Page 32 of Prince of the Palisades

I don’twantit to mean anything, right?

“Careful.” Out of nowhere, a plate and a mug are placed in front of me. “It’s hot.”

Without prompting, Reiss eases into the chair opposite me. One table over, Ajani’s already sipping her tea.

I blink at the cinnamon roll drizzled in icing he brought. Then, the steaming mug. The drink’s perfectly silky brown surface is broken up by white latte art.

“Is that…” I examine it closely. “An alien?”

“Apanda. Don’t judge me.” His cheeks are glowing. “I’m no good under pressure.”

“Performance anxiety?” I find myself saying in a teasing voice.

He rolls his eyes, but the blush doesn’t fade. He’s not wearing his apron anymore. His pink waves look good against the yellow and blue of his striped T-shirt. When he relaxes in the chair, his ankle accidentally brushes mine. “Just try it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you always this bossy?”

“If the occasion calls for it.” Another streak of rose tints his nose.

“Hmm.” I skim my ankle against his. “Sounds fun.”

He coughs, eyes bulging.

I carefully take a sip. The shock of flavor is instant. It’s a hot chocolate, as good as the ones made by the chefs inside the palace, but different. Creamier, with pops of spice. Cinnamon and nutmeg and—

“Ginger,” Reiss says, smirking at my stunned expression. “The Reiss Special.”

“Why is thisso good?” I slurp more.

“It goes really well with”—he points to the plate—“that.”

I’ve had cinnamon rolls before. Centauri’s pastry chefs are some of the finest in the world. But this is…

“I think I’m dying,” I moan, shivering. It’s incredible. Tangy cream cheese icing. Buttery soft texture. The dough peels apart easily, revealing layer after layer of sugary cinnamon. “Who made this? Do you have personal chefs in the back?”

“Do wewhat?” Reiss’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. “It’s just a cinnamon roll.”

“How dare you,” I say, mouth full. “This is a gift from the gods.”

“We buy them from a local baker.”

I wave off his nonchalance, sipping from my mug. He was right. The hot chocolate’s spiciness with the roll’s sweetness is unbearably good. I keep my ankle pressed to his. He doesn’t shift away.

“I’m honored our little shop meets royalty standards,” Reiss comments.

“It was…okay,” I say, trying not to lick sugar off my fingers.

He stares at me weirdly. A wave of self-consciousness seizes me. Then, he’s leaning forward. “You’ve got icing right—”

His fingers hover near the corner of my mouth. I don’t breathe.

He jerks back. “Sorry, um—”

“It’s fine,” I say. I track the way he watches me, face reddening, while I glide my tongue over my mouth, licking away the stray icing. “Better?”

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, then nods. “Sure. Great.”

The squeak in his voice is cute. Wordlessly, Ajani shifts to a different corner of the café. Not without shooting me a judging stare, first.

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