Royal Salute | A Gay Forbidden Royalty Romance | Paperback

Five Years Earlier

The fire crackles in the growing darkness, casting warm light across our campsite. The mountains that surround us are shrouded in shadow, but I can feel their towering presence watching over us. 

There’s a story my grandmother used to tell me of giants who once walked the earth. They created the oceans, valleys and rivers then lay down to rest. They slept for so long that dirt collected across their bodies, and trees and animals sprang forth from their skin. These are the mountains that protect us—slumbering giants whose heart still beats. 

I listen to the wind sweeping down from the mountain peak and pull my coat closer, smiling a little as I remember her voice. 

“The wind is their breath, Leo. Can you not hear them snoring?” 

I stretch my legs toward the flames, feeling the pleasant ache of muscles pushed to their limits. Special forces training in the northern mountains of Astipia is brutal this time of year, with temperatures dropping rapidly after sunset. Tonight, we’ve earned a few hours of rest after completing a particularly gruelling exercise.

The rest of the squad headed to their tents ten minutes ago, leaving just Lieutenant Murahka Rangi and me tending the fire and keeping watch. I’m grateful for the solitude. These rare moments when I’m neither lieutenant nor prince are precious to me.

“Getting soft on me, Your Highness?” Murahka’s deep voice carries across the fire, a hint of teasing in his tone. 

I look up to find him watching me with a half-smile that has become increasingly distracting over the past weeks. I wiggle my feet with my own grin. “Just appreciating the chance to feel my extremities again.”

“I’ve heard that toes and fingers are overrated,” he says with a chuckle, moving to sit beside me on the fallen log that serves as our bench. 

I blink, surprised that he’s sitting close enough for our shoulders to almost touch. The firelight flickers across his features—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw softened by a mouth that always seems one breath away from a smirk. His long hair is pulled into a loose braid down his back, and the hint of one of his tattoos peeks out from the cuff of his jacket. Broad-shouldered and quietly powerful, he carries himself with the kind of calm authority that turns heads. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shiver.”

He laughs, the sound warm and rich in the night air. “Unlike you pampered city dwellers, I’m from the mountains where we’re taught to embrace discomfort. My father used to wake me before dawn to swim in mountain lakes, even in winter.”

“Sounds like a harsh teacher.”

“He is.” Murahka’s expression softens in the firelight. “But a good man. He taught me that strength comes in many forms—not just physical power, but endurance, adaptability, compassion.”

I watch him as he speaks, taking in his strong profile illuminated by the fire.

“You did well today,” he says, turning slightly to face me. “That manoeuvre at the ridge—not many soldiers would have attempted it, let alone succeeded.”

“High praise from the man who called my first attempt at the obstacle course ‘abysmal,’” I reply, though there’s no heat in my words.

“You acted like you were afraid to get dirt on your uniform,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You’ve improved immensely since then.”

“I have a good teacher.” I hold his gaze a moment longer than necessary, something I’ve been doing more often lately—testing boundaries, searching for signs that this pull I feel isn’t entirely one-sided.

“You have determination,” he corrects. “Most men with your background would have requested transfer after the first week.”

I know what he means even if the soft criticism stings. Many would have balked at the harsh conditions, the complete lack of deference, the gruelling physical demands. 

“My background has nothing to do with who I am here,” I say quietly. “Here, I’m not royalty. I’m just a man serving his country.”

Murahka studies me for a long moment, the firelight dancing in his dark eyes. “Is that why you joined? To escape who you are?”

The question hits closer to home than I’m comfortable admitting. I poke at the fire with a stick, watching sparks rise into the night sky.

“Not to escape,” I say finally. “But to find out who I am beneath all the pageantry. When you’re royal, everyone has expectations of who you should be, what you should do. My entire life has been planned out since before I was born.” I glance up at the stars, bright and clear above the mountains. “Out here, I can just be Leo. Not Prince Leopold, not the royal spare, not a symbol or a title. Just... me.”

Murahka nods slowly, seeming to weigh my words. “And who is ‘just Leo’?”

The question catches me off guard. I’ve spent so much time trying to escape my royal persona that I’ve rarely stopped to consider who I am underneath it all.

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” I admit. “Still figuring that out. What about you, Lieutenant? Why did you choose this life?”

“Please, call me Rangi.” 

I blink, surprised by his offer. I’ve been with this squad long enough to know he doesn’t offer the use of his name lightly. It’s a mark of trust, of closeness—one not easily earned. The invitation lands somewhere low in my chest, unsettling in a way I don’t want to name.

It’s just a name. Nothing more.

Rangi tugs a small thermos from his pack. He pours a small amount of something steaming into the cap and hands it to me.

“In my tribe, warriors have always been the backbone of our community,” he says as I sip the hot, slightly sweet tea. “My father was a warrior, as was his father before him. The markings I wear tell that story.” He shrugs off his jacket and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to trace a pattern on his forearm. “Each line represents a generation that came before me, each curve a lesson learned, a battle fought.”

I find myself mesmerized by his fingers moving across his skin, following the intricate designs. “They’re beautiful,” I say before I can stop myself.

If Rangi is surprised by my comment, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he shifts slightly closer on the log, his voice dropping.

“In our tribe, a warrior earns his markings through deeds of courage, wisdom, and service. Each tells a story.” His eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “What story will your life tell, I wonder?”

“Hopefully something more interesting than ‘royal spare performs duties adequately,’” I say with a self-deprecating smile. “I’d like to make a difference somehow. Not just by cutting ribbons or making speeches, but by actually changing things for the better.”

“And what would you change?”

The conversation has shifted into territory I rarely explore with others, yet somehow, with Rangi, the words come easily.

“I’d like to work to bridge the gap between modernisation and our tribal heritage,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. “My grandmother was from the northern tribes—she used to tell me stories, sing the old songs. There’s so much wisdom there, so much history that’s being lost as we push forward in the name of progress.” I look into the fire, watching the crackling flames. “I’d like to find a way to honour both, to show that progress doesn’t have to mean forgetting where we came from.”

Rangi is quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady on my face. “That’s a worthy goal.”

Something in his tone makes me look up, finding him watching me with an expression that seems to see beyond the careful composure I’ve perfected over years of public scrutiny.

“What about you?” I ask. “What does Lieutenant Rangi dream of when he’s not terrorizing new recruits?”

His smile returns, softer now. “Peace. A place to call home.” He stretches his long legs toward the fire. “A connection to something—or someone—that transcends duty and obligation.”

The weight of his gaze as he speaks makes my breath catch. There have been moments over the past weeks—a lingering touch during training, a shared glance across the mess hall, conversations that stretch late into the night—a hint of something that has the possibility of being beyond mere camaraderie. But neither of us has dared to cross that line, to acknowledge the current that seems to pull us toward each other despite the numerous reasons we should maintain distance.

“Is it possible to find purpose beyond the roles we’re assigned?”

“I believe so.” Rangi shifts, his shoulder now pressing warm against mine. “The question is whether we’re brave enough to reach for it.”

The air between us seems charged with possibility, with words unspoken but increasingly difficult to ignore. I find myself leaning slightly closer, drawn by a pull that makes the cold mountain air feel suddenly too warm.

“And if reaching for it complicates everything?” My voice has dropped to barely above a whisper.

“The things most worth having usually do.” Rangi’s hand moves to cover mine where it rests on the log between us, his touch warm and certain. “Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”

The way he says my title—soft, almost teasing, transforms it from a formal address into a caress that sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the mountain cold.

“Leo,” I correct, my eyes meeting his. “Just Leo.”

“Leo,” he repeats, as if testing the name on his tongue. 

For a suspended moment, the rest of the world falls away—no royal duties, no military hierarchy, no complications or consequences. Just two men beside a dying fire, drawn together by a connection neither of us had expected to find in these remote mountains.

I find myself leaning closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. Rangi’s free hand comes up to my face, his callused fingers gentle against my jaw.

“Leo, I—” 

“Your Highness!”

The shout shatters the moment, jerking us apart with guilty speed. I look up to see Lieutenant Bailey, the communications officer, hurrying toward the fire, his breath coming in white puffs in the cold air.

“Your Highness,” he repeats as he reaches us, snapping to attention. “Urgent message from the palace, sir. Your presence is required immediately.”

I stand, royal mask sliding into place despite the chaos of emotions beneath. “What’s happened?”

“It’s His Majesty, sir. He’s fallen ill.” Bailey’s expression is grave. “The Queen has requested your immediate return to the capital.”

The world seems to tilt beneath my feet. My father’s ill enough that they’re calling me back from training?

“How serious?” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.

“I don’t have details, sir. A helicopter is already enroute for extraction. ETA twenty minutes.”

I nod, my mind racing to process the implications. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll prepare immediately.”

Bailey salutes and withdraws, leaving me standing rigidly, the warmth of the previous moment evaporating like morning mist.

“Leo.” Rangi’s voice, soft now with concern rather than intimacy, brings me back to the present. He has risen too, standing close but no longer touching. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“I have to go.” The words come out more abruptly than I intend, the emotional whiplash of the moment making it hard to find balance.

“Of course.” Rangi steps back slightly, professional distance asserting itself once more. “I’ll help you gather your gear.”

We work in silence, packing my essentials with efficient movements. As the distant sound of helicopter rotors grows louder, Rangi pauses, his hand briefly touching my arm.

“Leo,” he says quietly. “Whatever happens... what was said here, what almost happened—it wasn’t a mistake.”

I meet his gaze, finding steadiness there that anchors me amidst the sudden turmoil. “No,” I agree softly. “It wasn’t.”

The helicopter appears over the ridge, its searchlight cutting through the darkness. Our time has run out.

“When you return,” Rangi begins, then hesitates. “If you return—”

“I know,” I interrupt, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. “This isn’t over, Rangi. I promise.”

For a fleeting moment, his composure slips, raw emotion visible in his eyes. Then he straightens, snapping to attention as other soldiers begin to emerge from their tents, drawn by the helicopter’s arrival.

“Safe journey, Your Highness,” he says formally, though his eyes convey much more.

I shoulder my pack, royal duty settling around me like a familiar weight. 

“Until next time, Rangi.”

📖 Your Regal Romance Guide to Royal Salute 👑🔥

Welcome to Royal Salute—where sacred traditions, steamy glances, and one stubborn prince collide with a warrior’s unwavering heart. This is a slow-burn, high-heat, emotionally rich romance that’ll make you believe in second chances and soulmates written in the stars.

✨ Forbidden Love & Firelight Feels ✨

👑 Royal x Warrior – When duty says no, but your heart (and hormones) scream yes.

🪖 Brothers-in-Arms – From the battlefield to the bedroom, they’ve got history.

🫱 Touch-Starved Longing – One brush of the knee and we’re feral.

🔥 Second Chance Romance – Years apart, but that spark never went out.

🧭 Duty vs Desire – Heir to a kingdom or the love of his life… why not both?

🌿 Sacred Sites & Political Fights – Ancient traditions, modern stakes, and one hot mess of bureaucracy.

💔 Soulmates & Ancestral Blessings – When the stars say yes, but reality says “not so fast.”

🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 Steam Level: Burn the Palace Down

Open-door spice with emotional depth. Expect aching, pining, longing followed by delicious anticipation. If you like slow-burning tension that explodes into passion? This one’s for you.

💛 Get swept away in a royal romance that’s as lush and lyrical as it is filthy and feral. Royal Salute can be read as a standalone—but trust me, you’ll want the whole royal lineup. 💕