Page 104 of Prince of the Palisades

A laugh tickles my throat. I give him a brief once-over: the collar of his Willow Wood Oxford peeking from beneath a black crewneck sweater, nice jeans, a pair of light purple Air Jordan 1 lows. Fading sunlight winks off his diamond-stud helix piercings.

“You look great,” I say. “I’d date you.”

“Oof, sorry.” He frowns. “I kinda have a boyfriend.”

“Hmm. What’s he like?”

“Super arrogant. Loves pouting. Hates apologizing. Decent kisser, but the dimples make up for it.”

“Decent?” I squawk. “I’ll show you howamazingI can—”

“Crown Princess. My prince.” At the top of the palace steps, Jean-Marc, my mom’s most trusted chamberlain, gracefully bows. “All of Réverie happily welcomes you home.”

“Thank you,” Annika says, perfect princess tone in place.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask. “Papa?”

Jean-Marc’s smile turns commiserative. “His Majesty and the queen are away. A prescheduled trip. They will return late tomorrow.”

I try not to deflate. What was I expecting? My parents waiting for us? To cancelanotherappointment? Treat me like a priority and not a checkbox on their daily itinerary?

“We can’t wait,” Annika answers for both of us.

Jean-Marc nods. “This is Mr. Hayes, correct?”

Reiss waves awkwardly. “Mr. Hayes is my dad. Reiss is cool, your, um—royalship?”

Jean-Marc is in his late forties, tall and bald with dark brown skin and very expressive eyebrows. They climb his forehead.

“Interesting.” With one subtle wrist flick, a chamberlain appears. Jean-Marc says, “Your suite is in the eastern wing. Henri will escort you.”

“Suite?” Reiss gasps, jaw unhinged.

Barely holding in another laugh, I say, “See you soon,” squeezing his hand one last time before he disappears behind the large glass doors.

Annika turns to face me. “Wow. Jade, you’ve got itbaaad.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No, I—”

“So bad,” Luc confirms.

“It’s quite nauseating,” Ajani notes, upper lip curled. The Royal Protection Guards behind her fail to hide their giggling.

“We’ve cleared your schedules,” Jean-Marc announces, his own lips twitching. “In case you want to spendextra timeshowing Mr. Hayes around tomorrow.”

I growl out, “I hate all of you.”

More laughter follows as I storm away, face so hot I could be the primary source of global warming.

Réverie’s marketplace is luminous the next day. Ribbons of sunlight cut through the colorful canopies hung over stalls selling fresh produce and lush fabrics and pottery with intricate designs. Vibrant murals crawl up the sides of buildings. The air is fragrant with the scent of grilling meats and headyspices. Voices chase each other, in French, in English, in a collective harmony of people selling and buying and bargaining.

The rush hits like a tidal wave, nearly knocking me over. I’ve missed this space.

I half-turn to Reiss. “What do you think so far?”

It’s late afternoon. I can tell he’s still jet-lagged, occasionally rubbing his eyes or yawning. But now, his gaze dances around like he’s overstimulated. He can’t settle on one thing. His face glows at the laughter, the noise spilling from every angle.

“It’s beautiful.”

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