Page 4 of Prince of the Palisades

Our island rests in the central Atlantic Ocean, west of Africa. It’s not large, but it’s warm and beautiful, the people content. We’ve survived on one strict policy:neutrality. We never involve ourselves in others’ conflicts or wars. We preserve strong relationships across the world while keeping a manageable distance.

Policies I don’t always agree with.

Ninety percent of Réverie’s population comes from generations of families who originated on the island, centuries ago.

Then came Mom. Now my sister and me.

They don’t belong here.She’s not one of us. Never will be!

Fragments of Prime Minister Barnard’s words churn in my skull. I know he isn’t the only one back home who feels differently about my mom. It’s in the headlines too. How Mom’s “American roots” influence my actions, but they don’t.

My playlist and my thoughts are interrupted by a new notification. A DM to my finsta account. From @RoiDesLions.

King of the lions, also known as my ex.

I’m tempted to open the message. I’ve ghosted so many people lately, I might as well start a paranormal support group. It’s only been a month since our breakup. Less than two weeks since he walked away when I needed him.

My chest tightens. How can you simultaneously want to punch someone in their pretty, perfectly angled face and miss the way they’d press a sleepy smile into the crook of your neck late at night? Why are first loves the worst?

Before my finger does the wrong thing, someone knocks at my door.

I toss my phone like it’s a grenade. Annika leans in the archway, smiling suspiciously. “Am I interrupting? Were you watching por—”

“No!” My face wrinkles. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re the one who threw your phone across the room!”

True.

“I’m not judging you,” Annika says, barely holding in a laugh.

“Stop! I wasn’t—you scared me. That’s it.”

She lets it go, sitting on the bed before checking her manicure. Annika’s aesthetic is understated glam. She’s wearing a Burberry turtleneck, dark denim skinny jeans, andrunway-ready black heels. I can’t keep up with how many Best Dressed lists she’s appeared on, among other royal-approved headlines.

I flop down next to her, hands tucked behind my head. There’s an appalling light fixture in the middle of my ceiling.

“So,” Annika says, “a speech? At the Sunset Ball?”

“Don’t start,” I groan.

“I wouldn’t dare. I just think it’s a bold strategy considering—”

“I’m so bad at public speaking?” I insert. “Since I have a history of saying all the wrong things?”

She shrugs, not commenting. I know what she’s thinking.

Annika’s the perfect princess. Never needed an army of professionals coaching her on what to say, when and where to be herself. She was born for this life. Meanwhile, I force myself into whatever prince mold people expect until I’m either bored or annoyed.

Then, well. Shit happens.

It’s not who I am, but I know it’s who I’m supposed to be.

“It’s just a speech,” I say, grinning. I have one advantage over Annika—irresistible dimples. “How hard can it be?”

She pointedly doesn’t return my gaze, her mouth puckered.

I laugh. “Anni, I didn’t invite you all the way to California to lose faith in me before things even get started.”

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