Hilda followed his gaze out the window, to the soft silver light spilling over the herb bed. The petals glowed faintly in the moonlight. "Before I was a head maid," she murmured, "I was a potion master."
Her voice carried a quiet pride.
"I keep the title of head maid to protect the Alistair family's health records. If anyone knew I was responsible for keeping one of the richest noble houses alive, they'd bribe me, threaten me… I'd have no peace."
Sylene stared at her, dumbfounded. So Hilda wasn't just skilled—she was exceptional. And she had taken care of Mavis for years.
He nodded slowly, a quiet respect and sense of assurance blooming in his chest.
"Even now, in retirement, they still send for my potions. But I'm too old to wander around hunting for herbs."
"I… I could help, sometimes. If you need anything."
A dry chuckle escaped her lips. "Now I know why Mavis likes you so much."
"Thank you, boy. I might just take you up on that someday."
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