Chapter 4 Leo #2
“The time has come,” Kit announces when I am done, “for the closing. Let us do so with a blessing.” She turns to where Rangi and I stand. “Will you honour us?”
My heart thunders in my chest. We haven’t practiced, haven’t chosen a song. But as Rangi stands, his eyes meet mine and I know—just as we always knew in the field—exactly which song to share.
It begins low, almost a whisper.
“Hei mar ullniak,” I say, calling for our sacred land.
Rangi’s voice answers, deep and sure. “Mar gagado hikeru hu.”
Our spirits hear us.
The harmony builds as we trade lines, singing back and forth the blessing.
“From mountain to sea
From earth to sky
Our blood runs deep
Our hearts beat true
We honour those before
We guard those yet to come
Now and always, we remain”
The call and answer flows between us.
“Guide our path
Light our way
Grant us wisdom
Grant us strength”
Until finally our voices join as one.
“We are children of this land
Born of stone and stars
Forever bound as one”
As our voices rise together in the afternoon air, I feel something shift. Maybe it’s where we are, maybe it’s the power of tradition, or maybe it’s simply the way Rangi’s gaze holds mine, unwavering and full of meaning.
As our voices rise together, I feel something shift. Maybe it’s the sacred space, maybe it’s the power of tradition, or maybe it’s simply the way Rangi’s gaze holds mine, unwavering and full of meaning.
“Our traditions bind
Our choices shape
Honor guides us
Trust sustains us
We are children of this land
Born of stone and stars”
Rangi moves closer as we sing, our bodies turning naturally toward each other as the melody demands more power. In this moment, there is no prince and captain, no duty and protocol—just two warriors sharing the songs of our ancestors.
When we reach the final verse, the one that calls for guidance from those who came before, Rangi’s hand clasps my forearm in the traditional grip. The touch anchors me as our voices soar together, filling the sacred space with centuries of tradition and pride.
“Forever bound as one.”
The last note fades into the morning air. For a heartbeat, silence holds—then Elder Kiri begins the soft rhythmic clapping that signals approval. Others join, the gentle percussion a traditional response to songs well-offered.
Charlotte dabs at her eyes—always the emotional one. Roy’s arm tightens around her shoulders. But it’s Kit’s expression that catches me, knowing, supportive, and carrying something that looks remarkably like pride.
“The ancestors hear,” Elder Kiri declares. “They recognize their children’s voices.”
I step back, my skin still tingling where Rangi’s hand had gripped. His eyes hold mine for a moment longer before we both turn back to our places in the circle.
“The Crown recognizes these sacred places,” Kit declares formally. “They shall be protected, preserved, and honoured according to our ancient ways.” Her gaze finds the Prime Minister’s. “So it shall be in spirit and in law.”
The Prime Minister bows her head in silent agreement.
I can barely breathe through the swell of emotion in my chest. Since I was a boy, tracing the patterns on my grandmother’s peripuni, I’ve dreamed of this—our sacred places protected, our traditions honoured not just in memory but in law.
Father had started this work, but death had taken him before he could see it through.
Kit had given me the freedom to continue it, trusting me to bridge the gap between crown and culture.
Now, watching the Prime Minister’s formal acknowledgment, knowing these sites will be preserved for my nieces and nephews and all the generations to come—it feels like completing a circle. Like fulfilling a promise made long ago, when a young woman was chosen to be the first Rumingha.
I catch my sister’s eye. Kit nods slightly, acknowledging what this means not just to our people, but to me personally.
This is my legacy. Not as a spare heir, not as a soldier, but as a son of two worlds who found a way to protect them both.
My throat is tight as the ceremony is ended. The Elders stand and we are invited to break bread and eat, mingle. The circle breaks, formality giving way to quiet conversation.
I stand but remain where I am, watching as the Elders celebrate with politicians, policy makers mingle with delegations, and Charlotte draws Roy toward the map, pointing out places she recognizes from childhood stories.
This moment is larger than me. It’s larger than any one of us. It is the culmination of all the work of those who have come before.
Emotion hits my chest and for a beat I’m terrified that tears will begin to fall.
I sense him before I hear him—a shift in the air behind me, the subtle scent of sage and cedar that I’ve come to associate with him alone.
A warmth radiates at my back, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through my ceremonial robes.
My skin prickles with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly, acutely attuned to his presence.
“Your Highness.”
His voice, deep and gravelly, caresses the shell of my ear.
He stands so close that his breath stirs the hair at my nape, sending electric tingles cascading down my spine.
My body responds before my mind can catch up—a shiver that starts at my shoulders and travels the length of my back, effectively halting the overwhelm of emotion that had threatened to break through my composure moments before.
I hold perfectly still, caught between the urge to lean back into that warmth and the lifetime of training that keeps my feet firmly planted. The air between us feels charged, weighted with unspoken possibilities.
“I’d like to introduce you to some of my family.”
I suck in a breath, forcing myself to appear composed as I turn to find him surrounded by a group of young and old tribal members I recognize from the previous evening’s dinner. Their faces hold the same strong features as Rangi, though some are weathered by years.
“My grandfather’s brothers,” he introduces, “Matua Hemi and Matua Tane.” The two older men step forward, their peripuni marking them as respected warriors. “And my father’s sister, Whaea Ari.”
She wears a peripuni with the lines of a healer.
She’s small and weathered, with silver in her black hair.
But her eyes are sharp and knowing as she takes my measure.
“We’ve heard much of you, young prince,” she says in our native tongue.
“Both from our grandson and from those who have met you when you attend our land.”
“Only good things, I hope,” I reply in the same language, earning approving nods.
“You honour our traditions,” Matua Hemi says. “It is rare to find any who respect the old ways and are in positions of power.”
“My grandmother made sure of that.” I touch my own peripuni. “She believed we could not lead our people if we forget who we are.”
“Ah yes.” Whaea Ari’s eyes sparkle. “I met your grandmother once. Quite the firecracker.”
I laugh, knowing it’s an understatement. There’s no doubt in our family where Kit gets her fire from.
“Perhaps,” she continues, her gaze flicking between Rangi and me, “she understood that the heart’s truth matters more than duty’s demands.”
Beside me, Rangi goes very still.
“You have a warrior’s spirit,” Ari observes. “Like calls to like.” Her meaningful glance between Rangi and me makes my collar feel too tight.
Before I can respond, Victoria appears at my elbow. “Your Highness, the Prime Minister would like a word.”
Duty. Always duty.
I want to refuse, to say no, not now, not this time. I stay in this circle where I can almost grasp what it might feel like to be simply Leo—a man with desires and connections that have nothing to do with duty or crown or kingdom.
But I can’t. I never can.
The isolation hits me anew, a hollowness carved deeper by this glimpse of what might have been.
How many moments like this have I sacrificed?
How many connections severed before they could take root?
I’m surrounded constantly by people who need something from me, yet I’ve never felt more adrift, more untethered from anything real.
I glance at Rangi, at his family who’ve welcomed me without deference or agenda. What would it be like to belong somewhere not because of birth or title, but because of who I am beneath all the royal trappings? To have conversations that don’t end the moment state matters arise?
With each summons, each interruption, each “urgent matter,” I feel pieces of myself slipping away—lost to duty, to protocol, to the endless needs of a position I never asked for but cannot escape. The walls of the palace, once my sanctuary, now feel more like a beautifully appointed prison.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, bowing slightly to the elders. “It has been an honour to meet Rangi’s family.”
“Rangi?” Matua Hemi’s eyebrows rise. “Is that what you call him?”
“I—” I falter, caught in surprise. “I’m sorry, did I misstep?”
“No.” Mutua glances at Rangi. “I’m just surprised to hear such familiarity from our Prince.”
“Go,” Rangi interrupts smoothly. “We’ll speak later.”
It’s both a rescue and promise, leaving me off-balance as I follow Victoria toward the palace. At the edge of the grove, I can’t help glancing back.
Rangi stands with his family, proud and strong in the morning light, everything a warrior should be. As if sensing my gaze, he turns. For a moment, our eyes meet across the space.
Like calls to like.
I square my shoulders and walk away. But Ari’s words about heart’s truth and duty’s demands echo, and I wonder which one my spirit would choose if only we were free to do so.