Chapter 22

22

PRINCE JADON SPEAKS: "WE'VE ALWAYS BEEN HERE, BUT I'LL MAKE SURE THEY REMEMBER US."

In an exclusive interview, ?les de la Réverie's Prince Jadon sits down for a second time with TeenBuzz 's Khalia Matthews to discuss discovering more of himself while in America (including meeting his new boyfriend), life as a Black royal, and leaving his own mark on his family's legacy.

"Is all this"—my eyes trail over the copious amount of food spread across the marble kitchen island—"really necessary?"

"Typically? No." Reiss smiles shyly.

There's a tray of hot dogs. Grilled vegetables on skewers. Stuffed peppers next to lightly charred corn cobs and seasoned fruit speared by toothpicks. A bowl of something called potato salad that I'm very wary of. In the center, a tower of sliders—a Mrs. Hayes specialty.

The whole house has an air of spice and smoke, but next to me, I inhale earthy sweetness. Reiss worked a shift at The Hopper earlier. His parents left the café open long enough to serve the Saturday morning rush before shutting down for the day. With all the added attention from our relationship, business is great. They can afford to leave early.

"But," Reiss goes on, "this is how my family celebrates things."

It's been less than a week since he submitted his short film. He still won't show it to me, but the preliminary results are in:

He's been selected as a finalist. One step closer to achieving his dream.

I press a kiss to his temple. "Fine. But I'm not touching that potato monstrosity."

He laughs. "Promise not to tell my dad."

It's his family's first time at the Palisades house. I stare out at the main lawn. Luc's eagerly explaining Paradise or Purgatory to Mrs. Hayes. On the lounge chairs, Mr. Hayes, in a frond-print shirt and board shorts, shares boba with Annika. Dom splashes around in the pool while Ajani sits on the edge, bare feet soaking in the water.

She can pretend all she wants, but I can tell she has a soft spot for Dom.

In the foyer, Samuel paces. Constantly staring at one device or another. Maybe he's searching trending topics to see if my name pops up. Nothing's come out about the prime minister yet. The worst headline about me is Kofi's backstabbing interview with Kip Davies, but I have a plan to counter that.

Maybe that's what Samuel's checking. Maybe—

The doorbell rings. I crane my neck. In Samuel's haste to answer, he drops his phone.

"Who's that?" Reiss whispers.

I try to shrug, but my shoulders are too tense. The last time an uninvited guest showed up, it was Léon.

But it's not him.

Somewhere behind me, Mrs. Hayes gasps out, "Sweet baby Jesus!"

Every muscle inside me goes cold. Even with the sunlight backing them, I recognize the perfect posture. The regally lifted chins.

It's Papa and Mom. The king and queen of Réverie. In the Pacific Palisades.

"Greg!" Mrs. Hayes whisper-shouts. "Get in here! Dom, out of that pool. It's the—the king and the—"

"Mom!" Annika cries. "Papa!"

She rushes past me, barefoot, skipping all formalities to haul our parents into a hug. Papa laughs. Mom squeezes her tightly, staring at me over Annika's shoulder.

I'm speechless. Motionless.

"Why is my hair always a mess when royalty shows up?" Mrs. Hayes murmurs.

Papa escapes Annika's arms. He smiles as he approaches.

"Bonjour, son."

"Papa." My throat barely works. "What're you doing here?"

Mom sidles up. She reaches out, touching my cheek. "I missed home. My first home. It's been too long." Her fingers brush my ear. "And we wanted to see you."

"Both of us," Papa confirms. There's a hesitance about him. An uncertainty I've never seen before. It's because of me. Because of how we left things in Réverie.

I let out a quiet breath.

"I made Samuel swear not to tell you we were coming," Papa adds. In the background, Samuel bows with a small smile. "Sorry we missed your play."

"We were—" Mom begins.

"Busy," I fill in.

"We're here now," Papa asserts. His hand finds my shoulder, squeezing. "If that's okay?"

It's not an order. He's not telling me. He's asking for permission.

"Y-yeah." I shove down a surprised laugh. "I mean, yes. I'm glad you're here."

His grin is the size of the sun. It's not a king's grin. It's my papa, goofy and inelegant and kind. "Also," he says, eyes shifting. "I owe Reiss an apology."

By my side, Reiss hiccups. "Sorry, what now?"

Behind him, his parents stand tall. Protective. Dom's dripping on the hardwoods, but even he looks ready to defend his brother.

"Our last meeting didn't go as planned," Papa says. He doesn't frown at Reiss's derisive snort. "I'd love to start over. Have a real chat. With my son's boyfriend."

Mom adds, "With his…family? If you'll have us?"

Mrs. Hayes tries to match Mom's textbook posture. She looks at her husband, then Reiss, waiting for his small shoulder lift. "We'd love that."

"You've gotta try my potato salad!" Mr. Hayes announces, breaking the tension.

His wife glares at him in a you did not just offer a queen potato salad way.

Reiss grabs my hand. He's biting his lip, nervous. I hope he can read what I'm saying with my eyes:

I won't let them hurt you again.

After a small beat, he nods.

"I heard you're interested in USC," Mom says to Reiss. "Film school? The president is a good friend." She winks. "I'd be honored to write you a recommendation letter."

Reiss's eyes widen, his face glowing. I know he's in good hands.

He walks outside with Mom. Annika and Luc join Dom in the pool. Mr. Hayes slings a friendly arm around Papa's stiff shoulders, regaling him with his potato salad recipe. Mrs. Hayes shakes her head, on the way back to the grill.

Ajani joins me by the kitchen island.

"Did you know they were coming?" I ask.

She gives an unenthusiastic shrug. "You needed this."

I did. My parents in America. Watching my papa nod as Reiss tells him and Mom all his goals, hands moving around animatedly. Annika smirking at me from under the California sun. My two worlds colliding.

"How—" I start, half-turning to her. "How did you put up with me all these years?"

She's quiet for a moment. I worry I've crossed a line.

But she grins and says, "Because I know greatness. I've seen greatness. It always starts with mistakes. With failure. With growth. You shouldn't be ashamed to be a rebel, my prince. Rebels won our people's freedom. Celebrate who you are."

It's the most consecutive words I've ever heard Ajani speak. The most affection I've heard in her voice. But it's not the first time I knew she loved me.

Sometimes, we don't need words for that.

Evening comes quickly.

Outside, the Hayes are gathered on plush sofas surrounding the glass fire pit. They're joined by Annika, Mom, Ajani, and Luc. From the looks Reiss gives me every few seconds, orange light dancing over his smile, I can tell Mom's showing him baby photos on her phone.

I'm with Papa in the gourmet kitchen. It smells like rum and vanilla. There's a smear of flour on his cheek. He's teaching me how to make canelés, the one recipe we never got around to when I was younger. Before royal obligations were all he had time for.

He rolls up his sleeves. "Do you bake much here?"

"Kind of." I coat copper molds with beeswax, grimacing. "I burned macarons."

Fondness scrunches his eyes. "A family tradition. I've ruined plenty of batches in my life."

I pour batter into the molds. Typically, it needs to chill for at least twenty-four hours. But I'm not aiming for precise. With my baking. Or my words.

"Nothing comes out perfect the first time," Papa says.

I raise my eyebrows.

"About what you said—" He wipes his cheek with the back of his wrist. "Me forcing you to be the prince I was?"

I start to wince. He chuckles.

"No, no. I get it. But son, I wasn't a good prince," he tells me. "Not at first."

I roll my eyes playfully. "Lies, Papa. I've seen photos."

"Photos and video don't tell the whole story." He scans my face. "Do they?"

Together, we transfer the molds onto a baking sheet.

"We didn't have social media then," he goes on. "All my missteps weren't blasted over the internet. Plus, your pépère was as tough as he was kind."

Something I'll always remember about Pépère—his infectious smile.

"He taught me a lot." Papa sighs. "So have you."

"I did?" I say with slight cynicism.

"Traditions don't dictate everything. In order to rule, you have to follow your heart. Take a stand. Be a little fearless."

I gape at him. "You got all that from me yelling at you?"

"Yes! I did." He laughs. After placing the tray in the oven, he adds, "I also talked with Ambassador Ime. You left quite the impression on her."

My nose wrinkles. I forgot about the dinner with Grace's dad.

"A good one," Papa assures. "She likes your…fire."

I set a timer on my phone. He leans against the island, waiting for me to speak.

Be a little fearless .

"Do you know what it's like?" I finally say. "To have a king—your papa—tell his gay son he's not the kind of prince his country deserves?"

His face falls. "Son. I didn't mean—"

"I know." I bite the inside of my cheek. "But it still hurt. For months, I didn't think being me was enough. I tried to be someone else. But I can't be."

"No, you can't." Papa smiles sadly. "You shouldn't ."

He surprises me by grabbing my hand. His is wrinkled, a little cold, but still bigger. Still strong and gentle. A hand that guided me through the only moments where I felt like Jadon was enough —in the palace kitchens, just us, away from the world.

"I want to go to university," I confess. "In America."

Papa stays quiet. He grips my hand tighter. Tell me more .

"I want to pursue baking. Or acting. Maybe something boring." I laugh. "I want to study politics too."

A subtle eyebrow raise, but he still doesn't interrupt.

"I want to do more for Réverie," I say. "For people like me. I can't do that in the palace. Or on a council. I need room to explore and learn."

Papa's gaze turns to the main lawn. To Mom giggling with Reiss.

"Like I did."

I grin. At least I know where I got my stubborn, romantic heart from.

"Annika's the next queen," I say. "But I want to build a Réverie I'm proud of too. I'm done with the past. I don't always want to be neutral."

Papa exhales, shoulders dropping. "I don't want that either." He clears his throat. Stares into my eyes. "You'll stay here. Finish your education. Annika will stay too. She wants to establish a stronger Réverian presence. That girl has your mom's drive."

"She gets it from you too," I tease.

He smirks. "Samuel will remain here to help as well. He's quite fond of you."

Again, I'm caught off guard. Not just by Papa's revelation. But because I like Samuel too, when he's not secretly inviting my ex to LA.

"He showed me your Sunset Ball speech," Papa comments. "I have some notes."

I groan, embarrassed.

Papa laughs again. "Don't worry. You're on the right path."

Am I? I still don't know if I've found the exact words to tell the world who I am. What my country—and America—has given me.

Papa hauls me into a hug. He smells like sugar and butter and Darjeeling.

Like home.

"You don't have to get it perfect," he says into my curls. "You can be angry. Kind. You don't need to be me or anyone else, son. Just be Jadon."

I exhale into his shoulder. Tears slip from my eyes as he squeezes tighter.

"I'm so sorry, son. For not listening. For everything." It sounds like he's crying too. But happy tears. Like we're finally okay. "Promise me you'll visit Réverie. You'll come see your mom and me. Promise."

And I do.

The Sunset Ball is an absolute spectacle. Chic suits and glamorous gowns. A long, blush-pink carpet draped across the Getty Center's front steps.

I climb out of the Bentley. Photographers scream my name. Camera flashes shimmer against the darkening sky like exploding diamonds. But it's not only my attention they're scrambling for. It's the boy next to me, whose hand I don't hesitate to grab, threading my fingers through his.

Reiss grins nervously. I've done a million of these things before. But this is his first real taste of dating a royal.

"Don't worry," I say into his ear. "You look great."

He's wearing a custom-made Tom Ford suit in a familiar shade of cardinal. His gold tie pops against a black button-down. At least he's getting used to the designer wardrobe, having a stylist stand over him to fix his hair. It's freshly dyed. Pacific blue.

"It helps," I add, smirking, "that you're standing with me."

He squints against all the bursting light. "Is that so, Your Royal Arrogance?"

My nose wrinkles. "It is. Now, come on. You're blocking my dimples."

His mouth flexes into that crooked grin.

Ajani escorts us through the storm.

Inside, the main lobby is crowded with guests. Models and actors and political influencers. I don't search for Grace. We haven't talked since that night with her father. I'm giving her space to figure out who she wants to be, the same way being banished to LA gave me that chance.

As corks pop and the orchestra tunes up, I find us a quiet corner. My stomach churns anxiously. A million conversations are happening at once. In thirty minutes, I'll give my speech, right before the dinner. Bile crawls up my throat.

Annika's not far away. Standing in a gorgeous off-the-shoulder Carolina Herrera number, surrounded by the cast of a popular Netflix series. Nearby, Luc trades glances between her and me. His subtle eyebrow lift asks, Do we need to get you out of here?

With a small head shake, I smile his way, grateful.

He's not the only one who's noticed my pale face and tight shoulders.

Reiss squeezes my hand. He catches Ajani's attention. "Can I borrow him for a minute? Or, like, fifteen?"

Her eyes narrow with distrust.

"His, uh," Reiss stammers, "bowtie needs fixing."

I look down, frowning. I'm not wearing a bowtie. The all-black Prada suit Dion chose didn't require one. In the lobby's light, the gold accents threaded through the suit jacket sparkle.

"Ten minutes," Ajani says stiffly. "Not a second more."

Reiss beams. "I'll take it."

Before I can ask what's happening, Reiss hooks an arm in mine. He drags me through a maze of faces. Around the champagne fountain. Behind a thick curtain where the noise is softened to a dull hum.

"What are we—"

My words are cut off as Reiss guides me against a wall. His hands splay on either side of my head. He grins slyly, something familiar flashing in his eyes.

"You're tense," he says.

I inhale a tight breath. "A little, yes."

"Cool. I'm here to help."

"Help?" I parrot, confused. Until his gaze drags over my mouth. His body presses against mine. One hand leaves the wall to run through my hair, down my cheek. " Oh . You want, um, to do that?"

His eyebrows wiggle, part amused, part serious. I can't blame him. Between the play and Oceanfront Film Fest and my parents' surprise visit, we haven't had any alone time. Not since Centauri Palace. It's crossed my mind too.

Just not now .

"It'll calm you down," he swears, suddenly an expert. I laugh when his head dips, soft lips tracing the skin under my jaw.

"What if…you know. The press walks in?"

"They won't." He grabs my waist. Angles my hips until I can feel him fully. "It's a big night. You're stressed about the speech. Just let me—"

"Hi, boys!"

Reiss flies back. I'm frozen as the curtain peels back. A fraction of light seeps in, highlighting the floral-embroidered gown Morgan's wearing.

She lifts a playful eyebrow. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," I sigh, thumping my head against the wall. "Wait. Where have you been?"

We still haven't run into each other post-protest. To be fair, I've missed mornings in the courtyard to be with Reiss. But I haven't seen her in Willow Wood's halls either.

"Busy," she says nonchalantly. Morgan and her secrets.

I cross my arms, unwilling to let her deflect.

With an annoyed huff, she adds, "After, you know, being on the news , I had a big blowout with my stepdad. He wasn't happy about the protest." She looks down at her teal nails. "He yelled. I yelled. My mom threatened to take us on Judge Judy."

She's quiet for a beat. Her hard exterior softens in the shadows.

"My stepdad cried," she whispers. "He said it's fine if I want to fight for the right thing, but I'm a Black girl. In the city. Surrounded by cops. He didn't want anything to happen to me."

Reiss lets out a low breath. I do too. I remember Papa's words:

Your title means nothing to the wrong person there. Your life means nothing to them. Do you understand that?

I do now. It's not who you are. It's what you are that threatens them.

"Anyway." Morgan quickly wipes her eyes like the tears were never there. "We got off on the wrong foot. Me and him. So, we're spending more time together. Starting over, I guess."

I smile. I know what that's like too.

Her eyes drift over to Reiss. "I see you're doing the same thing," she says coyly.

I stare at him too. "I am."

"Good for you." In her hand, her phone chimes. "Ugh. Sorry. It's Grace. God, I regret agreeing to be her plus-one. She wants to know if you're okay?"

I blink owlishly. "Sorry, what now?"

Morgan lets out a real laugh. All high-pitched, nose wrinkling. "I heard about the dinner. She's…not everyone's flavor of intensity."

"She's not all bad."

Morgan tilts her head, stunned. "Plot twist."

I shrug, then laugh quietly.

After a short text and locking her phone, she says, "I'm glad you two get each other. She gives great birthday gifts. And she introduced me to my girlfriend, so—"

We share a look. Morgan's lowering her walls. I can do the same.

"I'm sticking around," I tell her. "You have to deal with me for another semester. Probably longer."

She shakes a hand at the sky like she's cursing some divine being. It's all a show. I can tell she's happy.

"I'm gonna go. See you Monday?"

When I nod, she unleashes a beautiful, sincere smile. Something I could get used to. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she warns us, then she's gone.

"Wow," Reiss says, for both of us. "You have some strange friendships."

I squawk. "Sorry, have you met Karan?"

"Unfortunately." He tugs on my jacket. Presses fully against me again. "Now, where were we—"

"Well, well. This is interesting."

Fuck my life. I'm living an actual nightmare. The curtains part again, another shaft of light creeping in before I see him.

Léon, wearing head-to-toe Armani like a well-dressed demon.

Smugly, he says, "Réverie's prince loves a scandal."

I'm about to ask what he's doing here, specifically here , at the Sunset Ball, in the one hidden space where I'm trying to spend time with my boyfriend, when I notice it. The unsteady line of his mouth. Uneven edge to his shoulders. Fingers wiggling at his sides. To anyone else, Léon's poker face is strong, but not with me.

We've known each other too long. He's nervous.

I cock an eyebrow, waiting expectantly.

With a long-suffering sigh, Léon says, "I'm not banned from Réverie. Only because of you."

A small smile tugs at my mouth.

While Papa was here, we discussed the prime minister. The conversation he had with Léon that started it all. I didn't beg on Léon's behalf, but I reasoned. Yes, he was shitty, but so was I. He shouldn't be punished for his papa's crimes.

He deserves a second chance.

"You said I inspired you," I say.

"You finally stopped caring." He grins. "You didn't do it their way. Like your papa would. I needed to see that." He runs a shaking hand over his hair. "To know I don't have to do things their way either."

"So, you ratted out your papa?"

"I did the right thing," he says with an earnestness I've rarely seen from him. His eyes slide to Reiss. "I'm sorry. For—"

"Being an asshole?" Reiss suggests.

"Yeah, yeah. That." He laughs roughly. "You're not so bad."

Reiss sniffs, his glare unrelenting, but his mouth lifts. Just a little.

Léon pivots back to me. "So, now that we're best friends," he says, rocking on his heels, ignoring my mocking expression, "what's the deal with Nate? Is there a chance?"

"Chance for what?"

Léon groans in that petulant way of his. "Can I ask him out? Is that…cool?"

I stare at him for a moment.

What we had together wasn't meant to be. We were better friends. As two boys who needed to know we weren't alone. But just because we didn't work romantically doesn't mean I should've sworn off future relationships.

First love doesn't mean last love.

Our pasts don't define what our futures can be.

"Go for it," I tell him.

His confident, fearless smile turns into something genuine. Vulnerable. He bows to me, then Reiss.

"Good luck out there, Your Highness."

Léon is barely on the other side of the curtain before Reiss is on me. Undoing buttons, easing a leg between my thighs. Hungry lips under my jaw as he whispers, "I'm proud of you."

I laugh breathily, ready to kiss him.

It never happens.

Ajani's voice says, "My prince. Time's up."

"What happened to ten minutes?" Reiss complains.

"I gave you twelve."

He slumps against me. I tip my head back, guffawing. How appropriate. Royal obligations ruining my one moment with Reiss. But that's okay.

Three months ago, I didn't think any American boy was worth this. That I was worthy of any of this.

But I am. He is. We are.

I press a kiss to his forehead. "Ready?"

When we step into the main hall, I almost don't hear his "You're lucky I love you." It's noisy as guests move toward the ballroom. His hand in mine is a welcome feeling. Like the tide meeting the shore. Like this is how it was always going to end:

With us, together.

Over the speakers, I hear:

"Distinguished guests of the Sunset Ball, accompanied by his date, Reiss Hayes, please welcome His Royal Highness Prince Jadon of ?les de la Réverie, our prince of the Palisades!"