“And here,” I say, my finger hovering over a particular valley nestled between twin peaks, “liesKaha Minargh—the Valley of Whispers, where the voices of our royal ancestors still speak to those with ears to hear.”
I don’t elaborate. Some stories are meant for certain ears, and this is one. Only those children of the direct ruler are allowed to know more. Not even the children I or Charlotte might have are allowed to know about it. Only Kit’s heirs.
Such it was. Such it will be.
A murmur passes through the tribal delegations. This site is particularly significant—and, I know from geological surveys, sits directly above one of the richest mineral deposits in the country.
The Prime Minister’s face flashes in my mind again,“The compensation claims would be astronomical.”
I hesitate for just a moment before firmly marking the location. Whatever political battles lie ahead, I will not compromise.
As I finish, Kit rises from her seat, her pregnancy making her movements slightly awkward as she approaches the map. “The Royal Path is incomplete without the Queen’s knowledge,” she says, taking the ochre from my hands.
The gathering falls silent as Kit kneels beside me, her formal dress pooling around her as she marks additional locations. “Here,” she says, her voice clear and strong, “is where the first Queen of our line received her vision of unification. And here”—her finger traces a meandering line along the western coast—“is the path she walked to bring peace between warring tribes.”
She marks several more locations, some I recognize from our childhood lessons, others that must have been shared with her by our father after she was named heir. When she reaches a particular mountain lake, she pauses, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she marks it with special care.
“This place belongs to the Queens alone,” she says, holding close her secrets.
As we both step back, I catch Rangi watching us. The weight of his gaze feels almost physical, a steady, unyielding pressure that only stirs the confusion already churning inside me.
Our encounter yesterday left me unbalanced, teetering on the edge of something unknown. I can’t make sense of my thoughts which are a tangled mess of doubt and yearning, curiosity and fear. Everything feels like shifting ground. His eyes ask questions I’m not ready to answer.
Or, more precisely, I don’t know how to answer.
But it’s more than even just that. I’m struggling under the weight of who I am, the title I carry has become like armour that’s grown too heavy to bear. As the Prince, my life is nothing but spectacle. Every action and reaction dissected, judged, and manipulated until I can barely recognize what’s real.
And Rangi? He feels real. But if I reach for him, if I cross that line, I’ll drag him into the fire with me. Into the unending scrutiny, the constant demand to be something palatable and perfect.
Wanting him is easy, and if I were a lesser man I’d give in to these feelings swirling in my chest. Protecting him is the right thing to do. But when he looks at me like that—I feel something crack in my chest.
And the truth is, I want to reach for him anyway. Consequences be damned.
The ceremony continues, representatives from other tribes adding their own marks to the map. By midday, the cloth is covered in a network of symbols and lines—a record of our people’s heritage, now documented for protection.
Or so we hope.
I glance around the circle, noting the Prime Minister’s absence. In her place are her deputy and other members from the other parties, all silently observing.
This cannot fail. I won’t let this be for nothing.
“Today marks a historic day,” Elder Kiri announces as the final markings are completed. “Our people are united in our fight to protect our heritage.” She gestures at the map. “And now ourkahliniare known to all who would stand with us.”
The gathering breaks into smaller groups for the meal that follows. I fulfill my duties, moving among the delegates, discussing births and deaths, weather and politics. I flow between conversation topics with practiced ease—after all, this is what I’ve been trained for since birth.
But beneath it all, there’s a constant awareness of Rangi—of where he is, what he’s doing. My body hums with restless energy, my skin still tingling from the ghost of his touch. I can feel Rangi’s presence like gravity—undeniable, anchoring, impossible to ignore. My gaze finds him without effort, zeroing in through the crowd as if my bones know where he is even before my eyes do.
He’s speaking with an elder near the ceremonial map, his expression calm, focused. Unbothered. And yet… when he shifts slightly, our eyes meet across the space.
I look away too quickly.
Coward.
“You look troubled, brother.” Charlotte appears at my side, a plate of food in her hand.
Troubled? Gods, I feel like I’m unravelling thread by thread. Holding it together with the sheer force of royal performance.
“Just contemplating the work ahead.” I accept the offered meal. “Thanks.”
