We stand face to face in the shadow of the ancient arch, close enough that I can see the pulse jumping in his throat. The airbetween us feels charged, electric with all the things we’ve left unsaid.
“You can’t hide forever, Leo,” I say softly, letting his name fall between us without titles or distance.
His eyes close briefly, as if the sound of his name from my lips causes physical pain. When they open again, something has shifted in their depths.
“What if I don’t know how to stop?” The question comes as barely more than a whisper, raw with honesty. “What if I don’t know how to want something and let myself have it?”
And there it is—the crack in his armour I’ve been waiting for.
“Let me help,” I answer, my hand lifting slowly, giving him time to pull away as my fingers brush his cheek.
He doesn’t move, his breath catching as I touch him. For a heartbeat we’re suspended in possibility, the world narrowing to just the two of us in the fading light.
Then a branch snaps in the distance—someone approaching along the garden path.
Leo steps back, his walls slamming into place so quickly I can almost hear them.
The distance between us widens, not just in steps but in all the ways that matter. And gods, it stings. I want to be angry but I can’t. How can I, when I know what it costs him just to be so vulnerable?
I let the sting settle into something quieter. Not bitterness. Not even disappointment. Just compassion. And a hope that maybe—soon—he won’t step back.
“Meet me here tomorrow,” I say quickly, before we’re interrupted. “After the official ceremonies. We’ll finish this conversation.”
I think he’ll refuse. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
“Your Highness?” Victoria’s voice carries through the garden. “The Queen is asking for you.”
Leo straightens, his public persona settling over him like a cloak. “I’ll be right there.”
He moves past me without another word, but his fingers brush mine as he passes—deliberate, lingering. A promise.
I watch him go, silhouetted against the twilight, duty pulling him away even as something else pulls him toward me.
Tomorrow,I think.Tomorrow he’ll stop hiding.
8
LEO
Dawn breaks over the palace in a wash of gold and pink, illuminating the ancient stones of the tribal sanctuary where we’ve gathered for the second day of ceremonies. Yesterday’s initialfulquernahmapped the major sacred sites; today we’ll identify the more remote locations, those hidden among mountain ranges and dense forests that have remained protected largely through isolation.
I stand at the edge of the circle, hands clasped behind my back as I watch the tribal elders prepare the ceremonial space. My mind is divided—part focused on the task before us, part replaying my conversation with the Prime Minister yesterday, and an increasingly insistent part aware of Rangi’s presence across the gathering.
“Puhkarik rumanja,” Elder Kiri announces, calling for the mapping of the hidden places to begin.
The elders move to the centre of the circle, where a large cloth map has been laid out—the same one we marked yesterday, now awaiting the addition of these more isolated sites. My pulsequickens with anticipation. These locations have been guarded by oral tradition alone for generations; today marks the first time they’ll be formally recorded for protection.
As the ceremony progresses, I find my gaze continually drawn to Rangi. He stands with his tribal delegation, his bearing proud yet relaxed, the sunlight catching on the warrior markings that adorn his exposed arms. When our eyes meet briefly across the circle, the Prime Minister’s warning echoes in my mind,“It’s just not possible... the mining leases alone...”
I force my attention back to the ceremony as Elder Kiri gestures for me to step forward. “The royal line has been keeper of the mountain pathways since the firstRumingha,” she says, handing me a container of ochre paint. “It is your voice that must speak for these places.”
Taking a deep breath, I kneel beside the map, dipping my fingers into the rust-coloured pigment. “In the name of my ancestors, I mark theTumara Kingsarah—the Royal Path.” My voice carries across the silent gathering as I trace a sinuous line that winds through the mountains. “This route is known only to those of royal blood, passed from monarch to heirs since the firstRumingha.”
The paint feels cool against my fingertips as I continue marking locations only my family has knowledge of, the hidden grove where royal children once underwent their coming-of-age ceremonies, the secluded spring where monarchs sought visions before major decisions, the ancient stone circle where royal marriages were consummated before the modern era.
My gaze meets Kit’s across the circle as I mark the map, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she places a hand on her belly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I give her anewlook.
Too much information, sis.
