The simple eloquence of his words tightens my throat. We’ve prepared for this moment, discussed what we would say, but hearing him speak these promises aloud carries a power I hadn’t fully anticipated.
When I speak, my voice is steadier than I expected. “Rangi, I receive you as warrior to warrior, equal to equal. I pledge to honour your strength and support your dreams, to walk beside you on whatever path we choose, to face whatever comes with courage and faith. I will be your confidant in doubt, your partner in purpose, your companion in joy and sorrow. I offer you not the prince or the diplomat, but the man—flawed and human andentirely yours.” My fingers tighten around his. “I choose you today and every day that follows, in this life and whatever comes after. My heart, my trust, my future—all are yours to share.”
Elder Kiri places her weathered hands over our bound ones. “The ancestors hear your promises and hold them sacred.” She looks to Kit, who places her hands atop the elder’s.
“The Crown recognizes this union and pledges its protection,” Kit declares. “What is joined here today cannot be severed by human hand.”
Together, they unwrap the binding cord, but rather than removing it completely, they weave it into a complex knot that Charlotte accepts into a ceremonial box.
“The bond remains, though the physical binding is released,” Elder Kiri explains. “So it is with true partnership—not a constraint but a connection that liberates.”
Kit takes a step back, her royal demeanour giving way to a genuine smile. “By the authority vested in me as Queen of Astipia, and in accordance with the traditions of our ancestors, I pronounce you married, joined in the eyes of crown and tribe, recognized by law and custom.”
Elder Kiri’s eyes twinkle as she adds, “You may seal your vows with a kiss, as tradition demands.”
Rangi’s hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch gentle despite the strength I know those hands possess. When our lips meet, the gathered crowd erupts in cheers and traditional drumming begins again, but I barely notice. In this moment, there is only us—the culmination of a journey that began years ago in mountain terrain and has led us to this sacred place.
When we part, Rangi’s smile contains all the warmth of summer sun. “Husband,” he says, testing the word.
“Husband,” I echo, finding it fits perfectly.
We turn to face the gathering, hands still linked, and begin the traditional circle around the sacred space, accepting blessings and good wishes from all sides. Kit and Jonathan beam from their place of honour, the royal children now corralled by nursemaids who struggle to keep them from disrupting the solemn moment. Charlotte and Roy offer congratulatory embraces, their own partnership a reminder of how the royal family has evolved in recent years.
Elder Kiri and Matua Hemi present us with gifts—herbs for protection, woven symbols of prosperity, ancient stones from tribal lands to place in our home. My mother steps forward with happy tears in her eyes to present a gift of her own—my father’s ceremonial dagger, traditionally passed to the royal heir but now being given to us as a symbol of her blessing.
“He would have been proud,” she tells me quietly. “Of both of you.”
The words mean more than she can know.
Prime Minister Beesley—who surprised everyone by becoming a surprisingly staunch ally after the Future of Astipia Act proved wildly popular—offers formal congratulations on behalf of the government. The tribal council presents a unified blessing, their formal acceptance of our union carrying significant political and cultural weight.
As the ceremony transitions to celebration, I find myself momentarily overwhelmed by the journey that has brought us here—from cautious diplomatic exchanges to secret gardenmeetings, from hesitant acknowledgment of feelings to this public declaration. The path hasn’t been straight or simple, but each step has led us exactly where we needed to be.
“Overwhelmed?” Rangi asks quietly, noticing my momentary distraction.
“A bit,” I admit. “In the best possible way.”
His hand tightens around mine. “We can slip away for a moment if you need space.”
The offer—so typical of him—warms me. “No,” I assure him. “I want to be exactly here, exactly now.”
His smile deepens. “Good. Because I’ve waited quite long enough to call you husband.”
The celebration continues into evening, tribal dances giving way to revelry, formal toasts alternating with casual laughter. The children, overtired and overexcited, are eventually whisked away to their nursery, but not before Eleanor manages to smear icing across several dignitaries.
“Your family,” Rangi observes with amusement as we watch the chaos from our place of honour, “is absolutely terrifying.”
“Our family now,” I correct, enjoying the way the words taste. “For better or worse.”
“Definitely both,” he agrees, his arm sliding around my waist in a gesture that still carries a thrill of public acknowledgment. After so long maintaining careful distance, the ability to simply touch, to be seen together as partners, remains a precious novelty.
As night falls, lanterns are lit around theMurmuranay, turning the grove into a fairyland of golden light. Fires are built high,their flames reaching toward stars that begin to appear in the darkening sky.
Above us, the constellation of the warrior lovers shines bright—Ahkenti and Mirakan, forever circling each other among the stars. I find myself searching for them, remembering Elder Kiri’s words so many months ago.
And so they would find each other again and again, in this life and every other.
“What are you thinking?” Rangi asks, his voice close to my ear.
