Chapter 10 Leo
LEO
“Absolutely not.” The Prime Minister’s voice is firm as she closes the folder in front of her. “I understand your passion for this project, Your Highness, but what you’re proposing is simply not feasible.”
I clench my jaw, fighting to maintain my diplomatic composure despite the anger building inside me. We’ve been in this conference room for three hours, going in circles as Jane Beesley systematically dismantles every proposal I’ve put forward.
Across the table, Elder Kiri sits with remarkable stillness, her weathered face impassive though I can sense her growing displeasure.
Beside her, Matua Hemi and three other tribal elders watch the proceedings with increasingly stony expressions.
Their presence adds weight to the proceedings—these aren’t just political representatives but the living embodiments of our cultural heritage.
“We’ve identified alternatives for the mining operations,” I say, tapping the report my team has spent weeks preparing. “The geological surveys clearly show viable deposits outside the sacred boundaries.”
“At twice the extraction cost,” Jane counters. “The companies have existing permits, Your Highness. We cannot legally force them to abandon sites they’ve already invested millions in developing.”
“Cannot? Or will not?” Elder Kiri’s voice cuts through the room, quiet yet somehow commanding full attention. “These places have belonged to our ancestors since time immemorial. Your permits are but pieces of paper, written yesterday.”
The mining executives shift uncomfortably under her direct gaze.
“We’re not asking them to abandon anything permanently,” I interject, trying to steer back to diplomacy. “We’re asking for a temporary halt while we finalize the protection framework. Six months. Surely that’s not an unreasonable request.”
The cultural heritage representatives nod in agreement, but the mining industry delegates shake their heads, their expressions unyielding.
“Six months represents an entire operational season,” says Harold Thorpe, CEO of Astipian Mineral Resources. “The cost would be astronomical.”
“And the cost of losing our sacred heritage is immeasurable,” counters Elder Kiri, her calm voice belying the fire in her eyes. “Once these sites are damaged, they cannot be restored. The voices of our ancestors silenced forever.”
Matua Hemi leans forward, his massive forearms resting on the table.
“When your ancestors first came to our land, mine welcomed them with open arms. We shared our knowledge, our resources, our sacred places.” His deep voice resonates with controlled anger.
“And now you treat these places as obstacles to profit.”
“With all due respect, Elder,” Jane interjects, “we must balance cultural preservation with economic realities. I’ve reviewed the list of sites, and while some clearly warrant immediate protection, others...” She trails off, her meaning clear.
“You want us to sacrifice some sites for the sake of expediency.” My voice comes out harder than intended, the diplomatic veneer slipping.
“I want a workable solution, Your Highness,” she corrects, her tone cooling. “One that doesn’t trigger a recession or lawsuits that would tie up the protection efforts for years.”
I glance across the table to where Rangi sits with the tribal delegation. His expression remains professional, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the careful way he maintains his composure. Our eyes meet briefly, his offering silent support before I turn back to the Prime Minister.
“These aren’t just rocks and trees we’re discussing, Prime Minister. They’re the foundation of our cultural identity.”
“I understand that,” Jane says, though her tone suggests otherwise. “But I have to consider all Astipians, not just those with tribal heritage.”
A ripple of tension passes through the elders. Even Elder Kiri, typically unflappable, stiffens at the implicit suggestion that tribal concerns are somehow separate from “all Astipians.”
“All Astipians benefit from preserving our shared heritage,” I counter, keeping my voice level with effort. “These sites aren’t just tribal property—they’re national treasures.”
“National treasures that happen to sit on billions in mineral resources,” mutters one of the mining executives.
Matua Hemi’s eyes narrow dangerously at the comment. “Our ancestors’ bones rest in that soil you so eagerly wish to excavate,” he says, his voice low but carrying. “Would you speak so callously of digging beneath your own grandfather’s grave?”
The executive has the grace to look abashed, but the damage is done. The atmosphere in the room has shifted from tense negotiation to something approaching hostility.
“You asked for compromise,” I say, focusing on Jane. “We’ve offered it. Scaled back protection zones, phased implementation, tax incentives for the mining companies. But you keep moving the goalposts.”
“I’m being realistic,” she insists. “The bill as written would never pass Parliament.”
“You haven’t even tried.”
Jane’s expression hardens. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I’m not doing my job, Your Highness.”
“And I don’t appreciate being placated with empty promises.” The words slip out before I can stop them, my frustration finally cracking through the royal composure I’ve maintained for hours.
The room falls silent. Jane straightens in her chair, her eyes narrowing at my breach of protocol. As Prime Minister, she’s accustomed to deference, even from royalty.
Elder Kiri claps her hands once, the sharp sound cutting through the tension.
“Perhaps,” she says, her voice mild though her eyes are anything but, “we should take a moment to remember why we gather.” She turns to the Prime Minister.
“When the first settlers came, did they not sign treaties promising to respect the sacred lands?”
“That was centuries ago,” Jane begins, but Elder Kiri raises a hand.
“Time does not diminish truth,” she says simply. “The promises made by your ancestors bind you still, just as the promises of mine bind me.” She looks to each person at the table in turn. “We do not ask for charity or special consideration. We ask for respect of agreements made in good faith.”
Her words hang in the air, powerful in their simplicity.
Victoria clears her throat, glancing at her tablet. “Given the hour and the complexity of the issues we’re discussing, perhaps it would be best to adjourn for the day. We can reconvene tomorrow morning when everyone has had time to review the latest proposals.”
Jane looks momentarily relieved at the diplomatic out. “I think that’s wise. We all need time to consider our positions.” She gathers her papers. “We’ll resume at nine tomorrow.”
As people begin to rise, Matua Hemi’s voice stops them. “Before we leave,” he says, his gaze fixed on the Prime Minister, “I must ask, do you intend to honour the treaties signed by your predecessors? Or shall we tell our children that the word of the government means nothing?”
Jane hesitates, clearly caught off guard by the direct challenge. “Of course we honour our treaties,” she says finally. “But modern circumstances require modern interpretations.”
“Convenient,” Matua Hemi comments, rising to his impressive height. “That these ‘modern interpretations’ always seem to favour those who already have power.”
With that parting shot, he and the other elders file out, their dignity palpable despite the obvious dismissal they’ve just experienced.
As the room empties, Jane gestures for me to remain. “A word, Your Highness?”
I nod tersely, waiting until we’re alone before speaking. “Prime Minister.”
“You’re undermining me,” she says without preamble. “This project was always going to require compromise, Leo. You know that.”
“What I know,” I reply, “is that you promised your full support during your campaign. That the protection of sacred sites was, and I quote, ‘a moral imperative for modern Astipia.’”
She sighs, suddenly looking tired. “Politics requires nuance. What sounds good on the campaign trail isn’t always practical in governance.”
“So it was just a convenient slogan? A way to secure the tribal vote?”
“That’s unfair,” she says, though she doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “I’m trying to find a path forward, but you’re digging in your heels on every point. The Valley of Whispers alone would cost—“
“The Valley isn’t negotiable.” My tone makes it clear this is a line I will not cross.
“Nothing is non-negotiable in politics,” she counters. “That’s the first rule of governance.”
“Then perhaps we need new rules.” I gather my papers, my patience exhausted. “Because I won’t be part of a process that values profit over heritage.”
“Leo—”
“Your Majesty,” I correct, deliberately formal. “And this conversation is over. I’ll see you after the recess.”
I stride from the room before she can respond, my blood pounding in my ears. The corridor outside is mercifully empty, allowing me to maintain my dignity as I make my way toward my private quarters.
Victoria catches up to me halfway there, her expression concerned. “Your Highness, that was—”
“I know.” I don’t slow my pace. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“Actually, I was going to say it was rather restrained, given the circumstances.” She keeps pace beside me. “But the Prime Minister isn’t used to being challenged.”
“Then she’s in for an educational experience.” I reach the door to my quarters, pausing with my hand on the handle. “I need time alone, Victoria. No meetings for the rest of the day.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Of course. I’ll ensure you’re not disturbed.”
Inside my quarters, I close the door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the quiet space. For a moment, I simply stand there, eyes closed, trying to rein in the anger and frustration threatening to overwhelm me.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But it’s no use. Months of work, years of planning, seem to be crumbling before my eyes. Jane’s resistance isn’t unexpected, but her unwillingness to even fight for the bill is a betrayal I hadn’t anticipated.
With a muttered curse, I sweep the carefully arranged papers from my desk, watching them scatter across the floor. The childish gesture brings no relief, only a vague sense of embarrassment at my loss of control.
This isn’t who you are.
Except maybe it is. Maybe beneath the carefully cultivated royal composure, I’m just as human, just as flawed as anyone else. Just as capable of anger and disappointment, of passion and desire.
The thought of desire brings Rangi to mind—his steady presence during the meeting, the way his eyes had met mine in silent support. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine seeking him out, finding comfort in his arms, his lips.
No. Not now. Not when everything is falling apart.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
“I said no interruptions,” I call, not bothering to mask my irritation.
The door opens anyway, revealing Rangi. He steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“Victoria said you needed space,” he says, taking in the scattered papers and my dishevelled appearance. “But I thought you might need something different.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, not moving from where I stand, my heart pounding.
“Me.”