“Human?” Charlotte suggests gently. “Vulnerable? Actually in touch with your emotions for once?”
“You’re not helping,” I tell her, but there’s no heat in my words.
Kit pushes herself up from the sofa, moving to take my hands in hers. Despite being the smallest of us, she’s always been the strongest.
“Leo,” she says, her voice carrying the same gentle authority our father used to use. “You’ve supported every decision I’ve made as Queen. You’ve stood beside me, advised me, protected me. Let me do the same for you.” She squeezes my fingers. “Whatever happens with the Captain, you’re my brother first and a royal second. Remember that.”
The door opens again, admitting a butler with a laden tea tray. The smell of freshly baked biscuits fills the room as Charlotte helps arrange the food within Kit’s reach.
“Besides,” Charlotte adds with a wicked grin, “if anyone knows about complicated romances with gorgeous, inappropriate men, it’s us.”
I groan but accept the teacup Kit hands me. Here in the morning room, surrounded by family portraits and childhood memories, my sisters’ unconditional support wraps around me like a blanket.
I just hope it’s enough for what’s coming.
The Manari delegation arrives precisely on schedule, their vehicles gliding through the palace gates with military precision. I stand waiting with Kit and Charlotte. We make an impressive sight—the three of us in our formal attire, adorned with the traditionalperipuni—cloak—of our bloodline.
My heart threatens to burst from my chest when Rangi emerges from the lead vehicle. Time hasn’t changed him—if anything, he’s more striking than memory allowed. His tattoos extend further now, telling new stories of battles and honours earned. He wears the formal dress of his rank—a deep blue uniform that emphasizes his broad shoulders, adorned with silver and gold medals marking of his achievements.
Our eyes meet across the courtyard, and for a beat I’m back in those mountains, young and terrified and exhilarated by the feelings he’s stirred within me.
“Breathe,” Charlotte whispers behind me, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
I suck in air, fighting to calm the raging storm in my chest.
Pull it together, Leo.
I greet the elders, watching as Kit runs soil through their fingers—a custom to welcome them and ground them on our lands.
Rangi follows the elders, moving with the same fluid grace that made him legendary in the field. Up close, I catch the subtlescent of linen, camp smoke, and something distinctly him that sends my pulse racing.
“Your Majesty.” He bows deeply to Kit, then turns to me, a twinkle in his eye. “Your Highness.”
“Captain Rangi.” I grin, bowing in response. “Welcome to Astipia Palace.”
His lips quirk slightly—he always did seem to find me amusing. “Thank you for having us, Prince Leo.” His voice carries the same rich timbre I remember, though the steel has softened.
“I believe we agreed years ago that formality was unnecessary between warriors who have shared a campfire,” I say, not liking the barrier my title places between us.
Behind me, I hear Charlotte’s poorly disguised snort of amusement.
“Indeed, we did,” he says with an incline of his head. “It’s good to see you, Leo.” He turns to the attractive man behind him and for a beat I’m overcome with jealousy.
Is this his partner? His husband? His lover?
Rangi gestures him forward. “May I present my brother, Lieutenant Tahma Rangi.”
Relief washes through me, followed immediately by embarrassment at my instinctive jealousy.
The man steps forward, and the family resemblance is unmistakable—the same powerful build and proud bearing, though Tahma’s features are sharper, his expression more severe. Where Rangi’s warrior markings flow in elegant curves across his visible skin, Tahma’s are more angular, extendinghigher on his neck and face. Traditional tribal armour pieces adorn his formal attire, marking him as someone who has chosen to embrace the ancient ways more fully.
“Your Highness,” Tahma says with a formal bow, his voice a slightly deeper echo of his brother’s. “An honour.”
“Lieutenant Tahma will be assisting with the sacred sites security assessment,” Rangi explains. “He oversees our mountain territory protections.”
I extend my hand in warrior greeting. “Welcome to Astipia Palace.”
Tahma looks momentarily surprised by the informal gesture but clasps my forearm with a firm grip. His eyes, darker than Rangi’s, assess me with unnerving directness.
