Chapter 16

16

REBEL ROYAL WITH A CAUSE?

New videos reveal HRH Prince Jadon protesting alongside Santa Monica locals demanding equal rights for LGBTQ+ students outside a high school late Tuesday afternoon. No official statement from the royal family has been released concerning this latest incident. Has Réverie, a nation long known for their political neutrality on global issues, finally taken a stance on American affairs?

"Walking, again?" Ajani says impassively. "They say it takes two months to form a habit—"

"This is not a habit," I promise. "I didn't want to be seen."

We couldn't walk out through the front of the restaurant. Samuel tipped off the press in advance about the dinner. Photographers were waiting outside. Instead, we exited through the kitchen. I left the waiting SUV for Annika and Luc.

"—and if this continues," Ajani is still saying, "I'll need better shoes."

"Fine," I say, exasperated. "I'll approve them at the next royal budget meeting."

"Which is?" She's testing me. We're both aware I only know about things when they're listed on my itinerary, usually the day of.

I tug out my phone. It's buzzing nonstop with texts from Annika. Messages like: A protest AND dragging an American Senator in the same week?! What's next? Setting the Hollywood sign on fire?

Then: Please forget I said that. Don't get any ideas.

Followed by: Be safe, okay?

I smile, replying with, as you wish Your Majesty , and a winky face emoji. She responds with a middle finger emoji. It's enough to finally make me laugh.

We pause at a crosswalk. It's dark out, but the neighborhood is dusted in ivory streetlamp glow. Without thinking, I guided us here. To a cozy row of Santa Monica shops.

To The Hopper.

Other than the still hanging Halloween lights, the interior is cast in shadows. An older man emerges, locking up. He turns, and my breath catches.

I've never met Mr. Hayes. Part of keeping our dating secret meant Reiss didn't formally introduce me to his family. This close, he's a taller, older version of his son. Same dark eyes, jutting lower lip. Deep wrinkles form in his forehead when he notices me and Ajani.

"Whoa. Shit, it's you !"

"No, wait," I quickly say as he starts to bow. "Please, don't do that."

He straightens, wiping his face. "Don't tell Dom I swore. I already owe him like twenty bucks from last month. Our plumbing was screwed, and I might've let some four-letter words fly and—Oh, I'm Greg Hayes. Reiss's dad."

I hold in a laugh. So, this is where Reiss gets his rambling from.

"Jadon," I say, offering my hand. "I was hoping to, um…see him?"

Mr. Hayes has a strong handshake. He also has a suspicious glimmer in his eyes. Like Reiss might've mentioned what happened.

Perfect .

"No, he cut out early. Working hard on that film project." A proud smile softens his face. "Kid's gonna be the next Barry Jenkins."

I nod, fighting the disappointment pooling in my stomach. What did I think? Reiss would still be here? That he'd see me and suddenly forgive me? That I'd get another chance—

"But my wife just texted," Mr. Hayes says, looking at his smartwatch. "We're having a late family dinner. You two hungry?"

The Hayes family lives nearby in a six-story building made of sharp geometrical lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. Laurel trees sprout up from the sidewalks outside.

"It's only a three-bedroom," Mr. Hayes explains while unlocking the front door. "Small for LA. The boys share a bathroom. Mornings are kind of…violent."

I press a hand to my mouth to hide my snort.

"Michaela?" Mr. Hayes calls out. "I'm home, babe. I brought guests!"

Around a corner, a voice says, "Greg, my hair's a mess. I haven't cleaned and—"

Mrs. Hayes has Reiss's cheeks and jawline, the same complexion. Her hair is hidden behind a silk scarf. When she sees us, the plastic bowl she's drying slips from her hands, clattering on the hardwood floor.

"Sweet Jesus!" she yells.

Soon, I hear a pair of bare feet. A wide-eyed Dominic takes us in before happily yelping.

Another hidden voice: "Why is everyone around here always so extra?"

Then, it's him.

Reiss freezes in the living room, a fluffy towel hanging around his neck. His hair has faded to a soft peach. He's shirtless, beads of water rolling down his brown chest, dotting the waistband of his ratty joggers.

As I wave sheepishly, he mouths, Holy fuck .

"Guess I should've called ahead?" Mr. Hayes says apologetically.

Mrs. Hayes gives him the politest what the hell do you think? stare I've ever witnessed. "Your Highness," she says, trying to bow, "I—"

"No, no, please," I urgently say. "Nothing formal. I'm just Jadon. I go to school with your son." I peek in Reiss's direction— not staring at his glistening skin—to see if he wants me to add more.

He's still too shocked to comment.

"This is Ajani." I wave behind me. "My Royal Protection Guard."

"RPG?" Mr. Hayes makes a face. "Like D&D?"

Mrs. Hayes exhales. "Welcome to our home, Jadon and Ajani. We'd be honored if you joined us for dinner." She side-eyes her husband like he forgot to mention that part. "Greg, help me in the kitchen. Dom, set the table. The fancy plates."

"Mama, we don't have fancy—"

"Now, Dom!" Before marching back into the kitchen, she adds, "Reiss, go put a shirt on! This isn't that type of party."

For a second, Reiss doesn't move. He watches me, his mouth a thin line. It's better than him yelling. Or kicking me out. He shakes his head.

"You look…nice." Then, he disappears down the hall.

A helpless smile tugs at my lips. While Ajani sits on a navy-blue sofa, I find myself curiously roaming.

The apartment's small but comfy. A coffee table layered in homework packets and drawings autographed by Dominic and thick books on filmmaking. A USC sweatshirt thrown over a wicker chair. A plastic bowl with leftover Halloween candy and Hopper paraphernalia. Reiss's canary-yellow tie peeking from under the sofa.

Inside Centauri Palace, there are dozens of rooms for show, nothing else. Quiet halls and soulless spaces. No sign that a family lives there.

It's not the same here. From the kitchen, I hear whispering:

"Michaela, it's okay."

"Greg, royalty is in our living room, and I burned the damn meatloaf."

"I'll run to the market. You can make him your special."

"I'm not making the prince sloppy joes!"

"I don't mean to be rude," I say, stepping around the corner.

Reiss's parents freeze. There's a slight smokiness in the air. On the stove, an oven mitt barely hides a charred dish. But I spot a bottle of honey next to a jar of Nutella on the counter. Two empty pans.

A grin takes over my face. "I spent lots of time with the palace cooks. Can I help?"

"Yes," Mr. Hayes says, delighted.

Mrs. Hayes smacks his arm. "He's a guest ."

"It'd be rude to deny a prince."

Mrs. Hayes glares, so I say, "I promise not to burn down your home."

A stubborn line forms between her brows, the same one Reiss gets. She sighs. "What did you have in mind?"

I roll up my sleeves. "Do you have milk and eggs? Also sugar, flour, and butter? Oh, and a whisk?"

We work side by side, Mrs. Hayes and me. I walk her through the crêpe recipe Papa taught me. Mr. Hayes plays old-school R&B from a Bluetooth speaker. In the entryway, Reiss watches us. Sadly, he's fully dressed now, but I don't let that distract me while cooking.

Dinner is noisy. Breakfast at 9:00 p.m. brings out the best in everyone. While spreading Nutella on her crêpe, Mrs. Hayes doesn't hesitate to recount her sons' most embarrassing stories. Four-year-old Dominic stripping naked while in a plastic ball pit at a friend's birthday party. Ten-year-old Reiss vomiting over the side of the Pacific Wheel.

Chuckling, Mr. Hayes adds, "We were midair. At the very top! It got all over the poor guy operating the ride."

"Dad," Reiss says, pouting. "We're eating ."

I raise my eyebrows at him until he facepalms, then says, "It's called acrophobia!"

"It's called eating too many churros," Mrs. Hayes corrects, giggling.

I laugh so hard my cheeks ache.

Crammed around the small dinner table, Reiss's family happily talks over each other. Point accusing forks at one another when a story is told wrong. I love it. But I miss when my own family was this close. Before Papa became king.

Dominic stares up at Ajani, awed. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Mrs. Hayes gasps. "Dom!"

"No," Ajani deadpans. I can't tell if she's lying. Her poker face is too good.

"You look like a superhero," Dominic says while chewing.

Ajani's lips quirk. "Would you like to be an honorary member of Réverie's Royal Protection Guard?"

Dominic shrugs self-consciously. "I can't. Everyone says I'm too scared to be a hero."

Ajani clucks her tongue.

"Every hero is scared of at least one thing," I say, smiling widely at Dominic. "That's what makes them super. How can you be brave if you've never been afraid?"

Dominic's face lights up. Mr. Hayes tugs him close.

Across the table, a pair of dark eyes crinkle. I blush, staring at my half-eaten crêpe.

After dinner, Mrs. Hayes refuses to let me help with the dishes. "I have to draw the line somewhere." While Dominic shows off his drawings to Ajani, Reiss quietly leads me down the hall to his bedroom.

We're barely inside before his mom yells, "Door stays open!"

"Babe, that's a prince!" Mr. Hayes hisses.

"A prince who's also a teenage boy who's clearly into our son. Don't tell me you didn't see the way Reiss looked at him."

Pink spreads from Reiss's neck to his ears. "We can hear you!"

"And we can hear you, because the door stays open!"

Mortified, Reiss flops like a dead starfish on his bed.

His room's nice. Citrus-orange walls peeking from behind film posters. His laptop is collaged in stickers of movie logos and quotes. Hoodies piled on a desk chair. No sign of his sneaker collection, but there are USC brochures and leftover tickets from our trip to Playland Arcade on his bedside table.

"You saved them," I say, grinning.

Reiss sits up. Follows my gaze to the tickets. He shrugs, but doesn't say anything.

All the endorphins I felt ten minutes ago fizzle out. This is the Reiss I should've expected when I arrived. Distant. Angry. Hurt by what I did.

I rub the back of my neck. "Thank you. For not kicking me out."

"You surprised me." Another careless shrug. "Besides, my parents would kill me."

"They're sweet." My smile lifts. "And really funny."

"They're not bad, I guess."

"And Dominic," I start, but Reiss's expression shifts. Like he's fighting something, but he doesn't interrupt me. "Dom's amazing."

Awkward silence returns. Even with the muted voices from the other end of the apartment, it feels like no one else is here. Just me and him and the things we still haven't said.

I just want us back to how we were before. Not that he owes me that. Not that it ever works that way for me.

Reiss clears his throat. I trace my eyes over his face. It's still, but softer.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he offers.

"If Ajani finds out what you've planned, she's going to kill you."

"She wouldn't." Reiss flashes a confident smile while scanning a QR code on the e-scooter parked under a tree outside his complex. An actual scooter . It's all black with electric-blue accents on the deck and wheels. Reiss's grin slips a little. "Wait, would she?"

I shrug. "Probably not. She likes you too much."

"She does?"

"It's your sparkly personality and sense of humor and your"—with his back to me, I watch him bend over, unlocking the scooter with his phone—"ass…er, asking her what tea she likes."

"So, it's the free tea?"

I swallow, nodding even though he's not looking. I'm certainly not staring at how low those old joggers have slipped on his hips. Nope, not at all.

"Here." He passes me a helmet. "Safety first."

"Always," I say, then bite the inside of my cheek.

He climbs on, waiting for me to follow. After slipping on the helmet, I raise an eyebrow.

"Are we both, um…riding this one?"

He lets out a nose-scrunching snort. "You need a license to rent these. I'm guessing you don't have one?"

I smile. "Haven't even been behind the wheel of a car before."

"Figured. Come on."

Inhaling, I step on behind him. The deck is thin and short. We're close . My hands on his shoulders. His warm back pressed to my chest, and everything below that.

I try, "Is this legal—"

"Hold on tight," he commands, flipping the power switch, and I've barely repositioned my arms to hug him from behind before we're off.

The e-scooter isn't fast. We follow the bright green bike path up the road. There aren't many cars out. People are sticking to the sidewalks, where we're not allowed, according to Reiss. From here, Santa Monica is aglow—palm trees wrapped in bulbs, restaurants still glimmering, moonlight washing over the quiet streets. It's electric.

The breeze against my face. The way my stomach flips. I've never done something like this before.

It's like a scene from a movie. My favorite movie— The Way He Looks . When Leo rides on the back of Gabriel's bike for the first time.

An unexpected laugh spills from my mouth.

"Okay?" Reiss grins over his shoulder.

"Yes!" I shout as the city blurs into golds and reds and silvers. I rest my chin on his shoulder, breathing in his shower gel and the salty, damp air.

I'm not a prince. I'm not a headline. I'm a boy squeezing tightly to someone who makes me feel safe doing the most dangerous things.

It's the freest I've ever felt.

"Death by Chocolate." Reiss holds out his paper cup. "Here, try."

We're sitting on a bench on the far side of Third Street Promenade. After parking the e-scooter, he guided me to an ice cream shop, the menu filled with so many flavors, I couldn't choose. The freckle-faced girl behind the counter, who clearly didn't recognize me, picked mango sorbet. It's perfect—sharp but sweet. Still, it's nothing like Reiss's choice.

Thankfully, no one's around to hear the inappropriate noise I make. No one other than Reiss, who shifts around, biting his lip. It's just us. Helmets at our feet, thighs touching. Scooping ice cream from tiny wooden spoons into our mouths.

"Thanks," Reiss mutters. "For what you said to Dom."

"It's nothing."

"It is." He stabs at his melting mountain of chocolate. "Two years ago, one of the boys from his class had a sleepover. They watched horror movies. Dom's not a fan."

I grimace. "Me neither."

Reiss nudges my bicep. "Dom was so scared he hid in the bathroom crying until Ma picked him up. Some of the boys still make fun of him because of it."

A frown tugs at my mouth.

"I always want to protect him," Reiss says, a tight wrinkle between his brows. "Even when he's being a little shit. Which is constantly."

"As a younger sibling, I'm offended."

He ignores my fake pouting. "I never know the right thing to say. To make him feel better. To let him know it's okay to be afraid." He offers me his cup again. "But you did."

I swipe another spoonful, minimizing my reaction this time. "What can I say? I'm kind of perfect."

He shoves me, not before stealing from my cup. "Just say thank you."

But I don't. Instead, I say, "I'm sorry about Léon. I shouldn't have let it happen. The way he treated you. The way I treated you. You didn't deserve any of it."

He hums, spoon in his mouth. I sense he wants me to say more.

"This isn't an excuse," I preempt, "but my life's been a disaster since that video. I tried so hard to fix it. To get people to respect me. But nothing works. It's exhausting."

"What happened? To make you say what you said?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. I wish it was from a brain freeze. But it's from the memory.

"I was bored," I get out. "I was supposed to be meeting my tutor, but I ended up roaming around the palace. I heard voices coming from the Rouge Room. I thought it was my papa. I hadn't seen him in a week. But it wasn't."

My pulse picks up. It's like I'm back there, ear pressed to the mahogany door. Throat tight when I heard his voice. His words.

"It was Léon's dad," I say, choked. "He said…he said—"

Reiss rests a hand on my jumping thigh. "You don't have to tell me."

But I do. I need to tell someone . And now I know. Léon wasn't that person. It's Reiss, who always listens and calls me out and willingly lets me into his world.

I let the words come. Every sickening thing.

"I wasn't drunk at the party," I clarify. "I was angry . Kofi knew something was wrong. He always does. But he fucking let them record me. Then, he left me with the mess."

Reiss raises his cup. I dig in.

"This is why I don't have friends." I exhale. "No one wants to deal with royal drama. The endless bullshit. And no one sticks around long enough for me to—"

"Learn how to be a good friend?" he offers.

I nod, the melting ice cream cooling my temper.

"It's easier to keep everyone at a distance," I confess. "No one gets hurt that way."

"What about you?"

I shrug like it's nothing. "People will always have things to say about me."

I'm one of three Black princes in the entire world. The other two are much older. I'm also the first gay prince in line to the throne in my country's history. Every story written about a young, non-Black royal is a fluff piece compared to the ones about me. The media will never admit it, but I know why.

Reiss's forehead wrinkles. "That doesn't mean they're right."

"What's right and what people believe are two very different things."

He stirs his ice cream. Then, casually, he says, "I quit the essay hustle."

My eyebrows rocket up.

"Don't look so shocked. I have some integrity."

"Feeling up a prince in the back room of your parents' coffee shop?" I squint at him, then repeat his own words: "The jury's still out."

"Shut up." He smiles. "I need my scholarship. And recommendation letters from Willow Wood's faculty are worth more than a sick new pair of LeBrons."

"Bold statement."

"That's me." He scoops more chocolate, but instead of shoveling it into his own mouth, Reiss holds it toward me. "Super bold."

I take my time scraping the ice cream off his spoon, relishing the way his eyes never leave my mouth.

"Don't tell Karan I told you." He sighs. "But my short film? For Oceanfront Film Fest? It's about fear and how we're still beautiful as people in spite of it."

I tilt my head, curious, hungry for more.

"Karan's afraid of drowning," Reiss tells me. "Lo's scared of sea animals. Specifically dolphins, but other ones too. Dom hates scary movies."

The pool at Nathan's house. The fountain in Willow Wood's courtyard. Footage of him chasing Dominic around The Hopper in a Ghostface mask. All the places I've seen Reiss with his phone or Canon.

He explains how each shot is interspersed with footage of his friends, his family. Laughing. Living joyfully, without fear holding them back. The way he describes it warms my chest. In a good way.

"So, when you said that to Dom—" He pauses, smiling. "It was perfect."

I press my knee against his. "Do you want me to say it again?" I motion to his phone on the bench. "For the film?"

His eyes widen. "Seriously?"

I nod, despite the nervous sweat breaking out across my hairline.

"I'll only record your voice," he swears, scrambling to open an app. "No video."

I nod again, the knot in my belly uncoiling. I'm probably breaking a hundred NDA clauses. But for him? I do it, happily. Unapologetically.

After Reiss checks the playback, he pockets his phone. "Also, I was a little jealous of Léon. Like five percent."

"Wait. You were?"

His arms flail. Thankfully, he doesn't dump chocolate all over me. "This is all new for me! I don't know what I'm doing. How I'm supposed to feel. Fuck, it's my first relationship—"

He freezes.

I lean in. "Say that again. Your first—"

"I didn't say anything."

I slide my hand up his thigh. Chilled fingers against warm cotton. I wait until he has enough courage to look me in the eyes. "Reiss—sorry, do you have a middle name?"

He scowls. "Emile Dorian. Why?"

" Two middle names?"

"Don't royals have like sixteen names?"

It's my turn to make a face. "Counting titles? I have six."

"No thanks." He laughs quietly. "His Royal Arrogance is already a mouthful."

As soon as it's out, I can see the regret melt across his expression.

We stare at each other for a long moment. Even with his cheeks turning a violent shade of pink, his eyes never leave mine. The way he tips his chin higher, confidently, leaves my tailored slacks uncomfortably tight.

So, this is him. Bold . My lips curve up.

"Don't use that dimple on me," he warns.

"Reiss Emile Dorian Hayes," I start, "would you like to be my boy—"

"Isn't there a fancier title?" he interrupts. "Like Royal Suitor? A duke? His Royal Arrogance's—"

"Royal Attractiveness," I correct. "Royal Adorableness ."

"Royal Assholeness."

"You'd be okay with everyone calling you His Royal Assholeness's consort?"

He fake-gags. "Gross. How about HRA's—"

"You called me Jadon," I interject, inching in. "In the locker room."

"Did I? That doesn't sound like me."

"You did," I whisper, my mouth a breath away from his. "I liked it."

"And I suppose as the prince's boyfriend," he says, smile unguarded, "you expect me to care about the things you like?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"I'll think about it," he says, before brushing his lips to mine. They're cold, but so soft. Flavored by chocolate. I'm urged on by the little noise at the back of his throat, by his hand guiding mine higher on his thigh. Our ice cream cups are forgotten on the bench.

Reiss barely pulls away to say, "Yes, I'll be your royal whatever."

"Boyfriend," I repeat, kissing him again.