Page 3 of Prince of the Palisades

It’s Kip Davies’s weakest effort yet. #ProblematicPrince was right there. He’s been “reporting” on my family since before Papa’s ascension. Every little lie and fake scandal he can create for clicks and likes.

Next to me, Annika chews nervously on her lower lip.

Between us, she’s the calm, optimistic one. I’m more of the “burn shit down, ask questions later” variety. But I don’t plan to let anyone seethatJadon while I’m here.

Not if I ever want to get home again.

“Samuel’s right,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “I’m going to be as normal and unproblematic as possible.”

I ignore Annika’s loud snort.

“We’ll start with His Royal Highness attending Willow Wood Academy, a prestigious private school,” Samuel notes, reading from the itinerary he forwarded me yesterday. “It’s more of a formality. Her Majesty insists on a proper education while we sort out his…unfortunate situation. Mingling with Willow Wood’s illustrious student body will help our cause.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. New friends? No thanks. I won’t be here long enough to remember anyone’s name. But I respect all the effort Samuel’s put into this, so I don’t comment.

“I’m also working on a few low-profile appearances,” Samuel says, scrolling. “Small but noticeable events that’ll encourage the press to change their narrative. As well as media appearances for you, Crown Princess.”

Annika shrugs. “Anything to make this loser look better.”

I pinch her again, scowling.

“Oh,” Samuel says, beaming, “and we’re confirmed for the Sunset Ball in early December!”

My jaw tightens. The Sunset Ball is California’s equivalent to the Met Gala. A big, glitzy party. It’s also an emergency,final effort to win over Réverie’s approval. If I’m trapped here until December, I might throwmyselfinto the Pacific.

Samuel says, “The organizers have agreed to Prince Jadon giving a speech”—I can practically hear Annika’s eyes popping out of her head—“which is the perfect opportunity to prove he’s not who the world thinks.”

“Perfect,” I parrot.

“And if that doesn’t work?” Annika asks.

“Itwill, Anni,” I say, pretending like I haven’t second-guessed this plan six times in the last twenty-four hours. “A few smiles. An interview or two. One silly speech, and then we’re back to Réverie.”

Where I never have to deal with things like this, I don’t add.

Annika’s mouth opens like she’s about to argue, then closes.

Instead, Samuel says, brow wrinkled, “I do wish we’d been given a slightly larger entourage to work with.”

It’s true. I’m used to a bigger group whenever one of these situations happens. There’s no team of royal media specialists making calls. No chamberlains running around. Not even Dion, my royal stylist, ready to dress me in the right look for the cameras.

I’m lucky to have Samuel, a bargain Annika made with Mom.

But it’s fine.

“We’ve got this,” I assert. I smile widely, extending my arms out to either side. “Who needs all those extra bodies? All I want are the four people right here.”

And maybe a prayer. Or for a meteor to suddenly destroy the Earth.

My new bedroom is…adequate.

Forest-green walls and a high ceiling. Various shades of gray furniture. A wide bed tucked between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside the walk-in closet is the luggage Annika brought from Réverie for me. In addition to clothes, she—begrudgingly—packed two Gucci suitcases full of sneakers.

Do my parents expect me to live months without my Jordans?

While a rotation of soft R&B music plays from my phone, I pace around. The space isalmosthomey. But there are no framed photos of me, Annika, and our parents laughing on Réverie’s western shore. No stack of leather-bound notebooks where I scribble all my favorite recipes. Even the sounds from the Pacific Ocean are wrong.

Noisy, restless. Nothing like the tranquil sea surrounding Réverie.

---