Page 85 of Prince of the Palisades

She laughs. Loudly. “Trust me, you don’t want the smoke.” Her fingers tug on her silver chain. She’s out of uniform. It’s the first time I notice the twinkling O charm on her necklace. “Besides, you don’t have opinions on things that don’t affect you. Remember?”

My fingers tighten around my bag’s strap. I can’t argue with her. As much as I want to. Because that’s the Jadon I’vebeen anytime a tough topic has come up—the good, reasonable, rule-following royal I was always taught to be. The one I thought Réverie would respect.

I stopped being me.

Luc’s voice is in my head again:the prince I know doesn’t give a shit about any of that. I stand taller. “Maybe I do. Have opinions. And maybe I want the smoke.”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Morgan twists her charm, thinking. A beat passes before she says hesitantly, “It’s a protest.”

I don’t stand down. Nose wrinkled, I say, “You know I’m not just some pretty prince who’s afraid to get his hands dirty.”

Her lips curve up. “So, you think you’re pretty?”

“Of course,” I say with a tiny huff. “I’m going with you. That’s a royal decree.”

Morgan finally grins. “One, fuck the monarchy. Two, you’re driving.”

In the car, Morgan explains what’s behind the protest: a nearby public high school hosted an assembly honoring local heroes. One of the honorees was a drag queen. After, angry parents demanded to know why queer performers were speaking to their children without parental consent. Now, they’re attacking LGBTQ-related after-school clubs.

“Some school boards have even passed proposals requiring educators to inform parents if their kids come out as trans at school.” Morgan scrolls anxiously through her phone. She’s been doing it since we left Willow Wood. “They claim it’s to protect teens’ mental and physical health when really it’s—”

“Harming them,” I finish.

She sighs, nodding. “This isn’t new. Anti-queer propaganda has been popping off since forever. It’s just never been this close to home.”

“Is there anyone actually fighting for you? Someone with power?”

“Not enough.” Morgan half-shrugs. “Most adults sound like Kaden. Or my stepdad. Go vote. Get legislation passed. Which is true in a lot of situations.” Her voice lowers. “In the meantime, kids are on the streets. Kicked out. Not surviving.”

“What about Grace’s dad?” I ask.

“Vote,” she repeats, deadpan. “Win this war the right way.”

“I thought LA was different.”

“Assholes are everywhere,” she tells me. “Even in the prettiest, most progressive places.”

I stare out the tinted window. Watch Santa Monica drift by in streams of neon signs and busy crosswalks. In palm trees wrapped in fairy lights. Groups ducking into cafés and tourist shops. Sunlight glowing on smiling faces as everyone shuffles to their next destination.

How could anyone want to exclude a person from this? How could you want to be anything but different here? Why is anyone hated for simply choosing to exist as themselves?

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

“Are you sure about this?”

Morgan’s voice drowns out Barnard’s in my head. I half turn to her, eyebrow raised.

“It’s a small protest,” she says, reassuring. “Students from all around. Friends and families.” She tugs on her chain. “We’redone with them erasing us. Silencing our voices. Pretending we shouldn’t be here.”

There’s a fire in her voice like the one pulsing in my chest. She’s nothing like the Morgan I’m used to: bored and disinterested. She looks pissed. Ready to fight. I don’t know how I misjudged her.

But I won’t anymore.

“I’m sure,” I say.

“This could land you in a lot of trouble,” she comments, like she’s giving me a final out. “My mom’s gonna lose her shit. My stepdad too. But you don’t have to—”

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