Page 102 of Prince of the Palisades

“Most of these are from teens,” Annika adds.

On-screen, something flashes across Mom’s face.

“Isn’t that what we want?” Annika asks. “For him to have an impact? Be the kind of leader his generation respectsandadmires?”

Papa clears his throat. “It is.” His eyes land back on me. “But if you want to be political, son, then make a differencehere. With your people. Join the Council.”

I shake my head. He still doesn’t understand. I don’t want to sit at a table full of old, out-of-touch nobles and politicianstoo set in their traditions. Who want to do things like Senator Miller. Who think like Prime Minister Barnard.

A room where someone like me—born of Réverian and American blood—won’t be respected, title or not.

“No,” I say firmly. “That’s not enough.”

“Enough?” Papa repeats, incredulous. “Who are you to decide what’s—”

“Maybe,” Mom interrupts, squeezing Papa’s hand again, “it’s better we have this conversation in person? Thanksgiving break is coming up, right, Canelé?”

I nod once.

“Simon,” Mom says, patiently, sweetly. “It’s time.”

Papa sighs through his nose, his mouth flat. “Agreed. You’ll come home. To talk.”

There’s a finality to his words. The king has spoken.

But I’m not done. I spent too much time in America. Running from problems. Trying to be someone else. Letting everyone else decide for me.

That Jadon’s gone.

I lean forward, determined face big on the laptop screen. “Fine,” I say. “But we’re not coming alone.”

“This can’t be real.”

My lips smooth into a grin. It’s the third time Reiss has said that. First, when the crew welcomed us aboard the jet. Second, post-nap, when we were soaring somewhere over the Atlantic. Now, minutes after the pilot has announced our forthcoming descent.

I rest a hand on his knee as we glide through a sea of clouds in the pinkish-blue sky. Across from us, Annika’s reading another Jasmine Guillory rom-com. To her left, Luc is secretly weeping over an evicted contestant onParadise or Purgatory.

“I work at my parents’ coffee shop. I share a bathroom with my little brother,” Reiss whispers, awed. “How is this happening?”

I laugh. “It’s not that special.”

“To you,” he says, stabbing my chest with an accusing finger. “I still fly standby to visit my cousins. No free snacks. No Wi-Fi. Just a middle seat and a stranger snoring on my shoulder.”

“How primitive,” Ajani comments from behind us.

“It’s a good thing you had a passport,” I tell him.

It wasn’t the most organized plan. Once I ended the call with my parents, I messaged my idea to Reiss. Then, after convincing Mr. and Mrs. Hayes to let him come to Réverie for the school break, we scrambled to get all the proper paperwork ready with Samuel.

“When I was nine,” Reiss explains, scratching the back of his neck, “we were supposed to take a family vacation to Mexico.”

Annika closes her book. “What happened?”

His cheeks flush. “I caught the flu from a classmate. Gave it to my whole family. We haven’t had the chance—or money—to go since.”

Annika tries to smile sympathetically, but it’s closer to a wince.

I bump Reiss’s shoulder. “Happy to be your first.” When his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, I stammer, “Er, firstoverseastrip. First first-class experience.”

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