Not in a region like Bitzleben, where frostbite went untreated until toes had to be amputated, where a slight chill in the wind sent the entire population of the estate groaning through influenza. Not here. Not with what she knew.

"We can't go on forever relying only on dried herbs gathered in spring. And of all the medicinal herbs found near Ansgar, only five yield effects worth having. Anything beyond those costs more once it travels through another village. What we have is not enough."

Hermann opened his mouth to ask how on earth she knew such a thing—then closed it again.

He had recalled, belatedly, how often the Grand Duchess had been found in those early days peering into the estate's neglected garden beds and wild thickets. The servants had watched her with curiosity, this strange woman who plucked things and hung them to dry and brewed them into tea, and Hermann himself had paid it little mind—

It seemed she had been studying herbs all along. From the very beginning.

"And we can't afford to hire a healer for the estate right now, either."

If she were to draw on Valentin's gold, it might have been possible—but this was not the moment for such recklessness.

Within days, she and the elite knights of Ansgar would be departing to answer the subjugation order. In circumstances like these, any decision that carried the scent of money would be nothing short of suicidal.

"Which is precisely why the greenhouse is essential. What's more pressing, though, is finding an herbalist who can take up residence at the castle and tend to it while we're gone…"

"You needn't worry about that. I know several herbalists living in the Bitzleben region who might take an interest in such a position."

"Then that's one less thing to fret over."

A soft breath of relief escaped her. Finding someone to cultivate and maintain the greenhouse was just as important as building it in the first place. Adelheid had taught herself herbalism and achieved results she was not ashamed of—but self-taught was never the same as formally trained, and she knew the difference.

She pressed forward, her voice renewed with purpose.

"Please move quickly. There are several things I'll need to discuss before we depart."

"I expect we'll be able to arrange meetings within the next two days or so. I'll review the qualifications and narrow it down to the most suitable candidates."

"Please do."

"Your Highness."

She had been on the verge of concluding the conversation when Margaret's voice drifted up from the staircase, calling for her. Adelheid turned away from the window.

"What is it?"

"His Grace is asking for you in the central hall."

"Now?"

"They're in the middle of distributing supplies for the campaign. I think you should come and see."

"Very well."

Adelheid left Hermann with several instructions regarding the herb garden, then followed Margaret down the stairs at a quick pace.

She crossed through the corridor and entered the central hall to find knights and soldiers crowded in dense clusters around stacked supply crates, their voices low and purposeful. Valentin was at the far end of the hall—easy enough to locate, given that he stood a full head above everyone around him.

She pushed through the press of knights, who shifted and made way for her as she passed.

"Valentin."

At her voice, Valentin turned naturally away from the knight he had been speaking to. He found her immediately, and his face opened into a broad smile as he reached out his hand.

"Adelheid."

Was it the effects of having absorbed as much divine power as he had needed the previous night? The eyes that had been creased with pain every time they crossed paths these last few days looked, now, simply at peace.

Only then did Adelheid allow herself a quiet, small breath of relief.

He had not lied. The divine power flowing from her was, at the very least, a direct and genuine key to easing his suffering—that much appeared to be true.

And the knowledge of it gave her a deeper sense of ease than she had expected.

She loosened the tension from her shoulders and reached out to take his hand.

She was pulled, all at once, into his arms.

A solid embrace closed around her slender waist, and a cool, faint scent grazed the tip of her nose. Adelheid drew it in deeply before she spoke.

"You were looking for me."

"Yes."

He angled himself forward, bending slightly at the shoulder, and buried his face against the nape of her neck.

As though confirming her presence was the whole of his errand, and he needed nothing further.

"People are watching."

The surrounding glances had begun to prick at her composure. Adelheid pressed gently against him—and to her surprise, Valentin yielded, stepping back without resistance.

"When else am I to hold your hand? After I've been tied up like a beast again?"

"…"

"The divine power?"

"Still… nothing significant."

"Come with me."

Adelheid followed him, her eyes drifting over the supply crates as she walked. Even at a glance, the quality was evident—leather armor and plate, lances and swords honed to a fine edge, shields, blankets, and boxes of mana stones laid in careful rows.

"Adele."

She had been absorbed in watching the knights receive their allotments, one by one, and started at the sound of her name. Valentin was already ahead of her, leaning against the doorframe of a small anteroom adjacent to the central hall, waiting.

She hurried over, and he stepped aside to let her through.

The room beyond was dim, lit by only a handful of candles, the darkness pooled thickly in its corners. She moved with care toward the center. Behind her, the door clicked shut.

She was still blinking, adjusting to the lowered light, when—

"How is your body feeling?"

He had come up behind her, and his hand curved gently around her cheek as he asked.

Even that small contact was saturated with the memory of the previous night. Adelheid felt heat rise along her ears as she answered.

"I'm fine. And you—are you… better now? Have you recovered from that…"

It was a blunt question, asking whether he had emerged from that state of animal desperation, but she couldn't find a more delicate way to phrase it.

"For now. Probably."

He grimaced slightly, as though he couldn't be certain, and pushed his hair back from his forehead again.

"You're the one who pushed yourself harder than I did. And yet I'm told you were up and attending to overdue matters the moment you woke."

"If I let myself lie still, I'd lie still indefinitely. But—why did you call for me?"

"I heard you still hadn't packed what you need for the campaign."

It was only then that Adelheid noticed the table in the room: a blanket, armor, shirts, and towels arranged across its surface in measured order.

They looked similar at first glance to what the ordinary soldiers and knights had been issued—but a closer look revealed they were considerably finer. Quieter in their quality, the kind that didn't announce itself.

He lifted a leather breastplate in both hands—conspicuously small against them—and said, "I'll show you how to put on armor. First, that dress…"

"Should I take it off?"

A faint flush rose along Valentin's ears.

The silence lasted longer than expected. He pressed his lips together, his brow furrowing as if suppressing something unreasonable—and was on the verge of speaking when—

"…I was going to give you a simplified explanation, so for now, I thought…"

He couldn't finish the sentence.

Adelheid hadn't waited for his explanation. She had simply reached up and pulled the ribbon of her dress. One by one, steadily, without a single fumble, she undid the knots.

The pale blue dress slid from her body and pooled around her feet like shallow water.

The thin linen of a single-layer chemise left the slight lines of her figure exposed.

"…"

A speechless gaze traveled over her from head to toe—then hurried back to her face, as though it could not afford to linger.

As though holding his eyes below her neck for any length of time was something he was not allowing himself to do.

"Show me properly."

Adelheid gathered her courage and stepped forward.

"I don't want to be a burden on the battlefield. My maidservant won't be there to help me."

Desire crossed Valentin's striking face like weather moving across a landscape—swift, complete, and then immediately pressed down beneath a single layer of deliberate patience.

"…Spread your arms."

She did as he said. Valentin guided the leather breastplate onto her arms, orienting it correctly—it fastened at the front with leather laces, shaped not unlike a cinching corset in its construction.

He took care that his hands did not make contact with her skin as he explained, one detail at a time.

"You should wear it over a shirt ordinarily, but for now—before you pull the laces, check that the inner collar is facing the right direction. It will chafe painfully against your skin if it isn't. The ribbon gets tied and tucked inside."

His fingers moved with swift fluency, winding the laces through their grommets, knotting and unknotting them in demonstration.

Then he gave her a look that meant: now you.

Adelheid tried several times, but she couldn't replicate it with anything close to his ease.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with something near wonder.

"How do you know all of this?"

"I've observed humans for a long time."

Perhaps. But that explanation didn't account for everything—not entirely. His understanding of humanity ran too deep in some places and too shallow in others; when she had first encountered him, his ignorance had been genuine and complete.

He seemed to read her skepticism, because he added, without expression:

"And perhaps because I've now fully recovered the body's memories."

The body's memories. The memories of the man who had legally been her husband—the Grand Duke of Ansgar.

The thought of him unsettled something small and unnameable in her chest, a quiet discomfort that shifted and did not settle.