Petals Amidst The Blood

The next day, Harmony found herself in the courtyard of the Dog Castle. Evander stood at the side, flanked by several guards and advisers. Their conversation was tense, discussing the next maneuvers in the war, the borders, and tactical decisions.

His voice was once again cold, decisive, commanding. Nothing in his tone betrayed the softness of last night, the vulnerability he had let show.

Harmony watched from the edge of the courtyard. In his eyes now reflected a sharp, piercing brown, as if he had donned an impenetrable armor. And yet, Harmony knew there was more behind that gaze. She remembered the moment when his voice had almost seemed fragile, when he had allowed her to touch not just his wounds, but the depths of his soul.

Their eyes met for a fleeting second. The prince quickly looked away—but Harmony caught a brief, unintended flicker of warmth. It told her that she was slowly reaching him.

Watching him, Harmony felt understanding stir within her. War had surrounded him since birth, she thought. How could he have learned to live any differently? How could he let emotions guide him if he had spent his entire life hiding them?

Her heart tightened slightly. She saw him not just as a prince, but as someone who carried the weight of an army, the expectations of the king and queen, and the hopes of the entire kingdom. Every cold glance, every word stripped of warmth—that was his armor, necessary for survival.

But Harmony was determined. Somewhere in her chest, a growing resolve whispered: she would show him that emotions weren’t weakness… that even in the heart of war, there could be room for compassion.

The castle gates opened wide. A group of wounded soldiers was brought inside—some whispering, some on stretchers. The air was thick with the smell of blood and dust; the groans of pain echoed through the stone corridors.

Harmony, who had helped tend minor injuries in the past days, caught her breath. Her eyes landed on one soldier—a young canine fighter. His chest was soaked in blood, his breaths shallow, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“Quick! The doctor’s with the others!” one of the guards shouted. “Who can help him? He’s dying!”

A tight ache gripped Harmony’s chest. Her hands moved forward on their own. “I—I can!”

The guards looked at her sharply. “You?”

She clenched her fists. “I’m not a doctor, but I’ll try. I know how to stop bleeding, how to support breathing. If we do nothing, he will die!”

At that tense moment, Evander stepped forward. His eyes were ice-calm, yet Harmony sensed his attention on her courage. “Let her,” he commanded. “She can try.”

The guards stepped aside, and Harmony knelt by the soldier. Her hands trembled, but her heart guided her. With a shaky voice, she whispered, “Hold on… you won’t die…” and began doing everything she could—pressing on the wound, fashioning a bandage from scraps of cloth she had at hand.

Evander remained silently at the edge of the room, his usual icy mask unwavering. Yet in his eyes, something new shimmered: admiration. He knew the soldier’s chances were slim… but Harmony fought with all her strength to keep him alive.

Two doctors soon joined her. One pressed firmly on the wound, another prepared a proper bandage, a third worked to regulate the soldier’s breathing. Harmony handed them supplies, held bandages in place, wiped away blood, her face pale but resolute.

“Hold on… please… just hold on…” she whispered, as if her words could tether the soldier to life itself.

The soldier opened his eyes briefly. He looked at Harmony—as if sensing the warmth in her voice, something foreign in the midst of war. His lips moved slightly, whispering something unheard. Then, his chest rose one last time… and stilled.

Silence fell over the room. The doctors lowered their heads, accustomed to such moments, but Harmony froze. Her hands still held the bloodied cloth as if unwilling to release it.

“No… no…” she breathed, tears forming in her eyes. Her chest ached as though something had broken inside her. “I couldn’t save him…”

One of the doctors spoke quietly. “We did everything we could. Sometimes… sometimes it’s not enough.”

Harmony slowly lifted her gaze. Her expression held only pain and helplessness. Her heart, desperate to help, now faced the harsh truth of war.

She stayed beside the soldier’s body for a few moments longer. Her hands shook, and the bloodied cloth slipped from her grasp. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, a single tear traced down her cheek, falling to the cold stone floor. Around her, the others moved on—stretchers were carried, new injuries tended—but for her, time had stopped.

Evander watched from a distance. His gaze lingered on her—the girl he had long seen as stubborn, curious, even irritating. Now, for the first time, he saw the weight of pain she carried, a pain he recognized from his own childhood. Though he did not move, though he spoke no word… inside, he felt that something of his own suffering reflected in her.

He stayed silent, giving her space. He knew he could not ease her pain—and perhaps, she could not bear his presence now. Yet what he had witnessed stayed with him.

That evening, Harmony sat by her window. The moon cast pale light across the stone walls; the castle gardens were silent. She held her hands in her lap, fingernails pressing lightly into the fabric of her dress. The scene replayed endlessly in her mind—the wounded soldier, her desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, the empty look in his eyes as life slipped away.

“They told me,” she whispered to herself, as if hearing the voices of her teachers, “sometimes you do everything… and it’s still not enough. And it’s not your fault.”

Yet still, the weight remained. Her chest felt tight, as if she were carrying the responsibility for all she could not fix. Another tear slid down her cheek, this time without resistance…

And for the first time, Harmony understood a small fragment of the prince’s burden—the unbearable weight of trying to protect what you cannot save.