“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Astipia isn’t the same country it was when that photo leaked. I mean that your sister is now Queen, Lottie is married to a former bodyguard, and the world hasn’t ended.” His thumb traces patterns on my palm. “You know that our people had queer relationships for millennia before the religiousfolks arrived. Hell, we celebrate trans-heroes like Litie in our stories.” He strokes a hand across my cheek. “You’re allowed to have a personal life, Leo, without it destroying everything you care about.”
The tenderness in his voice weakens my resolve, crumbling the walls I’ve maintained for years. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, the words barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to want something for myself.”
His touch is gentle yet grounding. “Then let me help you figure it out. One day at a time.”
I know what being with me will cost him—but fuck if I’m not selfish. I lean into his touch as yearning deeper than the ocean cracks open inside me.
“I can’t promise anything,” I warn him. “The political realities won’t change overnight.”
“I’m not asking for promises.” His smile is gentle, understanding. “I’m asking for a chance. For us to explore this”—he gestures between us—“whatever it is. Not as prince and captain, but as Leo and Rangi.”
The invitation hangs between us, a possibility I’ve denied myself for too long. In the shadow of the ancient arch, with night gathering around us, I make a choice—not for duty or country, but for myself.
“One day at a time,” I agree, my voice steadier than I feel.
His smile widens, reaching his eyes in a way that makes my heart stutter. “That’s all I’m asking.”
This time, when he leans in, I meet him halfway. Our lips touch, gentle at first, then with growing hunger as the restraint of yearsbegins to crumble. His arms encircle me, pulling me against the solid strength of his chest as my hands find their way into his hair.
Unlike the desperate clash in the gym, this kiss is slower, exploratory—a choice rather than an impulse. I pour years of wanting into it, allowing myself to taste without guilt or fear holding me back.
When we finally break apart, both breathing harder, his forehead rests against mine. “Worth the wait,” he murmurs, his voice rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“We need to be careful,” I say, though I don’t move from his embrace. “Discreet.”
“I can do discreet.” His hand slides up my back, tracing my spine through my shirt. “For now.”
The qualifier should worry me, but with the taste of him still on my lips and his arms around me, I can’t bring myself to care about future complications.
For the first time in years—perhaps for the first time ever—I allow myself to embrace what I want rather than what duty dictates. In the sacred space of the meditation arch, with night falling around us, I choose to be simply Leo—a man following his heart rather than his sense of obligation. Tomorrow will bring complications, negotiations, the weight of responsibility. But tonight belongs to us.
I don’t remember walking back to my quarters. I don’t remember the guards peeling away or Victoria’s subtle nod of acknowledgment as we passed in the hall. I don’t even remember if I locked the door behind me.
All I remember is Rangi’s heat as he walked beside me. The heavy pulse of wanting that thrums in my blood like a war drum.
And now, we’re standing in the middle of my bedroom, staring at each other like two men on the edge of something that’s been waiting to happen for years.
No titles. No uniforms. No pretence.
Just me. Just him.
“I don’t do casual,” I murmur. My voice feels like it’s caught in my throat. “I can’t afford to.”
“Neither do I.” Rangi takes a step forward, crowding into my space. His hands find my hips, heavy and sure, grounding me. “We start here. With this.”
I breathe out shakily, tilting my chin up. “And if I fall apart?”
“Then I’ll be the one holding you.”
I don’t kiss him this time—he kisses me. Harder than before. Hungrier. No tentative exploration, no room left for hesitation. He kisses like he means it. Like he’s claiming this moment, and me with it.
I reach for his shirt, fingers fumbling with the hem before tugging it upward. It drags over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, those tattoos I’ve dreamed about tracing now finally exposed to my hands. I skim my palms over them, reverent. I brush my lips across the ink, relishing his shiver.
He tugs my shirt over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind us. My skin is already burning, every nerve awake under his gaze.
“Fuck, Leo.” His voice is gravel. “You’ve always been beautiful. But like this? You’re…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. His mouth finds mine again instead.
