Chapter 61
At first glance, Meinhardt Castle was experiencing the busiest and most lively days since its founding. The old dust of Brabant Hall, where the Emperor and his retinue would stay, was being swept away, cobwebs removed, corridors cleaned. Everyone in the castle—mercenaries, newly hired servants, even the pregnant Baroness Boild—was tirelessly preparing the castle.
The sun had long set, and Stephan, after poring over documents well into the night, finally made his way to the kitchen before heading to his room. He longed to collapse into bed immediately, but tonight he needed just one thing: that strange-tasting herbal liquor made by the kitchen chief, Adel.
When he opened the door, someone was already in the kitchen before him.
“Oh?”
It had been five and a half days since Dominic returned from Weimar, just before the red sunset the previous afternoon. Dominic was drinking when Stephan arrived and their eyes met. With him came fifteen wagons; by midday, another five had arrived at the front yard. Some shipments from Weimar were delayed, and a few wagons had broken wheels. More than ten additional wagons were expected. The urgent situation had been handled, and Stephan couldn’t help but admire Dominic’s abilities, realizing he hadn’t even thanked him properly for the effort.
“Why are you still here so late? You must be exhausted. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
Dominic looked at Stephan indifferently, finishing his drink before replying.
“I was waiting for reports from the rear. Now, I’ll go to bed.”
It seemed that the mercenary unit, which had departed early to escort the delayed group, had sent updates.
“And why are you here, Baron?”
Stephan, expertly taking a cup from the shelf, sat across from Dominic. He offered the pale green bottle in front of him.
“I was thinking of Adel’s liquor. Will you have a glass?”
Dominic filled Stephan’s cup while watching him silently.
“It might be a bit harsh for you, Baron,” he remarked.
“I’m getting used to it, to this strange liquor, and to the harshness of this land’s people.”
Normally, Dominic would have cracked a joke or teased him, but his lips remained sealed. Stephan drank, even though the liquor, diluted for Dominic’s taste, was a little strong for him. The heavy atmosphere in Meinhardt Castle seemed to press down on both men.
Suddenly, Dominic put down his glass, frowning deeply.
“Damn it. I wanted to drink quietly.”
Before Stephan could ask what he meant, the kitchen door burst open. Heinrich entered, spotting the two and wearing a face that clearly said, “Oh, really?”
“What’s this? Everyone gathered here?”
He strode in without hesitation, picked up a cup from the shelf, and sat next to Dominic.
“That’s Adel’s herbal liquor, right? I want a glass too.”
Dominic, exasperated, ran a hand through his hair.
“Why do such noble people come to drink this stuff? How did you even know where the cups were?”
Heinrich, ignoring Dominic, filled his cup.
“This isn’t just any liquor! Adel said anyone can come and drink anytime. She even left cheese in the pantry and smoked meat in the second compartment. Take whatever you want. Adel is generous.”
Stephan sipped and corrected Heinrich with his usual dry tone.
“The smoked meat is in the third compartment.”
Heinrich didn’t care and drank on, grinning.
“Ah, this is the taste! At first, I thought it was sour and strange, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. Isn’t that right, Baron Boild?”
Stephan nodded slowly; even though he didn’t usually enjoy drinking, he occasionally craved this strange taste before sleep.
Dominic scowled, displeased by Heinrich’s casualness.
“Even so, is it appropriate for nobles to come into the servants’ kitchen themselves? How did you even find it?”
“It’s absurd, right? Ah, it’s perfect!”
Heinrich shivered with delight, clutching his cup.
At the mention of the Duchess, the atmosphere in the kitchen grew heavy again. The Baroness had been bedridden for a full week; even Daniel had stayed locked in her room, letting time pass quietly. Heinrich, sensing the weight, finally stopped speaking and muttered under his breath.
“Still… for a Harkborn, she’s lived a long time.”
Dominic set his glass down, twisting his mouth bitterly.
“Yes. She’s lived long.”
No one could deny it. With that, a long silence fell. Glasses were refilled and emptied, yet no one seemed drunk.
Early morning.
A bird that had stayed awake all night flapped its wings against the window, rousing Daniel. After many sleepless nights, his nerves had grown sensitive, reacting to even the slightest sounds. His bleary eyes focused, and there she was: Frida, lying quietly in bed. During the past week, while Frida had been feverish and speaking nonsense, Daniel had managed brief moments of rest, never more than four or five hours per day.
Blinking slowly, Daniel rose from the chair that had creaked across the floor after being sat in for a week. Standing beside the bed, he extended a finger to Frida’s nose. She breathed steadily, her fever slightly abated, her skin warm beneath his touch.
“Frida…”
Her lips, which seemed ready to say, “Why, Daniel?” remained tightly closed.
As he brushed her nose, Daniel smiled faintly, recognizing her stubbornness.
“I knew by your stubbornness.”
Worried for his ailing wife, he let his fingers brush past her lips, still warm from the fever.
“I hate seeing you in pain… but if I said I didn’t mind at all, you’d probably be furious, right?”
He pressed a damp cloth to her dry, cracked lips, soothing them. Repeatedly, he applied the cloth as her lips quickly dried again. Talking to no one, he muttered to himself.
“If you could hear me, you’d be upset. But I mean it. Right now… I don’t think this is bad at all.”
A hardened patch of skin on her lower lip flaked away. Seeing the redness, Daniel frowned, pressing the damp cloth gently.
“I want you to know my feelings clearly. Everything’s settled. Will you call me selfish for that?”
He imagined her pouting “You’re too much” in response and smiled.
“I especially like monopolizing you alone like this.”
Indeed, he was a madman displaying possessiveness over his bedridden wife. He had first discovered Frida’s fever a week ago, and since then, no one except the doctor had entered her room—he cared for her alone. The doctor had two possible conclusions about her illness: one reasonable, one not.
“Her illness is because of me. Now that I’m awake, she no longer needs to bear the responsibility for the duchy, and her tension has finally released, right?”
Recognizing it, Daniel whispered softly, gripping Frida’s limp hand.
“No matter how sick you are… you can’t leave me now.”
