Chapter 9 Rangi
RANGI
Ipause at the entrance to the small morning room, momentarily taken aback by the informal tableau before me. The royal family—minus the Queen who apparently takes breakfast in her private quarters these days—lounges around a long table laden with food, looking remarkably... normal.
Princess Charlotte perches on her chair with one leg tucked beneath her, gesturing animatedly as she tells some story that has her husband Roy chuckling into his coffee.
Leo sits across from them, dressed in a simple shirt that brings out the amber flecks in his dark eyes, his hair still slightly damp from a morning shower.
The formal prince from yesterday’s ceremony is nowhere to be seen.
When he spots me hovering in the doorway, his expression shifts—pleasure, and something like nervousness flashing across his features before settling into a casual smile.
“Captain,” he greets, using my title even as his eyes convey a more intimate recognition. “Join us for breakfast?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” I move into the room, nodding respectfully to the others. “Princess Charlotte. Mr. Knight.”
“It’s Lottie and Roy in here,” Charlotte corrects, waving toward an empty chair beside Leo. “We leave the titles at the door during family meals.”
Family meals. The phrase catches me off guard, warming something in my chest even as I remind myself not to read too much into it. One night together doesn’t make me family.
I slide into the seat beside Leo, close enough that our knees brush beneath the table. He doesn’t pull away.
“Sleep well?” he asks, passing me a platter of fresh fruit.
“Reasonably.” I select a few pieces, careful to keep my tone neutral despite the heat simmering under my skin. “And you?”
A flush creeps up his neck. “Fine,” he says, a little too quickly.
Across the table, Charlotte’s gaze bounces between us, her smile widening. “Leo never sleeps well during negotiations,” she offers, butter knife waving in the air. “Too busy planning strategies and rehearsing speeches in his head.”
“I do not rehearse speeches,” Leo protests, though his lips twitch with humour.
“Oh please.” Charlotte rolls her eyes. “You’ve been practicing arguments in your sleep since we were children. I used to spy on you talking to your stuffed animals about taxation policies.”
Roy’s deep laugh joins Charlotte’s giggle as Leo groans, dropping his head in mock despair.
“This is why I never invite you to breakfast,” he tells his sister, but there’s no heat in it.
I bite back a smile, charmed by this glimpse into their relationship—so different from the formal, reserved interactions I’ve witnessed in public. Leo’s shoulders appear lighter here, his smiles coming more easily, and I find myself falling a little harder for this version of him.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, allowing my leg to press more firmly against his under the table. “Your secret nerdiness is safe with me.”
He glances at me with warm humour. “Why don’t I believe you?”
I can’t help but tease him a little. “Perhaps because I owe you for telling our entire squad about the mountain lion?”
“If it helps, his teddy was his financial advisor,” Charlotte adds helpfully.
I snort. “It does.”
“You know, Big Bear was actually quite fiscally conservative,” Leo deadpans. “We disagreed often.”
I laugh, delighted by this playful side of him. “I’ll have to meet Mr. Big someday. Compare notes.”
Leo’s eyes meet mine, holding for a beat too long. “Perhaps you will.”
The moment stretches between us, full of possibilities.
“Pass the coffee?” Roy’s request breaks the tension, though I notice his perceptive gaze taking in our interaction.
As breakfast continues, I find myself relaxing into the easy camaraderie.
Charlotte regales us with stories of her time in Alaska, while Roy occasionally interjects with dry observations that have Leo chuckling.
It feels surprisingly comfortable, as if I’ve found my way into a space I didn’t know I was seeking.
“Ah, there you are.” Elder Kiri’s voice from the doorway turns all heads. She stands with my granduncle Matua Hemi. “We wondered where our wayward captain had disappeared to.”
I stand, bowing slightly in respect. “Elders. The royal family graciously invited me to join them.”
“So we see.” Elder Kiri’s eyes twinkle as she takes in the scene, lingering momentarily on the proximity between Leo and me. “How fortunate. We were just coming to discuss today’s meetings, but perhaps we’re interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Leo says, rising to greet them properly. “Please, join us.”
As servants hurry to add settings, I catch Matua Hemi watching Leo with a knowing expression. He glances at me with a look that makes me want to squirm like a boy caught stealing sweet cakes.
“You know, Hemi and I were walking through the grounds last night and it put me in mind of the constellations,” Elder Kiri says as she settles into her chair, accepting a cup of tea. “And I was reminded of a story that young Prince Leo might remember.”
Something in her tone puts me on alert. Kiri never shares stories randomly; there’s always purpose behind her tellings.
“Please share,” Leo says, offering her a plate of fruit. “I’d love to hear it.”
“Do you know the story of Mirahan and Ahkenti?” She waves off the plate, her weathered hands cradling her teacup.
Leo frowns. “I’m afraid not.”
“Ah, then let me share.” She closes her eyes, humming for a second before blinking open.
“In the time before time, when our people first walked this land, there lived two warriors of great renown. Ahkenti was born to the mountains, strong as stone and silent as shadow. Mirakan came from the coastal tribes, quick as the tide and bright as sun on water.”
Around the table, conversation falls away. Even Charlotte, who had been buttering toast, sets down her knife to listen.
“They met on the battlefield, each fighting for their tribe’s honour,” Elder Kiri continues. “Such was their skill that neither could best the other, and after a day and night of combat, they fell exhausted to the ground, weapons cast aside.”
Hemi takes up the tale, his deep voice resonant in the quiet room. “When they woke, they looked upon each other not as enemies but as equals—the only men who had ever matched each other in skill and heart. Ahkenti offered Mirakan water from his own flask, and Mirakan shared bread from his pack.”
“Together,” Elder Kiri says, “they realized the folly of their tribes’ conflict. They swore a bond deeper than blood, pledging to bring their peoples to peace.”
“For many seasons, they worked together,” Matua Hemi says, his gaze shifting between Leo and me. “Two warriors of different worlds, united in purpose. And as they travelled between mountain and sea, something grew between them—a bond that transcended friendship, that burned with the fire of stars.”
I hold still, every word of the old story sinking beneath my skin like river stones. Around us, the room is silent, reverent, but my focus narrows to the man beside me.
Beneath the table, our hands rest in our laps, close but not touching.
Then—gods—Leo moves.
Slowly, deliberately, he slides his pinkie toward mine, looping it around my finger in the smallest, most private tether. A silent choice.
My breath catches.
He’s never reached out first. Not like this. Not in public.
And it shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It’s just a pinkie. But it ignites something in my chest—hope.
“They became kaheiti maraki,” Elder Kiri says, using the ancient term for warrior partners who were also lovers. “Their souls entwined as one.”
Charlotte leans forward, clearly captivated. “What happened to them?”
Matua Hemi’s expression turns solemn. “The tribes were not ready for peace. On the day they were to sign the treaty, enemies who wished for war attacked the gathering. Ahkenti and Mirakan fought back-to-back, protecting their people until the last enemy fell.”
“But Mirakan was gravely wounded,” Elder Kiri continues. “As he lay dying in Ahkenti’s arms, the gods themselves were moved by their devotion. The sky darkened, and a great wind rose from the sea.”
“The gods declared that such love should not end,” Matua Hemi says. “That such warriors should be honoured for all time. As Mirakan’s spirit left his body, Ahkenti’s followed, unwilling to remain where his beloved could not.”
Elder Kiri points upward, as if the ceiling of the breakfast room were the night sky.
“The gods placed them among the stars, two bright points of light that never set, never fade. If you look to the northern sky on the longest night of the year, you will see them—the Warrior Stars, forever circling one another, forever together.”
“And so they would find each other again and again,” Matua Hemi adds, his eyes meeting mine briefly before shifting to Leo, “in this life and every other. For souls that are meant to be together cannot be kept apart—not by custom, not by duty, not by fear.”
The silence that follows feels heavy with meaning.
I don’t look at Leo. I don’t have to. His pinkie stays wrapped around mine. And in that tiny touch, I feel the quiet weight of a promise. I stare at my plate, acutely aware of the careful way he maintains composure despite the flush creeping up his neck.
“What a beautiful story,” Charlotte says finally, her voice soft. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”
“It is not told often outside our tribe,” Elder Kiri agrees. “For many years such stories were hidden away. But it seemed... appropriate to share today.”
My granduncle lifts his teacup in a small gesture that might appear casual to others but that I recognize as a blessing. “To warriors who find their true path, whatever shape it may take.”
“Here, here,” Roy murmurs, lifting his coffee cup in echo.
Leo clears his throat, his composure remarkable despite the obvious message being conveyed. “Thank you for sharing, Elders. Our mythology is rich with such tales of devotion and courage.”
“Mythology?” Elder Kiri’s eyebrow raises. “Oh no, young prince. This is history. The stars remain, after all. And their spirits walk among us still.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I know she sees more than I’m ready to admit even to myself. The knowledge of generations sits behind her gaze—the wisdom of a woman who has watched the patterns of the world long enough to recognize them repeating.
“Speaking of history,” Leo says carefully, “should we could discuss the day’s agenda? I understand the Prime Minister has requested a preliminary meeting. I’m hopeful that we might put pressure on her to secure our history in a more expedient manner.”
The conversation shifts to safer territory—schedules and strategies for the negotiations ahead. I participate as expected, offering suggestions while carefully maintaining a professional veneer. But beneath the table, his hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing before he releases me.
And so they would find each other again and again, in this life and every other.
The words echo in my mind as I catch my granduncle watching us with something like satisfaction.
Later, as the meeting breaks up and we prepare to head to our respective responsibilities for the day, Elder Kiri catches me in the hallway.
“The stars align as they will, young one,” she says cryptically, taking my offered arm. “It is not our place to question their paths.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, though we both know it’s a lie.
Her laugh is soft, knowing. “Don’t you? I have watched you since you were a boy, Rangi. I know your heart.” She pats my arm. “And I know what it means when you look at someone the way you look at him.”
I should deny it but lying to Kiri has never been possible.
“It’s complicated,” I say instead.
“The young often think so,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“But as you get older, you begin to see that many things are simpler than they appear. The heart knows what it wants, Rangi. It’s our minds that create the complications.
” She reaches up to touch my temple, a gesture she hasn’t made since I was a child.
“You carry our people’s stories in your blood, my darling. Listen to them.”
Before I can respond, she turns and walks away, leaving me to wonder exactly how much the elders have guessed—and how much they’ve always known.
I find Leo waiting at the end of the corridor, his expression cautious as I approach.
“She knows?” he asks quietly.
“I think so,” I agree, falling into step beside him as we walk toward the meeting rooms. “But our secret is safe with her.”
“Do you think that story is real?” he asks, carefully not looking at me.
I consider my answer, weighing honesty against discretion. “I have no reason not to believe it. It’s one that stretches back to the beginning of our people,” I say finally. “And forward to the stars.”
He’s silent for a moment before a small smile touches his lips. “That’s quite poetic for a military man.”
“Don’t sound surprised.” I bump him gently with my shoulder. “I happen to contain multitudes.”
His laugh is soft but genuine. “Clearly.”
We pause at the door to the conference room, the sounds of gathering officials audible from within. In a moment, we’ll step inside and become Prince and Captain again, representatives of our respective interests.
“About last night,” he says quietly.
“No regrets?” I ask, suddenly uncertain.
His eyes meet mine, steady and clear. “None.”
Relief washes through me. “Good. Nor I.”
For a heartbeat, we simply look at each other, the memory of kisses in moonlight hanging between us. Then Leo straightens, his public persona settling into place.
“After you, Captain,” he says formally, holding the door.
I incline my head in acknowledgment, stepping into the room with him close behind. Whatever comes next—political battles, public scrutiny, personal doubts—I’ll face it for the look in his eyes—the one that gives me hope.