A Fragile Distance

Harmony rose quietly from her bed, draping a light, flowing cloak over her shoulders before slipping silently through the castle’s dim, echoing corridors. The stone walls, though still cool under her fingertips, exuded a gentle, almost serene energy under the veil of night.

Outside, the silence of the nocturnal kingdom wrapped around her like a soft shroud. The moonlight glimmered on the smooth surface of the fountain at the center of the courtyard, while the fragrant meadow flowers released a calming scent that seemed to soothe her restless mind. A faint breeze stirred her hair, carrying with it distant sounds—the soft flutter of nocturnal birds, rustling leaves, and the whispered echo of footsteps on stone.

Harmony wandered along the edge of the gardens, her thoughts a tangle of everything she had witnessed that day. Each step was deliberate, slow, as if trying to capture a sense of peace in a world riddled with pain and conflict.

She was tracing the stone pathway through the garden when she heard quiet yet determined footsteps approaching behind her. Turning in the moonlight, she saw Evander. His eyes, usually guarded behind a stoic mask, now held a softer edge—but still sharp, vigilant. His dog ears twitched subtly at every faint sound of the night, tilting forward in alertness, flattening briefly with thought, or flicking with restrained tension. His tail shifted, coiling and uncoiling in slow, rhythmic arcs, a quiet language that echoed his thoughts and emotions, unseen by most but perceptible to those who noticed.

He said nothing at first, simply observing, as though attempting to read her thoughts. Harmony felt a flutter in her chest—a mixture of fear, curiosity, and something unnamed stirring within her.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, quiet yet firm:

“Why are you here? You should be in your room.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Harmony replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I needed to clear my thoughts… Some of us have hearts instead of stone.”

At her words, Evander’s composure wavered slightly. The mention of a “heart instead of stone” seemed to tug at something buried beneath his disciplined exterior. His jaw tensed, his eyes sharpened, and for a moment, his calm mask trembled. His ears flicked backward once, then perked forward, a subtle motion betraying the conflict within him. His tail coiled in a tight arc before stretching, brushing lightly against the stones—a quiet, almost involuntary signal of his attention and concern.

“Stone?” he said evenly, with a subtle edge. “Not everyone can afford to let their heart shatter at every word or event. Some of us must remain unyielding to protect others.”

He softened a little, averting his gaze, adding more gently:

“I… I’m sorry you had to go through that today, that you had to witness it all.”

His outward demeanor remained controlled and distant, yet Harmony caught the tiniest fissure in his armor—a glimpse of restrained emotion, a whisper of anger, and, just beneath it, something unmistakably human. His ears twitched, the fur along their tips brushing against one another with the faintest hint of tension, while his tail coiled lightly, then gently flicked to the side, subtle indicators of empathy and watchfulness.

Harmony’s own pain wouldn’t allow her to stop. “So many lives lost… for what? For whom? Is this truly necessary?” Tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes.

Evander’s gaze lingered on her, his face still stoic, but his warm brown eyes softened ever so slightly, a quiet acknowledgment carried through the subtle movements of his ears and the gentle, protective arcs of his tail. He drew a deep, measured breath, weighing his words before speaking:

“You think it could be fair… You think justice is possible. But the world… the world is not always fair. Not for me. Not for you.”

Every word carried the weight of experience, of war and loss. His rigid exterior cracked a little under the strain, revealing the burden he carried—the very burden Harmony was beginning to understand in its entirety. His ears angled forward attentively, swiveled briefly backward in thought, and his tail swayed in measured loops, betraying the constant vigilance he maintained.

“I don’t want it to be this way,” Harmony murmured, voice trembling. “I don’t want anyone else to hurt… to suffer…”

Seeing her break, Evander stepped closer, silently, drawn by something he couldn’t entirely deny. He said nothing, standing near enough to feel the tension radiating from her, yet far enough to respect her space. His ears tilted subtly toward her voice, then flattened briefly with thought, and his tail coiled protectively around the edge of his feet, a private, instinctive gesture of care.

His gaze softened, and his hand rose slightly, almost unconsciously, hovering in the air as if wanting to comfort her—yet never touching. The silence between them became heavy with unspoken emotion, each heartbeat a fragile bridge across their shared pain.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, voice low and serious:

“I can’t fix everything… but I won’t let you suffer alone.”

Those words formed a delicate bridge between their pain and vulnerability—a first step toward Harmony realizing she was not entirely alone.

“You’re a prince,” she whispered, choking on her sobs. “You have all the power, all the means to end this…”

But Evander could not bear to hear her voice so raw, so full of grief. His hand reached for hers, pulling her toward him. Coldly, he said:

“That’s enough now.”

Harmony’s trembling shoulders shook violently, her sobs breaking anew. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her heart twisting with anguish—but he held her firmly, like an anchor preventing her from being swept away by her own despair. His ears flattened slightly as he adjusted to her trembling, then perked forward again, and his tail coiled slowly around them both, a quiet testament to his protective instincts.

Despite the coldness of his words, Harmony glimpsed something fleeting in his gaze—a thin thread of tenderness hidden beneath his walls of discipline and strength. His hands were steady and protective, and though he did not soothe her with words, his presence alone was enough.

Evander inhaled deeply, and slowly—despite his usual reserve—he wrapped Harmony in an embrace. Strong and protective, his arms encircled her shoulders, drawing her close without a word. His ears rested near the top of his head, gently tilting as he adjusted to her movements, and his tail coiled in a subtle, grounding arc around them both, echoing the steadiness of his heart.

At first, Harmony trembled, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. Yet gradually, she began to feel steadied by the embrace, as though his solid presence formed both a shield and a safe haven. His quiet heartbeat, his steady breathing—they were strangely comforting, even as he remained outwardly cold.

For a brief moment, Harmony could forget the war, the loss, the pain—there was only this moment, only this unexpectedly tender closeness.

“I don’t have a heart of stone,” Evander murmured, voice low, almost hesitant. “You wouldn’t understand… War changes you. I cannot show weakness before my people.”

Harmony blinked through her tears, struggling to grasp the meaning of his words. His eyes remained cold, yet there was a flicker of something deeper—a sliver of vulnerability he rarely revealed. His ears twitched softly, brushing slightly against the crown of his head, and his tail swayed in a gentle loop, a subtle signal of the emotions he carefully kept hidden.

“Why… are you telling me this?” she whispered, still clinging to him, voice shaking with breathless uncertainty, feeling as though she had crossed an invisible barrier that few ever reached.

Evander let her feel the weight of his thoughts for a moment, then added, his voice tinged with restrained firmness:

“Because… if anyone saw me as vulnerable, they could use it against me and my people. This isn’t a weakness I can show.”

Harmony didn’t know whether to feel the sting of his seriousness or a strange sense of comfort—because somehow, her honesty had actually pierced through his wall. His ears subtly adjusted, perking forward, while his tail coiled protectively and then relaxed, a private indicator of the trust he had begun to feel.

She pulled back slightly, as if searching for her own space, trying to steady herself. Her hands slipped free from Evander’s embrace, but her gaze still clung to his face.

“I… I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “I… I don’t know if it’s right for me to… be this close…”

Evander watched her, his posture remaining firm, yet something flickered beneath his composed exterior at her retreat. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t scold her. He simply waited calmly, ears twitching faintly, tail coiling in a gentle, protective loop, as if signaling to himself—and to her—that he would remain by her side, quietly, without intrusion, until she was ready.