The touch, brief as it is, sends electricity through my skin. His fingers press against my pulse point for just a fraction too long before releasing.
Focus. You’re here as head of security. Nothing more.
But as we’re led to our seats for dinner, I catch Charlotte’s knowing smile as she allows her husband to guide her.
Something tells me this evening will test every bit of control I possess.
The seating arrangement proves to be an exercise in both diplomacy and torture. I’m placed between Elder Kiri and Leo—a position of honour that also ensures we must maintain careful formality throughout the meal.
Servers move with practiced grace, presenting contemporary Astipian dishes alongside traditional Manari delicacies. The palace kitchen has clearly done their research; I recognize Elder Kiri’s favourite seafood stew, though served in fine porcelain rather than clay bowls.
“Yourperipuni,” Elder Kiri comments to Leo in our native tongue, gesturing to the ceremonial cloak draped across his shoulders. “The markings are unusual.”
“My grandmother’s line,” Leo replies, his accent flawless. “She was from the far northern tribes, near the sacred mountains.”
I knew his grandmother was Manari, but not that she came from the warrior clans of the north.
“Near Kink?” I ask, referring to the island at the northern part of Astipia.
“From Kink itself, actually.”
“Indeed?” Elder Kiri’s interest sharpens. “Then you know the old stories? The songs of that region?”
“Some.” Leo’s voice carries a hint of self-deprecation. “Though I fear my knowledge is incomplete.”
“Nonsense,” Charlotte interrupts from across the table. “You used to sing them to me when I couldn’t sleep.” She turns to Roy, who watches the exchange with quiet amusement. “Did you know Leo knows all the ancient battle songs? Father insisted we learn them, but Leo is the only one that can carry a tune.”
“I dispute that,” the Queen says, with an easy smile. “My voice is perfect.”
“You’re as musically challenged as me,” Charlotte returns cheerfully as she scoops up another spoonful of stew gracefully. “Our Queen sounds like a strangled rooster.”
The Queen looks down her nose haughtily at her sister. “I could have your head if I so wished.”
“And yet you’d still have a terrible singing voice.”
The table chuckles at their teasing as we return to our meals.
During long night watches, Leo would entertain us with the songs, his voice low and powerful in the darkness. He’d sing through the storms and during the clear nights, a call to the ancestors to hold protection over us, a call to our soul to hold our courage—even if the thing we most had to fear was only the occasional wild boar.
What struck me most wasn’t just the beauty of his voice, but the loneliness that threaded through each note. Where others heard only song, I heard a man calling into the void, searching for connection. Those melodies carried a raw honesty that he never knowingly revealed—a quiet ache, a yearning. On those nights, I’d find myself watching him when others weren’t looking, wondering if anyone else could hear what I heard, the sound of a soul that had been taught to stand apart, even when surrounded by others.
His hidden vulnerability, so carefully concealed behind royal composure, pulled at something deep within me—a recognition, perhaps, of my own solitude. We were both outsiders in our own ways, men carrying the weight of tradition while searching for our own path.
“Perhaps,” Queen Katherine suggests, her dark eyes missing nothing, “we could persuade my brother to demonstrate his singing talents during tomorrow eveningsfulquernah?”
Thefulquernahwas the official gathering of the tribes. Preceded over by the Queen, it would involve sitting around a campfire sharing stories of the lines of the tribes in order to map the locations of sacred sites across Astipia.
Leo stiffens slightly beside me. “I wouldn’t presume?—“
“An excellent suggestion,” Elder Kiri declares. “And Captain Rangi can join you. His family is known for preserving the old songs. One or two should suffice.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “If His Highness is willing,” I manage.
Under the table, Leo’s knee brushes against mine. The touch feels deliberate, a silent question.
I dare a glance at him. His expression remains perfectly composed, but I catch that familiar spark in his eyes—the one that speaks of mischief.
“It would be my honour,” he says formally. But his knee presses more firmly against mine, and I know we’re both remembering the last time we sang together, deep in mountain territory where no one could hear us but the stars.
