“Wonderful!” Charlotte claps her hands, earning a fond smile from Roy. “What a treat.”
The conversation shifts to other topics, but I remain acutely aware of every small movement Leo makes, every careful inch of space between us. His warmth bleeds through the formal uniform where our legs touch, a point of contact that feels more intimate than it should.
Across the table, I notice Roy watching us with an assessing gaze. His arm drapes casually across the back of Charlotte’s chair—a man secure enough in his position to show affection openly.
A yearning I’ve not experienced in some years throbs in my chest.
As the meal progresses, I watch the subtle dynamics play out around the table. Jonathan leans in frequently to murmur in the Queen’s ear, making her smile despite what must be exhaustion from the long evening. Roy’s hand finds Charlotte’s whenever she gestures too enthusiastically, steadying her without constraining her natural exuberance. They’ve found their balance, these couples—duty and love intertwined rather than at odds.
But Leo... Leo is every inch the diplomatic prince. Only the occasional press of his knee against mine betrays any crack in his composure.
“Tell me, Captain,” Elder Kiri says, drawing my attention back to diplomatic duties, “how do you suggest we approach protection of the more remote locations? The mountain paths can be treacherous, but rogue tourists and vandals have been known to trespass.”
“I’ve arranged for a detailed survey,” I reply, aware of other conversations ceasing as they listen to my answer. “My team has identified several sites that will require additional safety measures, particularly during the summer months.”
“Leo’s quite familiar with those paths,” Charlotte offers. “He used to disappear up there for days when he was a boy. Drove security mad.”
“Did I?” Leo’s voice carries dry amusement. “As I recall, I wasn’t the one who required a rescue after getting lost following a goat trail.”
“That was one time!” Charlotte protests. “And besides, if you’d just told me where you were going?—“
“Children,” Katherine interrupts, though her eyes sparkle with mirth. “Perhaps we could save the family stories for a less formal occasion?”
But I file away this new information. I’d known Leo was comfortable in the mountains—had seen his skill firsthand during our deployments. But the image of him seeking solitude in those sacred heights, drawn to the same wild places that call to my heart... it adds another layer to the man I thought I knew.
“The blessing ceremony will begin at dawn,” the Queen announces, signalling the meal’s end. “I trust you’ll have a restful night.”
Jon helps her to her feet, laying a gentle hand on her belly as he waits for her to steady herself. She murmurs something to him, placing her hand over his with a smile.
The ache in my chest grows. I have no wish for children, but I want exactly what they have—companionship, understanding, connection and love.
I glance over at Leo, finding his gaze already on me. Our eyes hold, something passing between us.
“Good night,” he murmurs, rising from his seat.
“Good night, Leo.” I watch him walk away, wondering if he’ll ever again let down the walls he keeps so high.
4
LEO
Dawn breaks over the palace grounds in shades of pearl and gold, the ancient stones taking on an almost ethereal quality in the early light. I’ve been awake for hours, unable to sleep with the weight of what’s to come pressing on my mind. And, if I’m honest with myself, with memories of last night’s dinner—the press of Rangi’s knee against mine, the way his voice seemed to caress me.
Groaning, I spin away from the window to stride across my bedroom, searching for something—anything—to distract myself.
The sacred sites project means everything to our people. It is not just about the protection of our heritage, this project represents the preservation of who we are—the delicate balance of modern monarchy and ancient traditions. Kit may wear the crown, but this project... this is mine.
Today, at thefulquernah, we’ll begin mapping our sacred places, sharing stories that haven’t been spoken to those outside of tribe in generations.
Stories of pain and privilege, of blood and bone.
I adjust my ceremonialperipuni, the warrior cloak feeling both familiar and strange against my skin. The marks of my father’s line ripple across the traditional hide, telling stories of mountains and battles, of wisdom earned through sacrifice. Growing up, I’d traced these patterns with childish fingers while my grandmother taught me the old songs, her voice strong despite her age.
“Our traditions aren’t chains, little warrior,”she’d tell me.“They’re roots. They give us strength to grow, to change, while keeping us true to who we are.”
A knock at my door pulls me from memories. “Enter.”
Victoria appears, tablet in hand. “The elders are gathering at theMurmuranay. Her Majesty asks if you’re ready.”
