Chapter 19

19

EXCLUSIVE: "HE'S NOT THE PRINCE YOU THINK HE IS"

For years, the world has obsessed over who Prince Jadon really is. The boy who caused a stir in Milan? The drunken misfit badmouthing a political leader on camera? What about the ambitious rebel protesting in America? In an exclusive The Dish and Chips interview, Kip Davies talks candidly with Kofi Baptiste, the prince's former best friend, about the Jadon in the news and the real him. You might be surprised by what you read!

I'm not nervous.

Behind the Rouge Room's mahogany doors, my parents are meeting. They got in late last night. Too late for a formal welcome. Also, I was a little busy with…well. Spending the night in a certain boy's guest suite.

This is the first time I'm seeing my parents in person in months. The first time they'll see the real me. The first time they're meeting Reiss too.

But I'm not nervous. Nope. I don't anticipate projectile vomiting from the queasiness in my stomach in the near future.

"Your Highness."

I startle when Dion swoops in like he did this morning. All impeccable clothes and perfect sepia skin and confident smile. He bows, then says, "I present…Mr. Reiss Hayes."

He steps aside. Whatever's happening in my belly calms.

Reiss is in a black Oxford, the top two buttons undone. Fitted Burberry trousers match his loafers. His faded pink hair is trimmed and styled. He's as beautiful as he was last night. A dream I don't want to wake from.

"Hmm." Annika walks up, studying Reiss. Her gaze turns on me. "I see what you mean."

My face is as hot as Reiss's looks.

She squeezes my shoulder. "Are you good?"

Over breakfast, she gave me a small pep talk: Speak from the heart, be respectful, don't fuck it up .

After a deep inhale, I nod.

I can do this. I hope I can.

The doors swing open. Samuel greets us with a deep bow. "His Majesty and Queen Ava are ready for you."

I grab Reiss's hand. We walk toward the glossy lacquered table in the center of the room. Papa waits at the head, stone-faced, sitting tall in a sharp suit. To his left, Mom smiles when she sees Annika, then me. Her expression doesn't falter after Reiss comes into view.

He bows in the way I coached him on earlier.

"My children," Papa says with a faint warmness. "Welcome home."

"You too, Papa," Annika says.

I nod, trying to detangle the knots forming in my stomach as I sit.

Mom folds her hands on the table. "This is Mr. Hayes?"

"Reiss," I confirm with a wobbly voice. I clear my throat. "My boyfriend."

"It's an honor to meet you," he gets out, just as nervous.

Mom's grin widens. Papa's face remains unsurprisingly neutral.

Samuel rests a folder in front of him.

"Quite the journey you've been on, son," he says, reaching for his teacup. The air is spiced with a flowery scent. Darjeeling, his favorite. "Going to dinners with respected figureheads. Baseball games. Rehearsing for a school play—"

Something like pride rests in the corners of Mom's mouth at that last bullet point.

Papa flips a page. "You've also had time to be seen at Los Angeles landmarks." His eyes drift to Reiss.

Under the table, I grip his hand. "Yes, Papa, I—"

"And yet," he goes on like I never spoke, "nothing to prove you've earned Réverie's respect again."

My mouth flattens into a thin line, eyes narrowed.

"You're still in the news." He turns another page. A copy of today's The Dish and Chips . The interview with Kofi.

My stomach roils as Mom's expression slips into disappointment.

"Where is the prince I asked for?" Papa inquires. "Three months in America. Ample time to prove yourself. But all I see is a rebel protesting. Getting caught kissing this boy."

"His name's Reiss," I say, barely keeping the agitation out of my voice.

Papa is unmoved. He's the king right now, not the man who taught me to knead dough or flip a crêpe.

"And I am the prince you asked for," I say earnestly. "The one I should be."

"Which is?"

"Someone who cares." I look at Reiss. "Who fights. Speaks up. Who isn't always right, but knows change takes time." I watch Reiss's mouth curve up before staring at Papa again. "I'm proud of who I'm becoming."

Papa sighs into his tea. "But is Réverie proud?"

"They should be," I insist.

Mom smiles sadly. "Son, have you thought about whether your choices are fair to Reiss?"

His attention jumps to her.

My perfect royal posture falters. "W-what?"

"I know what it's like to be an outsider," Mom says. "The crown carries a lot of weight. Not just for you. For whoever you choose to be involved with."

A familiar flame starts in my chest. Climbs into my throat. The prime minister's words pollute my blood all over again. She's not one of us. Never will be!

"There will be negativity. From the press. From our people." She exhales. "Is Reiss ready for that?"

I pause, mouth open. Last night, all I wanted was to keep Reiss as close as possible. To never let go. But was Kofi right? Is it always about…me? Did I bother to ask if Reiss wanted all of this?

"Can you handle it, son?" Mom says.

"I'm not even the crown prince!" I look around the table. "Why does anyone care what I do? Who I date?"

Papa sips his tea. "You represent this country." He motions toward Annika. "Your sister works hard to put our people first. Our family first."

"Our family," I repeat, almost hysterical. "The family that doesn't even see each other?"

Papa smacks his hand down. "?a suffit."

"No, it's not." I shake my head. "Thanks to you exiling me to America, this is the most I've seen my sister in a year!"

Annika frowns at me.

"Unlike you, she's busy being a proper representation of Réverie." Papa's voice booms in the room. "Why do you insist on ruining your future?"

"What future?" I laugh hoarsely. "The one decided by the monarchy? I'm your son . Not just a face printed on T-shirts in a souvenir shop."

"You're a prince."

"I'm a puppet," I argue. "And every time I try to be myself, someone cuts my strings."

Papa scoffs. "You learned nothing in America. You're emotional. Impulsive. Ungrateful. Disrespectful—"

"I'm me ," I say through the thickness growing in my throat.

"Excuse me." The chair next to me shifts. Reiss stands, letting go of my hand. "Sorry, Your Majesty, but I don't want this."

"What?" I almost don't hear my own voice over the ringing in my ears.

"I can handle this. I'm ready," he says to my mom. Then, he stares down at me. "This is where you belong. Where you wanted to be. Right?"

I can't answer him, my hands trembling on the table.

"I'm not standing in your way," he continues. "Those kids we played with yesterday? They need you. Kids like Dom need you too. Someone to look up to. A hero, remember?"

"But what about—"

"How can you be brave if you've never been afraid?" His lips barely hold a smile.

Tears burn against my eyelashes.

Reiss faces Papa. "I'm lucky. My parents support my dreams. They let me choose my own path. Even when I mess up." He raises a defiant chin. "That's what great parents do. They don't force their children. They let them be who they are. Mistakes and all."

A beat of silence. I scramble for words, but nothing comes fast enough. Because, deep down, I know what's next.

But it still hurts when Reiss whispers, "I'd like to go home."

I stare at him, incredulous. Heartbroken.

"As you wish, Reiss," Mom says, nodding. "Ajani, please see that he gets everything he needs. Samuel, coordinate a flight home."

There's a moment where Reiss lingers over me. I still can't find the right words to ask him to stay. He doesn't wait for them. He turns his back from me and follows Ajani out the mahogany doors.

And I let him leave.

"I've decided," Papa starts after too long. "You'll remain in Réverie. Your exile is over. We'll discuss how to move forward with your royal duties later."

I finally blink. No tears fall. I stare at Annika, her chin lowered, fists balled on the table. Even Mom's regal posture has deflated. Silently, Papa finishes his tea, as if the last few minutes never happened.

The decision has been made. This is how it will always be.

But the fire in my chest is burning too hot. I'm done letting someone else choose for me. If I don't say this now, I might not ever have the courage again.

I stand on wobbly legs. "I know we have obligations. That putting your country first is some kind of royal tradition. But I miss my family," I choke out. "Not this formal bullshit we've become."

"Jadon," Mom sighs.

"Know your place, son," Papa scolds.

"I don't have a place, Papa! And no one's letting me find it. I'm always told where I belong. What I should do. How I have to exist. When do I get to decide?" I shout, pounding a fist to my chest. "When do I pick my own path?"

"When you grow up," Papa says plainly.

"You can force me to smile and wave. Be the good prince you were," I bite out, "but you'll never change who I am."

Unflinching, Papa lifts a brow. Who are you?

"I'm kind. I'm angry. I stand up for what I believe. For the people I love. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying ." I sniff, ignoring how my voice keeps breaking. "This is the real me. It's a shame my own parents can't love me for that."

I turn on my heels and march toward the doors.

"Jadon." Papa's voice echoes like thunder from the head of the table. His position of power. "I didn't excuse you."

"I know, Your Majesty," I say over my shoulder.

And I keep walking.

"Redecorating?"

Brows raised, Annika hangs in the archway of my suite's bedroom. It's been two hours since we last saw each other in the Rouge Room. She looks as tired as I feel.

The world's still spinning. It's like I'm on a Ferris wheel that never pauses. Never permits me room to breathe. My vision is nothing but blurred images of Papa's angry scowl and Mom's disappointed shoulder droop and Annika's sad, lowered eyes. Or maybe that's the tears I refuse to shed.

He's gone. And I didn't stop him.

Annika carefully steps into the room. Over the wreckage I created the second I kicked in my suite's door. I couldn't stand looking at it. Clean, organized, every detail decided by someone else. Just like my life.

So, I tore down paintings. Tipped over pretty, expensive, useless furniture. Knocked over a vase or two. Ajani stood aside as I went from corner to corner. As I unleashed the last flames swelling inside me.

Now, in the aftermath, I sit on my bed. Fists curled in my lap. Exhaustion creeping into my bones. The fire extinguished. And nothing's changed.

Not a single thing.

The mattress dips. Annika doesn't push me to speak. She waits, the same way she did when our mémère died and I couldn't stop shaking, absorbing the pain of the first person I loved and lost.

She did the same thing when Pépère passed. That was shorter. Because the palace had time to prepare for the transition from funeral to coronation to losing my papa to his new duties. We went from being paraded around in all black to being paraded around with smiles and graceful waves. There was barely any time to mourn.

But through it all, Anni was there. Like she is today.

"Walking out on the king?" She half-laughs. "That's bold."

I exhale. "Had to level up after walking out on a senator."

Her shoulder brushes mine, and my stomach twists, thinking about what I said earlier.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean it when I said—"

"Yes, you did," she interrupts, grinning wryly. "But I'm not mad."

"You're not?"

"As much as it kills me to admit," she groans, "I am always gone. Always being Crown Princess Annika first."

"I wish I was like you."

"You mean impeccably dressed? Funny? Nice ?"

"No." This time, I nudge her shoulder. A frown creases my mouth. "Perfect."

She sighs at the ceiling. "Jade, I promise you, I'm far from that. I'm the first female heir in our bloodline. That's a lot of pressure."

Before her, every monarch's firstborn was a boy. It wasn't an intended tradition—to only have kings. It just happened. But then Annika came along, and Pépère made it known that one day, she would succeed Papa. She would be our queen.

"For years, I tried to be the best. Give them no reason to doubt me." She cracks her knuckles, then stops. "But they'll always doubt me. Because of misogyny. Misogynoir. I'll never be enough."

I shake my head, irritated.

"I don't want to be their queen, anyway." Annika shrugs. "They don't deserve me. I want to be queen of a Réverie I helped shape. Which is what I've been doing for the last year."

She unlocks her phone. Swipes through contracts and building plans. Discussions with leaders about creating more facilities intent on providing aid to underserved communities. Fighting antidiscrimination laws. Empowering women of color across the world.

"Holy fuck," I whisper. "So, you weren't just lounging by the pool? Sipping boba all day?"

"Oh, I did that too. It's called multitasking."

We share smiles.

"I can't change Réverie in a day," she says. "But I can start. I can stop giving up before I even try."

My eyebrows knit. "Wait. You were supposed to be helping me in LA."

"I tried! You're so stubborn. Just like Papa."

"I'm not like—"

Her sharp glare cuts me off. "You both get these ideas in your head. How things are supposed to go. Sometimes it's okay to admit you're in over your head." Her face softens. "Or just… listen . Not only to me. Yourself too."

I slump forward, drumming my fingers on my knees. A new wave of sadness moves through me when I realize I got that from Reiss.

"There's something else." When I raise my eyes, Annika's chewing her lower lip. Worry sits in the corners of her eyes. "I kind of have a secret boyfriend."

I nearly fall off the bed, flailing.

She winces. "I know, I know."

"Who?" I demand. "I'll have Ajani kidnap him and—"

Annika swats my knee. "No, you won't. Besides, Ajani doesn't need any extra motives to throw him off a roof."

I stare at her for a beat. And then—

"You're fucking joking."

She passes me her unlocked phone. I freeze at her background. It's the two of them laughing, arms around each other, standing in front of the reflecting pool on USC's campus.

My sister and Luc.

"That might be the other reason I was so busy in LA," she says with an anxious grin.

"H-how?"

"It happened last year—"

" Last year ?" My screeching voice would usually alarm half the Royal Protection Guard. Ajani simply rolls her eyes, as if this isn't a surprise. As if she's known all along.

"It was unexpected," Annika says. "Me and Lucky—"

"No, no. Stop." I rub my temples, my brain unable keep up with all this new information. "His full name's Lucky ?"

Annika's eyes narrow. My jaw clicks shut. I wave a hand in a please continue gesture.

"It works," she says. "When things are too much. When I'm sad or angry. Or need a reminder that I'm more than all of this. He's there. He likes Anni , not Crown Princess Annika."

A tender smile tugs at my mouth.

I know who you are.

People talk. I don't listen.

The things Reiss said to me the first time we really talked. He's never cared that I was a prince. He likes me as just Jadon.

Well, he did. Before today.

"How do you deal with the, you know, royal stuff?" I ask.

"I don't go around kissing him in front of busy piers!"

I facepalm.

"I only give the press enough to keep them satisfied. Sometimes, more." She sighs, her pristine posture unraveling. "It's a sacrifice. But it means I get those quiet moments with Lucky. My relationship is mine until I'm ready to share it with anyone else."

"What about Mom? Papa?"

"They know. Now." She makes a face. "I told them right after you stormed out."

I'm kind of glad I missed that. I like Luc, questionable reality TV show obsession and all. I don't think I could've controlled my temper if Papa said the wrong thing about him. Not that I'm good at keeping my anger in check to begin with.

"No matter who you are, you don't owe anyone every piece of you," Annika tells me. "It's yours. You decide what they get. What they remember you for. Not the crown. Not the people of Réverie. Not our parents."

The sharp burn behind my eyelashes returns.

Annika pokes my chest. "You decide, Jade. Only you."

I rest my head on her shoulder.

She whispers into my curls: "You don't have to be perfect. But you can't give up either."

Finally, I close my eyes. The hot tears slip out. Slice down my cheeks like a river of lava. But it's okay. Princes are allowed to cry.

I'm allowed to cry. Their rules never fit me anyway.