Page 58 of Prince of the Palisades

We’re under the arch. A cloud of silvery light pours on us.

“You’ve got a little—” I swipe my thumb over the tip of his nose. “Sugar.”

Harsh pink floods his cheeks. “Is it bad?”

“No. But…” A wild spike of adrenaline flows in my blood. My fingers slip lower. Brush powder from the corner of his mouth. “There too.”

It’s like something out of a movie.

Ocean Avenue’s traffic slows. Every noise muted by the sound of my heart. Reiss inhales sharply, anticipation burning in his eyes. Consent in his dilated pupils. But I don’t want to read the signs wrong.

“Can I kiss you?”

My fingers are still hovering near his mouth. His gaze is steady. I wait for him. He doesn’t take long. Swallowing, he says, “Yes.”

I press my lips against his, closing my eyes.

Santa Monica fades. Nothing matters more, not a single car honking or breeze changing, than his fingers touching my jaw. My hand on the nape of his neck. His soft mouth opening. The tease of sour lime and powdered sugar andhim.

His kiss tastes like everything wrong is finally going right.

“My prince.”

An urgent voice. I think it’s Reiss. But it can’t be. Our lips are still shifting, learning. It comes from somewhere else, but my brain is caught in the sparks exploding behind my eyelids as his hands grip my waist.

Wait, no. Those aren’t sparks. They’reflashes. Quick bursts of light followed by shutter noises louder than the ones from the photo booth. Voices yelling from all sides of me.

“Prince Jadon! Turn toward me!”

“Your Highness! Over here!”

“This way, Jadon! Look at the camera!”

11

A NEW ROYAL ROMANCE OR A RECKLESS RENDEZVOUS?

The internet is exploding over photos of Réverie’s Prince Jadon kissing an unidentified boy near Santa Monica Pier last night. Sources say a local restaurant’s waitress tipped off the media. Has the roguish prince finally moved on from his breakup with his ex, Léon Barnard, who royal experts claim is the reason behind Jadon’s viral meltdown in early September? Could we be looking at a new Prince of the Palisades?

I made a massive, unforgivable, rookie mistake.

The rules were laid out as soon as I was old enough to tie my own shoes:

Never smile too much in photos. Head high, posture straight. Keep all royal matters private. Any discussion with the media will be coordinated and approved of by the palace first. No politics. Greet everyone with a polite smile or wave. Refrain from all public displays of affection unless itbenefits narratives created by the palace. Never bring shame to the crown.

That last one is why I’m banished to America. Why I was supposed to be focusing on regaining my country’s trust. Convincing everyone I’m someone different. Arespectableprince. I was supposed to be avoiding bad headlines.

Four out of four unaccomplished goals. At least I’m consistent.

By 8:00 a.m., photos of the kiss are everywhere. Social media. Newsfeeds. Morning talk shows. A nonstop cycle.

No one’s identified Reiss yet. Ajani stepped in at the last second to cover his face with her blazer. The grainy images are mostly focused on my surprised face. But there’s no telling how long that’ll last. The press is ruthless and smart and rich.

Samuel plunks four different smart devices and a mug of chai onto the kitchen island. “We need to strategize,” he says. “Now.”

I glance at him from over my phone. My current strategy? Obsessively checking my messages to Reiss. I waited until at least 8:05 a.m. before sending the first one. Well, the first since my apology DM last night.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

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