As breakfast continues, I find myself relaxing into the easy camaraderie. Charlotte regales us with stories of her time in Alaska, while Roy occasionally interjects with dry observationsthat have Leo chuckling. It feels surprisingly comfortable, as if I’ve found my way into a space I didn’t know I was seeking.
“Ah, there you are.” Elder Kiri’s voice from the doorway turns all heads. She stands with my granduncle Matua Hemi. “We wondered where our wayward captain had disappeared to.”
I stand, bowing slightly in respect. “Elders. The royal family graciously invited me to join them.”
“So we see.” Elder Kiri’s eyes twinkle as she takes in the scene, lingering momentarily on the proximity between Leo and me. “How fortunate. We were just coming to discuss today’s meetings, but perhaps we’re interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Leo says, rising to greet them properly. “Please, join us.”
As servants hurry to add settings, I catch Matua Hemi watching Leo with a knowing expression. He glances at me with a look that makes me want to squirm like a boy caught stealing sweet cakes.
“You know, Hemi and I were walking through the grounds last night and it put me in mind of the constellations,” Elder Kiri says as she settles into her chair, accepting a cup of tea. “And I was reminded of a story that young Prince Leo might remember.”
Something in her tone puts me on alert. Kiri never shares stories randomly; there’s always purpose behind her tellings.
“Please share,” Leo says, offering her a plate of fruit. “I’d love to hear it.”
“Do you know the story of Mirahan and Ahkenti?” She waves off the plate, her weathered hands cradling her teacup.
Leo frowns. “I’m afraid not.”
“Ah, then let me share.” She closes her eyes, humming for a second before blinking open. “In the time before time, when our people first walked this land, there lived two warriors of great renown. Ahkenti was born to the mountains, strong as stone and silent as shadow. Mirakan came from the coastal tribes, quick as the tide and bright as sun on water.”
Around the table, conversation falls away. Even Charlotte, who had been buttering toast, sets down her knife to listen.
“They met on the battlefield, each fighting for their tribe’s honour,” Elder Kiri continues. “Such was their skill that neither could best the other, and after a day and night of combat, they fell exhausted to the ground, weapons cast aside.”
Hemi takes up the tale, his deep voice resonant in the quiet room. “When they woke, they looked upon each other not as enemies but as equals—the only men who had ever matched each other in skill and heart. Ahkenti offered Mirakan water from his own flask, and Mirakan shared bread from his pack.”
“Together,” Elder Kiri says, “they realized the folly of their tribes’ conflict. They swore a bond deeper than blood, pledging to bring their peoples to peace.”
“For many seasons, they worked together,” Matua Hemi says, his gaze shifting between Leo and me. “Two warriors of different worlds, united in purpose. And as they travelled between mountain and sea, something grew between them—a bond that transcended friendship, that burned with the fire of stars.”
I hold still, every word of the old story sinking beneath my skin like river stones. Around us, the room is silent, reverent, but my focus narrows to the man beside me.
Beneath the table, our hands rest in our laps, close but not touching.
Then—gods—Leo moves.
Slowly, deliberately, he slides his pinkie toward mine, looping it around my finger in the smallest, most private tether. A silent choice.
My breath catches.
He’s never reached out first. Not like this. Notin public.
And it shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It’s just a pinkie. But it ignites something in my chest—hope.
“They becamekaheiti maraki,” Elder Kiri says, using the ancient term for warrior partners who were also lovers. “Their souls entwined as one.”
Charlotte leans forward, clearly captivated. “What happened to them?”
Matua Hemi’s expression turns solemn. “The tribes were not ready for peace. On the day they were to sign the treaty, enemies who wished for war attacked the gathering. Ahkenti and Mirakan fought back-to-back, protecting their people until the last enemy fell.”
“But Mirakan was gravely wounded,” Elder Kiri continues. “As he lay dying in Ahkenti’s arms, the gods themselves were moved by their devotion. The sky darkened, and a great wind rose from the sea.”
“The gods declared that such love should not end,” Matua Hemi says. “That such warriors should be honoured for all time. AsMirakan’s spirit left his body, Ahkenti’s followed, unwilling to remain where his beloved could not.”
Elder Kiri points upward, as if the ceiling of the breakfast room were the night sky. “The gods placed them among the stars, two bright points of light that never set, never fade. If you look to the northern sky on the longest night of the year, you will see them—the Warrior Stars, forever circling one another, forever together.”
