Chapter 12 Rangi #2
“Kit?” Leo straightens, concern immediate in his voice.
She holds up a hand, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine. Just a false contraction. I’ve been having them on and off since yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Leo’s voice rises slightly. “Shouldn’t you be in the medical wing?”
“Don’t be dramatic. First babies take forever, and these are just practice contractions.” She shifts uncomfortably. “Now, as I was saying—”
She stops again, this time making a small sound of discomfort that has both Leo and me on our feet.
“Kit,” Leo says firmly, “I think we should call the doctor.”
“It’s nothing,” she insists, though her face suggests otherwise. “Just Braxton Hicks. The doctor said they could start weeks before the actual—oh!”
This time, there’s no mistaking the visible pain as she grips the edge of the sofa, her knuckles whitening.
“I’ll get Jonathan,” I say, already moving toward the door.
“No need to panic,” Kit manages through gritted teeth. “It’s probably just—”
Her words cut off as she shifts and a sudden rush of fluid soaks the sofa beneath her.
“Or perhaps not,” she finishes weakly, looking up with wide eyes. “I think my water just broke.”
The next few minutes are a blur of activity.
I run to fetch Jonathan and the royal physician while Leo helps Kit to a more comfortable position.
By the time I return with the Prince Consort and medical staff in tow, the Queen’s contractions are coming regularly, her composed facade giving way to the reality of impending childbirth.
“Sorry about your sofa,” she tells Leo as they transfer her to a wheelchair. “Send me the bill.”
Leo laughs, the sound tinged with anxious affection. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
Jonathan kneels beside the wheelchair, taking his wife’s hand. “Ready to meet our children, my queen?”
She grimaces through another contraction. “I think they’re rather insistent on the introduction.”
As they prepare to move her to the medical wing, Kit suddenly reaches out, grabbing my arm with surprising strength. “Rangi,” she says, her voice clear despite her discomfort, “take care of my brother. He needs someone who sees him as Leo, not just as the prince.”
Before I can respond, she turns to Leo. “And you—don’t mess this up. He’s good for you.”
Leo flushes, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Damn right, ‘Your Majesty,’” she retorts, then grimaces as another contraction hits. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Jonathan wheels her away, the medical team following close behind, leaving Leo and me standing in the middle of his sitting room, the abandoned tea and folders still scattered across the table.
“Well,” Leo says after a moment, “that was...”
“Dramatic?” I suggest.
“I was going to say ‘typical Kit,’ but dramatic works too.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m coming to recognize as a sign of emotional processing. “I’m going to be an uncle.”
I smile, moving to stand beside him. “You mean again. I’m pretty sure you’re already an uncle.”
“True, but this time I’ll actually be here for the birth.” He turns to face me, his expression suddenly serious. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About us figuring things out as we go?”
“Every word,” I assure him. “Why?”
He gestures to the scattered papers, the evidence of Kit’s impromptu strategy session. “Because I think I might have a solution to our problem. One that doesn’t require constitutional crisis or political warfare.”
“I’m listening.”
“What if,” he says slowly, “instead of trying to block mining permits individually or creating a special category of protection that politicians can chip away at, we establish a national heritage trust? Place all the sacred sites under its protection as cultural parks—similar to national parks but with special recognition of their spiritual significance.”
I consider this, seeing the potential. “It would need to include tribal oversight.”
“Of course. In fact, the governing board could be majority tribal representatives.” His eyes light up as the idea takes shape. “We could frame it as honouring the new royal births—a commitment to protecting Astipian heritage for future generations.”
“The ‘Future of Astipia Act,’” I suggest, catching his enthusiasm.
“Exactly! It would be hard for even Jane Beesley to oppose something celebrating royal heirs and national heritage—not to mention securing green spaces for the future generations to enjoy.” He paces now, energy radiating from him.
“We’d need to move quickly, though, while the public goodwill from the births is at its peak. ”
“It could work,” I agree, impressed by the elegant simplicity of the solution. “But what about the Valley of Whispers and the other sites with active mining interests already in place?”
His expression turns determined. “We offer a compromise—phased transition for existing operations but no new development. And generous tax incentives for companies that voluntarily relocate.”
“The elders might be willing to accept that, as long as there’s a firm timeline and guarantees against expansion.”
Leo nods, then suddenly laughs. “Leave it to Kit to go into labour in the middle of a political crisis and somehow inspire a solution.” He steps closer, reaching for my hand. “What do you think? Should we draft a proposal while we wait for news?”
I squeeze his fingers, loving this glimpse of him in his element—passionate, strategic, determined to protect what matters. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. And I’m happy to help however I can.”
His smile warms me from the inside out. “Good, because I suspect we’re about to spend the next several hours alternating between drafting policy and pacing nervously outside the medical wing.”
I laugh, lifting his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”
The royal baby—arrives just after midnight, her birth announced by the traditional ringing of bells that echoes across the capital. By dawn, the palace is buzzing with the news, flags raised and celebrations beginning throughout the country.
Leo and I, along with Charlotte and Roy, spend most of the night in a waiting room outside the medical wing, working with a flurry of lawyers and policy makers to draft the outline of the Future of Astipia Bill between updates from Jonathan and the medical staff.
By morning, we have both a basic policy framework and two healthy royal children to celebrate.
“She’s perfect,” Charlotte says, emerging from visiting her sister and the newborn. “Absolutely perfect. And Kit is already terrifying the nurses, so she’s clearly doing well.”
“Has she decided on a name yet?” Leo asks, stifling a yawn. Despite the long night, his eyes are bright with excitement.
Charlotte grins. “Officially, she’ll be Princess Aroyah Fiona. Unofficially, she’s already calling her ‘Chaos.’”
Roy laughs, his arm around Charlotte’s waist. “Fitting.”
“She’s asking for you,” Charlotte tells Leo. “Both of you, actually.” She gives me a look, and I realize with a start that I’m being included in this intimate family moment.
Leo glances at me, a question in his eyes that I answer with a nod.
Together, we make our way to the private room where the Queen of Astipia reclines on a hospital bed, looking remarkably composed for someone who has just given birth.
Jonathan sits beside her, holding his sleeping first born toddler, Eleanor, while Kit cradles the baby.
“There you are,” Kit says when we enter, her voice tired but triumphant. “Come meet your niece.”
Leo approaches the bed with reverence, his eyes fixed on the tiny bundle. “She’s beautiful, Kit.”
“Of course she is. She’s mine.” But her smile softens the boast. “Would you like to hold her?” She offers the bundle in her arms.
With careful movements, Leo takes his niece, cradling her with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. “Hello, Princess,” he whispers. “Welcome to the world.”
I hang back, feeling like an intruder on this family moment, but Kit beckons me forward. “Rangi, come here. Fiona should meet her uncle’s partner.”
The casual acknowledgment takes me by surprise. Leo looks up from the baby, his expression a warm mix of contentment and pleasure.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Kit says, rolling her eyes. “I caught you in bed together. I’m sleep-deprived, not amnesiac.”
Jonathan chuckles. “You might as well get used to it. Once Kit decides something, resistance is futile.”
With a sense of unreality, I find myself taking the baby from Leo. And just like that, I’m holding a sleeping Princess, her prefect little face peaceful in rest. “She’s amazing,” I say, slightly overwhelmed by the trust being placed in me.
“She is,” Kit agrees, watching me with those perceptive eyes so like her brother’s.
“And I want her—and Eleanor—to grow up knowing all the places of our people—not just from stories, but from experience.” She looks between Leo and me.
“Did you make any progress on that plan you were discussing when I so inconveniently went into labour?”
Leo laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Literally nothing stops you, does it?”
“Childbirth is a convenient excuse to rest,” Kit says serenely. “Now, tell me about this plan.”
As Leo outlines our idea for the Future of Astipia Bill, I watch Kit’s expression move from interest to enthusiasm. When he finishes, she nods decisively.
“It’s perfect. A national heritage trust with tribal oversight, framed as a legacy for the next generation.” She turns to Jonathan. “What do you think?”
He considers for a moment. “It’s politically savvy. Hard to oppose without seeming to be against climate initiatives, not to mention our future economical interests. The tourism dollars alone make it worthwhile. The mining companies won’t like it, but they can be managed with the right incentives.”
“Exactly.” Kit looks back at Leo and me. “Draft it properly and bring it to me this afternoon. I want to announce it at the same time as the formal birth announcement.”
“This afternoon?” Leo raises an eyebrow. “You just had a baby. Shouldn’t you be resting?”
Kit waves this away. “I’ve had a nap. I’ll rest properly when my country’s heritage is secure.”
Leo and I exchange a glance, both of us recognizing the strategic genius at work. “We’ll have it ready,” Leo promises.
Kit nods, satisfied, then her expression softens as she looks at her daughter. “This is what it’s all about, you know. Not just preserving the past, but securing the future.” Her gaze meets mine, then Leo’s. “For all our children, and their children after them.”
In that moment, holding the tiny princess, I understand what drives the royal siblings’ dedication to their heritage. It’s not just about tradition or culture or even duty—it’s about connection, about ensuring that the threads that bind past, present, and future remain unbroken.
And somehow, unexpectedly, I’ve become part of that tapestry.
Leo looks up, his eyes meeting mine over the sleeping infants, and I see in them the same realization—that what began as a complicated attraction has evolved into something deeper, something with the potential to weave our separate paths into a shared journey.
“For the future,” I agree softly.
“For the future,” Leo echoes, his smile containing all the promise of a new day.