Page 8 of Prince of the Palisades

Willow Wood Academy is a mini metropolis. The buildings are done in Mission Revival style—cream stucco walls, red tile roofs, open-air hallways. Pristine lawns slice through stone walkways. On the way to the headmaster’s office, we pass a courtyard dotted with succulents. Hung over the main hall’s foyer is a vinyl banner of a beautiful brunette girl smiling perkily.

Our Student President Welcomes All!

Perfect.

Much of my education has been through private tutors. On jets thousands of miles above sea. In lavish hotel suites. Sometimes, when I’m lucky, in the palace gardens with the sunshine on my cheeks and ocean air in my lungs. I’ve attended actual school—Académie des Jeunes Dirigeants—before, but nothing quite like this.

The floors are so shiny, I can see every detail of my disinterested posture in a lilac, yellow, and gray uniform. I inhale deeply, fixing my expression into the one I use for photographers. Bright eyes, big grin, plastic charm.

“We’re so happy you’re here!”

Headmaster Parker looks young. Thick, deep brown curls piled on her head. Rosy cheeks and light freckles across her pale skin. The online article I skimmed before arriving said she graduated from Willow Wood in the nineties. I’m almost certain the collection of bobblehead figurines on her desk are from a popular Chinese drama.

Ajani and I sit in a pair of plush chairs across from her.

“Actualroyaltyon campus!” she gushes. “Should the faculty address you as Your Highness or—”

“Just Jadon,” I interrupt, then quickly add, “please. Nothing formal.”

Nothing to draw unnecessary attention to me.

“Well, Jadon,” she says, tapping away at her computer, “At Willow Wood, we encourage our students to reimagine the impossible as possible.”

I narrow my eyes at her direct quote from the school’s web page.

“The academic year just started for us, which means it’s everyone’s first day,” she continues, “so you shouldn’t stick out too much.”

“I’d prefer not at all,” I say dryly.

Her shoulders tense at my forwardness. “Of course! It shouldn’t bethatweird for you.”

“Why”—in my periphery, Ajani’s head shakes slightly, a warning about my tone that forces me to raise the level of my smile before I finish—“would it be weird?”

Headmaster Parker waves her hands around. “Everything about high school is…awkward.” She bites her lip, as if reliving her own teen years. “But you’ll fit in nicely!”

My grin tightens as I nod.

“While you’re in class, we have private waiting spaces for your…” She studies Ajani. “Secret service?”

Nostrils flaring, Ajani says, “I’m His Royal Highness Prince Jadon’s Royal Protection Guard.”

I jump in. “Thank you so much, Headmaster Parker. Should I get to class now?”

She hands me a locker assignment and course schedule.“I’ve assigned you a tour guide,” she notes enthusiastically. “One of our best students.”

Hopefully, it’s not the girl from the banner. I could live without that much bubbliness this early in the morning.

“Thank you,” I repeat, hastily following Ajani out the door.

I immediately scrub off the fake Jadon for my usual resting prince face, glaring at my new list of classes.

“Oof,” comes an unexpected voice. “Did someone kick your puppy?”

I raise my narrowed eyes.

My tour guide, Morgan, according to the name tag she wears with her pronouns underneath, clearly has no regard for uniform policies. Her lilac ascot is being used as a headband to keep big, loose black curls off her face. She’s objectively cute, with a warm tawny complexion and cherub cheeks. The rest of her clothes are standard—yellow and gray plaid vest, matching pleated skirt. The top two buttons of her Oxford are undone, revealing a thin silver chain.

She smirks at Ajani. “Nice fade.”

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