Chapter 3
RANGI
The Great Hall of Astipia Palace transforms as day fades to evening.
The warm lights of the room highlight the wear of the ancient stone walls, catching on gilt frames and crystal chandeliers.
But unlike the stiff formality of the conference room, this space holds warmth—living history rather than preserved pageantry.
I enter with the tribal elders, our formal dress a riot of deep blues and dusky furs.
As head of security, I should be scanning for threats, analysing sight lines and exit routes.
But here, in this most exalted and protected place, I am able to relax.
Which is why I allow my gaze to be drawn to the royal family.
They stand arranged on the shallow dip leading down to the throne platform—an arrangement I know is carefully choreographed to demonstrate both power and accessibility. Unlike many modern monarchies, Astipia’s rulers never stand above their people.
Queen Katherine sits in the centre of the sunken platform, her pregnancy adding softness to her usual regal bearing.
Her husband Jonathan stands at her right hand, protective without being obvious.
Despite his formal attire, there’s still something of the warrior about him—the way he positions himself, how his eyes constantly scan the room.
He served some time ago, and our paths briefly crossed before he resigned to pursue politics. My sources tell me nothing but good things about this man and his dedication to our Queen.
Princess Charlotte, situated to her sister’s left, vibrates with barely contained energy.
Her husband Roy—once the former King’s bodyguard—maintains a watchful position slightly behind her, his military bearing evident despite his formal attire.
Their love story had captivated the nation, the princess who found her true match in the mountains of Alaska after a very public wedding disaster.
Looking at them now, the way they lean slightly toward each other without seeming to realize it, it’s clear they found something real in that frozen wilderness.
Charlotte smiles when she catches my eye, her grin holding a hint of mischief. There’s no doubt that she’ll be trouble.
And Leo... Gods.
He stands at parade rest beside his younger sister, every inch the royal prince in his formal uniform.
The deep blue jacket emphasizes broad shoulders that I remember all too well, medals glinting against his chest. His dark hair is perfectly styled, though I note with private amusement that one stubborn curl at his temple refuses to stay in place.
It seems there are some battles even princes can’t win.
But it’s the details that catch me—things only someone who has spent countless hours studying him would notice.
The slight tension in his jaw. The way his thumb absently rubs against his index finger, a tell he’s never managed to eliminate.
How his posture, while perfect, holds a readiness that speaks more of the soldier than the prince.
“Welcome,” Queen Katherine says warmly as we approach. Her voice carries easily through the hall despite its soft tone. “We are honoured by your presence in our home.”
The eldest of our group, Kiri, steps forward to perform the traditional greeting. I find myself translating automatically, years of diplomatic service kicking in.
“We come in peace to the lands of our ancestors,” she says in our native tongue. “We seek wisdom in the sacred places, guidance from the old ways.”
They lean forward, grasping each other’s elbows and pressing their foreheads together.
The Queen responds in perfect Manari, asking the ancestors to welcome the tribe to their lands. As she speaks, I catch Leo mouthing the words silently, unconsciously.
The formal greetings continue, each elder being presented in turn. I note how the royal family honours each elder, offering them their complete attention—no small feat given there are twelve of them, each requiring specific forms of address and recognition.
The old ways mix with the new here, a line that Leo and his family must straddle daily. They live between two worlds, the balance tenuous as they fight to keep our customs alive.
When my turn comes, I bow precisely. “Your Majesty, Your Highnesses. I am honoured to serve as security liaison.”
“The honour is ours, Captain Rangi,” the Queen replies. But it’s Leo who steps forward to complete the warrior’s greeting, his hand clasping my forearm as mine grips his.
The touch, brief as it is, sends electricity through my skin. His fingers press against my pulse point for just a fraction too long before releasing.
Focus. You’re here as head of security. Nothing more.
But as we’re led to our seats for dinner, I catch Charlotte’s knowing smile as she allows her husband to guide her.
Something tells me this evening will test every bit of control I possess.
The seating arrangement proves to be an exercise in both diplomacy and torture. I’m placed between Elder Kiri and Leo—a position of honour that also ensures we must maintain careful formality throughout the meal.
Servers move with practiced grace, presenting contemporary Astipian dishes alongside traditional Manari delicacies. The palace kitchen has clearly done their research; I recognize Elder Kiri’s favourite seafood stew, though served in fine porcelain rather than clay bowls.
“Your peripuni,” Elder Kiri comments to Leo in our native tongue, gesturing to the ceremonial cloak draped across his shoulders. “The markings are unusual.”
“My grandmother’s line,” Leo replies, his accent flawless. “She was from the far northern tribes, near the sacred mountains.”
I knew his grandmother was Manari, but not that she came from the warrior clans of the north.
“Near Kink?” I ask, referring to the island at the northern part of Astipia.
“From Kink itself, actually.”
“Indeed?” Elder Kiri’s interest sharpens. “Then you know the old stories? The songs of that region?”
“Some.” Leo’s voice carries a hint of self-deprecation. “Though I fear my knowledge is incomplete.”
“Nonsense,” Charlotte interrupts from across the table.
“You used to sing them to me when I couldn’t sleep.
” She turns to Roy, who watches the exchange with quiet amusement.
“Did you know Leo knows all the ancient battle songs? Father insisted we learn them, but Leo is the only one that can carry a tune.”
“I dispute that,” the Queen says, with an easy smile. “My voice is perfect.”
“You’re as musically challenged as me,” Charlotte returns cheerfully as she scoops up another spoonful of stew gracefully. “Our Queen sounds like a strangled rooster.”
The Queen looks down her nose haughtily at her sister. “I could have your head if I so wished.”
“And yet you’d still have a terrible singing voice.”
The table chuckles at their teasing as we return to our meals.
During long night watches, Leo would entertain us with the songs, his voice low and powerful in the darkness.
He’d sing through the storms and during the clear nights, a call to the ancestors to hold protection over us, a call to our soul to hold our courage—even if the thing we most had to fear was only the occasional wild boar.
What struck me most wasn’t just the beauty of his voice, but the loneliness that threaded through each note.
Where others heard only song, I heard a man calling into the void, searching for connection.
Those melodies carried a raw honesty that he never knowingly revealed—a quiet ache, a yearning.
On those nights, I’d find myself watching him when others weren’t looking, wondering if anyone else could hear what I heard, the sound of a soul that had been taught to stand apart, even when surrounded by others.
His hidden vulnerability, so carefully concealed behind royal composure, pulled at something deep within me—a recognition, perhaps, of my own solitude. We were both outsiders in our own ways, men carrying the weight of tradition while searching for our own path.
“Perhaps,” Queen Katherine suggests, her dark eyes missing nothing, “we could persuade my brother to demonstrate his singing talents during tomorrow evenings fulquernah?”
The fulquernah was the official gathering of the tribes. Preceded over by the Queen, it would involve sitting around a campfire sharing stories of the lines of the tribes in order to map the locations of sacred sites across Astipia.
Leo stiffens slightly beside me. “I wouldn’t presume—“
“An excellent suggestion,” Elder Kiri declares. “And Captain Rangi can join you. His family is known for preserving the old songs. One or two should suffice.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “If His Highness is willing,” I manage.
Under the table, Leo’s knee brushes against mine. The touch feels deliberate, a silent question.
I dare a glance at him. His expression remains perfectly composed, but I catch that familiar spark in his eyes—the one that speaks of mischief.
“It would be my honour,” he says formally. But his knee presses more firmly against mine, and I know we’re both remembering the last time we sang together, deep in mountain territory where no one could hear us but the stars.
“Wonderful!” Charlotte claps her hands, earning a fond smile from Roy. “What a treat.”
The conversation shifts to other topics, but I remain acutely aware of every small movement Leo makes, every careful inch of space between us. His warmth bleeds through the formal uniform where our legs touch, a point of contact that feels more intimate than it should.
Across the table, I notice Roy watching us with an assessing gaze. His arm drapes casually across the back of Charlotte’s chair—a man secure enough in his position to show affection openly.
A yearning I’ve not experienced in some years throbs in my chest.
As the meal progresses, I watch the subtle dynamics play out around the table.
Jonathan leans in frequently to murmur in the Queen’s ear, making her smile despite what must be exhaustion from the long evening.
Roy’s hand finds Charlotte’s whenever she gestures too enthusiastically, steadying her without constraining her natural exuberance.
They’ve found their balance, these couples—duty and love intertwined rather than at odds.
But Leo... Leo is every inch the diplomatic prince. Only the occasional press of his knee against mine betrays any crack in his composure.
“Tell me, Captain,” Elder Kiri says, drawing my attention back to diplomatic duties, “how do you suggest we approach protection of the more remote locations? The mountain paths can be treacherous, but rogue tourists and vandals have been known to trespass.”
“I’ve arranged for a detailed survey,” I reply, aware of other conversations ceasing as they listen to my answer. “My team has identified several sites that will require additional safety measures, particularly during the summer months.”
“Leo’s quite familiar with those paths,” Charlotte offers. “He used to disappear up there for days when he was a boy. Drove security mad.”
“Did I?” Leo’s voice carries dry amusement. “As I recall, I wasn’t the one who required a rescue after getting lost following a goat trail.”
“That was one time!” Charlotte protests. “And besides, if you’d just told me where you were going—“
“Children,” Katherine interrupts, though her eyes sparkle with mirth. “Perhaps we could save the family stories for a less formal occasion?”
But I file away this new information. I’d known Leo was comfortable in the mountains—had seen his skill firsthand during our deployments.
But the image of him seeking solitude in those sacred heights, drawn to the same wild places that call to my heart.
.. it adds another layer to the man I thought I knew.
“The blessing ceremony will begin at dawn,” the Queen announces, signalling the meal’s end. “I trust you’ll have a restful night.”
Jon helps her to her feet, laying a gentle hand on her belly as he waits for her to steady herself. She murmurs something to him, placing her hand over his with a smile.
The ache in my chest grows. I have no wish for children, but I want exactly what they have—companionship, understanding, connection and love.
I glance over at Leo, finding his gaze already on me. Our eyes hold, something passing between us.
“Good night,” he murmurs, rising from his seat.
“Good night, Leo.” I watch him walk away, wondering if he’ll ever again let down the walls he keeps so high.