Page 105 of Prince of the Palisades

Ajani and two other guards navigate us through the crowds. It’s a slow stroll. Every few shops, Reiss pauses to admire another shiny trinket.

“Is it weird,” he says outside a teashop, “that I feel so safe here?”

I lift a curious eyebrow.

“Everyone looks like”—his eyelashes flutter when he inhales—“like me.”

All around, there are gorgeous shades of brown. Rich dark complexions. Warm sepia skin and cool russet tones. Different faces, body shapes, each person carrying their own swagger. For once, Reiss and I aren’t two Black boys in a pale sea, like at Willow Wood.

Here, Reiss doesn’t stand out. He’s one of us.

“No,” I whisper, bumping his shoulder. “It’s not weird.”

He grins crookedly. “I’m glad I came.”

“You are?” I don’t mean to sound so shocked.

He pans his phone around. Snaps photos and records video. “Visiting another country? Kicking it at a palace over school break? Do you know how much this is gonna elevate my social outcast status?”

I laugh, head tipped back into the warm sun. “I’ve heard somewhere that reputation matters.”

“Only on the internet.”

I wish that was true.

As we pass through a busy café, eyes track us. It’s happened since we arrived. I smile and nod politely, the way my mom would. Some return the gesture, faces glowing with surprise at seeing me this close, outside Centauri’s walls. But others avert their gazes, whispering furiously when they think I’m not looking, whenever my hand absently brushes against Reiss’s.

Prime Minister Barnard’s faithful followers. The ones who don’t know the real him. Or the real me.

During the flight, Samuel swore public opinion has changed. That our efforts are working. But I don’t know. Am I more than pics and videos to them? More than polls and surveys?

When they look at me, do they see the prince theywant?

“Oh, shit.” Reiss holds up his phone. The screen lights up with a FaceTime call. “I forgot to check in with my parents. Dom’s been dying to see what Réverie looks like. Is that okay?”

I bite my lip, grinning. “Yes.”

“BRB,” he says, answering as he stumbles to a quieter corner.

Ajani motions for the guards to follow.

I drift deeper into the market. Losing myself in familiarity. In my thoughts.

“So, it’s true. He really let you come back.”

I jerk to a halt. My spine tightens at the unwelcome voice. At the boy standing in front of me. The same twists falling in his dark eyes, mellow brown skin; thin cheeks and a long jaw. Height like a basketball player, which he uses to look down on everyone.

Kofi.

He smirks in that patronizing way of his. “Thought America was keeping you.”

“Thought you were staying with me,” I snap quietly.

“What gave you that impression?”

“You were my best—” I can’t get the word out. Not only because we’re in semi-public. Because it’s not true. I’m not sure it ever was.

Kofi exhales a dry laugh. “I did too.”

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