The palace infirmary smelled of herbs, blood, and incense. It was always busy after a skirmish, but that night, it felt heavier. The healers were rushing between beds, their hands stained red, their voices low but urgent.
Aveloria was present, watching everything unfold with worry on her expression. Galen was barely conscious now, his breathing shallow and his outfit soaked in blood. Her armor was streaked with dirt and gore, her braid half undone, but she didn't care.
"I'll tend to him myself," she said sharply. "Get me bandages, water, and clean clothes," Aveloria ordered.
One of the healers froze. "Heiress, please, let us handle this—"
"I said get them!" she snapped. Her voice was loud enough to make everyone in the room stop.
The healer nodded quickly and hurried away.
Aveloria knelt beside Galen, her hands trembling as she tried to unfasten his chest plate. The straps were soaked and slippery with blood. She fumbled with them, growing frustrated.
