Chapter 7 Rangi
RANGI
Istay on the mat for a long time after Leo flees, staring at the ceiling and trying to get my breathing and body under control. My lips still burn from his kiss, my body aching where his pressed against mine.
Well, that went exactly as expected.
With a groan, I push to my feet. The palace gym feels too empty now, the space where he should be a void I can’t ignore.
A soft cough draws my attention to the door. Princess Charlotte stands there, one eyebrow raised as she takes in my dishevelled state.
“Good workout?”
I consider lying, but there’s something in her expression that suggests she knows exactly what transpired. “Your brother,” I say instead, “is the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”
“Mmm.” She walks further into the gym, settling onto one of the benches. “Did you know he requested to be transferred from your unit?”
That pulls me up short. “What?”
“Oh yes.” She watches me with those knowing eyes that remind me so much of her grandmother.
“It was after the picture of him in that nightclub leaked.” Her lips turn down.
“That’s the problem with being a royal—no privacy.
Leo should have had time to discover his sexuality and share it himself, not have it splashed upon the pages of a gossip rag. ”
“It was horrible,” I agree as I grab a towel, wiping sweat from my face. “But that was years ago. Why bring it up now, Princess?”
“Lottie,” she corrects, taking a seat on one of the weight benches. “And I raise it because here you both are, circling each other like wary cats.” She soothes her dress. “You know, I used to think duty meant sacrifice. That loving someone meant giving up who you are.”
Her hand drifts to her wedding ring—turning the modest gold and sapphire piece.
“What changed?”
“I realized that duty without love is obligation. And obligation without heart serves no one.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “He’s probably gone to the meditation arch. He always does when he’s trying to convince himself he’s doing the right thing by being noble and self-sacrificing.”
I stare at her. “Why are you telling me this?”
Her smile is gentle but determined. “Because he deserves happiness despite his fear. And don’t mistake me—that is exactly what he’s feeling right now.
He’s worried that the nightclub incident and following scandal will occur all over again.
” She rises from her seat. “He’s worried about everyone but the person he should be concerned most with—himself.
” She tilts her head to one side. “And, perhaps, you.”
Her smile is small when she sees my expression. “Don’t give up on him, Captain. He may be scared now—but he has the greatest capacity for love I’ve ever seen. Scale his walls and you’ll be well rewarded.”
She leaves me with that thought, her quiet footsteps fading down the corridor.
Scale his walls.
I look down at my hands, remembering the feel of Leo’s pulse racing under my fingers.
Remembering all the times in the field when he had my back, all the nights we shared stories and songs, all the moments we pretended meant nothing more than simple friendship when the air between us practically burned.
Right path, I’d told him. Even when it’s hard.
I linger in the gym a while longer, giving myself time to cool down—both physically and emotionally. In the field, rushing headlong into a situation was how soldiers got killed. This requires strategy, patience.
I shower quickly in the adjoining facilities, changing into the casual clothes I’d brought with me. As water sluices away the sweat of our encounter, I find myself replaying our kiss, the way Leo melted against me before panic took over.
This isn’t the first time he’s run. An echo of memory surfaces—a night in the mountains during our deployment, huddled around a dying fire as our unit slept nearby.
“My grandmother would have liked you,” Leo had said, his voice barely audible as we shared night watch. “She always said I needed someone who wouldn’t let me hide.”
“Hide?” I’d asked, watching the firelight play across his aristocratic features.
His smile had been sad, his gaze fixed on the embers. “It’s easier, sometimes. To be what everyone expects rather than what you are.”
I’d shifted closer then, our shoulders nearly touching. “And what are you, Leo? When no one’s watching?”
For a heartbeat, something vulnerable had flashed in his eyes. His hand had moved, fingers brushing mine in the darkness—deliberate, questioning. The contact had sent electricity up my arm, stealing my breath.
Then shouting from the perimeter had shattered the moment. By the time we’d addressed the false alarm, the walls were back up, and Leo had maintained careful distance for days afterward.
I shake away the memory, determination settling in my chest.
Not this time. He doesn’t get to run again.
The palace at dusk is a maze of corridors and courtyards. Staff nod respectfully as I pass, but I catch their curious glances and the whispers that follow. Word travels fast in royal households, and my interest in the prince hasn’t gone unnoticed.
I find my way outside, the evening air cool against my skin as I navigate toward the heritage gardens and the meditation arch.
The gardens grow wilder as I move deeper, the manicured lawns giving way to more natural growth. Ancient trees whisper overhead, their leaves rustling secrets in the gathering dusk. This feels more like home—more like my tribal lands where natural beauty is valued over ordered constraint.
I slow my pace as the arch comes into view, its weathered stones glowing in the last rays of sunlight. And there—a silhouette against the dying light—Leo stands with his back to me, his posture rigid even in solitude.
I halt to watch him. There’s something almost sacred about witnessing him like this, an unguarded moment stolen from the world. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and then his head drops forward slightly—a rare display of the weight he carries.
The vulnerability holds me captive. How often does he allow himself this fragile peace? How rarely does the prince dissolve, leaving only the man behind?
As if sensing my presence, his back straightens, his head lifting.
“Go away, Rangi.” His voice carries on the evening air, though he doesn’t turn to face me.
There’s weariness threaded beneath his command. Defeat hiding in his cadence. It’s the quiet, desperate exhaustion only someone who’s shared foxholes and firelight with him could hear.
He’s not angry.
He’s exhausted and resigned.
I take a deliberate step forward, twigs and leaves crunching beneath my boots. “No.”
His shoulders tense further. “I’m not in the mood for company.”
“Too bad,” I reply, continuing my approach. “Because I’m not in the mood to be dismissed. Even if you are my prince.”
He turns then, finally meeting my gaze. The setting sun catches in his dark eyes, turning them to amber fire. Even with frustration etched into his features, he’s devastatingly handsome.
“What do you want?” The question carries more weight than its simple words suggest.
“I can see that you’re tired of pretending your crown weighs nothing.” I stop a few paces from him, close enough to see the tension in his jaw but far enough to give him space. “Let me help. Give me the truth.”
Something flashes across his face—pain, longing, fear—before his diplomatic mask falls back into place. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
“Then help me understand,” I challenge, taking another step closer. “Make me understand why you kissed me like you’ve been waiting years to do it, then ran like I burned you.”
The direct reference to our kiss makes his composure slip, a flush spreading up his neck. “It was a mistake.”
“Was it?” Another step closer. “Did it really feel like a mistake to you? Cause it didn’t to me.”
He turns away, but not before I catch the conflict in his eyes. “This conversation is over.”
I move quickly then, circling to block his retreat. “No, it isn’t.”
We stand face to face in the shadow of the ancient arch, close enough that I can see the pulse jumping in his throat. The air between us feels charged, electric with all the things we’ve left unsaid.
“You can’t hide forever, Leo,” I say softly, letting his name fall between us without titles or distance.
His eyes close briefly, as if the sound of his name from my lips causes physical pain. When they open again, something has shifted in their depths.
“What if I don’t know how to stop?” The question comes as barely more than a whisper, raw with honesty. “What if I don’t know how to want something and let myself have it?”
And there it is—the crack in his armour I’ve been waiting for.
“Let me help,” I answer, my hand lifting slowly, giving him time to pull away as my fingers brush his cheek.
He doesn’t move, his breath catching as I touch him. For a heartbeat we’re suspended in possibility, the world narrowing to just the two of us in the fading light.
Then a branch snaps in the distance—someone approaching along the garden path.
Leo steps back, his walls slamming into place so quickly I can almost hear them.
The distance between us widens, not just in steps but in all the ways that matter. And gods, it stings. I want to be angry but I can’t. How can I, when I know what it costs him just to be so vulnerable?
I let the sting settle into something quieter. Not bitterness. Not even disappointment. Just compassion. And a hope that maybe—soon—he won’t step back.
“Meet me here tomorrow,” I say quickly, before we’re interrupted. “After the official ceremonies. We’ll finish this conversation.”
I think he’ll refuse. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
“Your Highness?” Victoria’s voice carries through the garden. “The Queen is asking for you.”
Leo straightens, his public persona settling over him like a cloak. “I’ll be right there.”
He moves past me without another word, but his fingers brush mine as he passes—deliberate, lingering. A promise.
I watch him go, silhouetted against the twilight, duty pulling him away even as something else pulls him toward me.
Tomorrow, I think. Tomorrow he’ll stop hiding.