"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Chamantad Airport in Cincamarre. Please make sure that your seat belts are securely fastened, your tray tables are stowed . . . "

Her Royal Highness Saturnina Inez Mercado wanted to throw up in her seat as the in-flight announcement for their impending landing was made. True to the captain's warning of turbulence, the small plane suddenly dipped down a few feet, and Nina's stomach just couldn't seem to catch up.

She groaned and pressed her head deeper into the back of her seat. The plane's carefully controlled atmosphere was wreaking havoc on her hair, which had now become a thick, oily mess on her head. She ran her hands over her face, pressing the heels of her palms against her closed eyes in an attempt to stem the tide of her oncoming headache.

"Your Highness, are . . . you alright?" A fellow passenger asked tentatively, unsure if they should even be talking to the crown princess. It served as a sobering reminder to Nina that this was a commercial flight, and upchucking the local snack served onboard would leave nothing but a bad impression. God knows she'd made enough bad impressions to last her a lifetime already.

"Fine, thank you." She managed a weak smile with gritted teeth as she smoothed her hands through her short, black hair. She quickly ran her hands over her small, heart-shaped face, her fingertips just resting on the pronounced apples of her cheeks. Was it just her imagination, or was the plane doing actual loop-de-loops?

Unfortunately, Nina had only herself to blame for this potential disaster scenario. Although the royal household's secretary was all too aware of her airsickness and arranged for her to fly the redeye from Seoul so she could sleep, she was the one who forgot to pack her Dramamine and insisted on taking two widely-spaced, separate flights instead of a long haul flight straight home.

She also knew that ultimately, the Seoul incident was her fault. Not that she thought she'd done anything wrong, god no. A woman had every prerogative to go out, have a few drinks, and dance with a few guys who happened to be huge pop stars. What Korean paparazzi chose to do with that information was not Nina's problem.

Her Royal Highness Princess Saturnina of Cincamarre, trashes a restaurant with socialite friend Cora Justa Dumagat! made the headlines of HotGoss seconds after she'd left her hotel, which meant it was in the desk of Delia Mercado, her controller and aunt, Delia an hour later. The articles made sure to point out that the relatively unknown royal was only in Seoul on her way home to Cincamarre for her own father's funeral. Nina was very adamant that there was no point in issuing a statement over this, so she flew out of Incheon over a rain of camera flashes, reporters, and quite a few fans as she fled to the safety of the plane. Then from Manila, it was an hour and a half flight to the deep blue shores of Cincamarre, her father's kingdom.

Her kingdom now, technically.

"I'm sorry to hear about your father," the passenger, a woman of about fifty years old, said sadly. "I remember meeting him in a parade when I was younger. He was so handsome, and later on a very good king."

The words hit Nina squarely in the chest, and she felt the edges of the gaping hole in her heart contract. She took a sharp inhale of breath, and struggled to keep the smile on her face kind. She reminded herself to keep her smile steady, to be grateful and sweet, trying to remember the exact sound of Tita Delia's voice whenever she made a public appearance as a young girl. Keep your head straight, your smile small and your wave gentle, she said. We go on.

We go on no matter how much her heart was breaking.

"I cried when he and your Mama got married too," the passenger continued, oblivious to the princess' inner turmoil. "She was so beautiful that day, with her gorgeous hair. You look a lot like your mother, you know. The eyes too, very sharp and sort of serious."

"Thank you," Nina murmured, although she didn't feel thankful at all. She felt dizzy and sick. She felt like the plane itself, circling and circling, not quite able to land anywhere.

"I was so sad when she left." The passenger continued, shaking her head. "Who would want to abandon a throne?"

Just then, the plane gave a jerk, and a little sound and a flashing sign reminded the passengers to put on their seatbelts.

Despite the Captain's warning, and the seatbelt sign currently set to 'on,' a man from three rows ahead stood from his seat and walked over to Nina like the plane wasn't experiencing turbulence. The woman who had been chatting with Nina gasped, clutching her chest at the sight of the man's stormy eyes and sharp features. If Nina hadn't been close to throwing up, she would have gagged at the sight of him.

"Tito Ernie," she said, shaking her head. She tried to make it sound as formal as possible. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture. Plus, the seatbelt sign is on and last I checked, even members of the royal family can die in event of bad turbulence."

Nina wanted to drop her head on the tray table. Thinking or even talking about dying right now was horrible, and her uncle knew she hadn't meant it. His lips puckered before he gave his niece his trademark grin, the smile that was rumored to be used on the local toothpaste boxes.

"When have I ever lectured you on anything?" He asked her innocently. "I just have a request from the regent. My sister. Your aunt. Choose one and apply as needed."

Ernie handed her a black garment bag, which Nina unzipped warily to reveal a black tweed button up and a matching pencil skirt. The material was so thick that just holding it up made Nina's arm feel heavy.

"Is this for real?" Nina pout her lips toward the outfit. "I'm only twenty-six, not sixty-two."

Her uncle, who didn't look all that bothered that she was getting annoyed, shrugged in response.

"As real as it gets, kiddo," he said, trying his hardest to hide his amusement. "She saw what you were wearing when the airport pictures got sent to her, and had me bust out the emergency dress when we landed in Manila."

"What?" Nina groaned, suddenly closing her eyes as the plane jerked just a little bit.

"She said," Tito Ernie reached out to lightly pat his niece's head, "and please remember I'm just a messenger here, that your current outfit was 'not appropriate for the situation'." He used air quotes so Nina knew which words weren't his.

"My clothes." Nina looked down at her simple sleeveless dress with a fluted skirt. It was made of a light, cotton material, which made it perfect for the summery principality of Cincamarre, in a bright blue hue that she liked against her skin tone. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"A lady of your standing cannot be seen wearing something so . . . revealing, especially at this time of mourning. Still quoting my sister here. And it's Chanel. That's from me."

"For god's sake." Nina grumbled, dropping her head back before she crossed her arms over her chest. "They are just shoulders. I'm not on official palace business. I'm coming home for my father's...thing, and I don't need to wear a suit to show that I'm in mourning. And if you think I'm the sort of girl who would swoon at the sight of a Chanel suit, then I'm not the princess you're looking for."

"Say that to me the next time we fly to Shanghai to shop in Xin Tian Di, love," Tito Ernie teased her. "I did miss our little talks. But you know the drill. Ate Delia is regent and I, as the regular old Lord of Alapad, serve at her pleasure."

"And mine!"

"Not quite yet."

She groaned as the plane lurched again. It would be so easy to shout her uncle down, get angry. God knows, if she wasn't sitting in a public place now she would have opened a safety hatch and tossed the dress out of the window. She knew that shouting would get rid of that awful grey cloud hanging above her head.

But of course, getting angry and shouting at things to get rid of her own issues never helped before. It hadn't helped two years ago when her boyfriend was found very publicly cheating on her with some West Hollywood tart, nor did it help when she was a little girl who just found out that she was never going to see her mother again.

Nina flexed and balled her icy fingers into fists as her uncle very gingerly hung the garment bag in front of her. The plane jerked, and Nina shut her eyes to try to reduce the impact of the turbulence.

"Tito," she managed to say slowly as the plane dipped again. "You can't come here while we're landing to make me change clothes just because Tita Delia said so."

"Well, unfortunately for the both of us, she was named regent by the king," he said with absolutely no force to his statement. For once, Nina was glad her uncle was sent to babysit her instead of some guy in a suit who was her aunt's clone—prim, proper and prudish. At least Tito Ernie understood, to some extent. With him, she always had a choice. "So your Regent says so."

"Your Princess says no," she said, spying an attendant coming over to reprimand Tito Ernie for standing in the middle of turbulence in the corner of her eye. "Tito, take your seat before they make you."

Ernesto Mercado, who liked calling himself the oldest spare heir in history gave his niece a grin and shrugged casually.

"Sounds like a plan," he said before sauntering over where the attendant was. Once he made his way to the attendant, Nina clearly heard him say, "so you've seen the toothpaste boxes back in Cincamarre, right?"

Nina finally dropped her head back on her seat, grateful for the reprieve of explaining herself to her uncle. Coming home was still a chore to her, even if this was the last time she was flying in to Cincamarre as a virtual stranger. She knew her scandals and mishaps in the outside world made her an enigma to her own people: Not exactly loved, but not hated. They didn't know her at all, which had been fine for her until today.

"What do I have to do to get you to come home, Neens?" Her father used to ask her over handwritten letters. He liked hand writing his more serious letters—his letter to Nina on her grade school graduation and his birthday greetings to the King of Spain were currently on display at the Sabtang Royal Library. "How can I make you love home again?"

She didn't think that the heart attack had been the best way to do that.

From the clouds, the island nation of Cincamarre looked small, and it was. They prided themselves in their fantastic rolling hills and breathtaking views. There was a famous saying that any window that looked out of Cincamarre had the view of the sea with it, which was probably why Nina made sure she stayed in huge metropolis when she was away. She much preferred cities where the sea was as far as possible. But the little dots of amber lights down there were home, a home where the king, her father no longer was.

Nina breathed in the horrible plane smell, filling her lungs with cold air as the hole he left in her heart gaped. She thought it was a lot like an ugly black hole that threatened to suck up any part of Nina's happiness. She would never be complete again. Not anymore.

The plane gave a jolt, and bile and vomit ran up Nina's throat before she could stop it. She reached out for the nearest thing she could deposit the sick into. Unfortunately, it just so happened to also be her auntie-approved Chanel suit.

"Fuck." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she slowly zipped the garment bag back up. Tita Delia was not going to like this.

The attendant who had just finished flirting with her uncle blanched, and the story was all over the evening news reports as soon as the plane landed.