"Your Highness, please," he continued. "We don't want to cause trouble."

"Gentlemen," Nina sighed, "You have not even begun to see trouble."

Felipe felt his wheelchair move slightly forward and back, like she was revving up an engine. His entire body tingled when she lowered her head to whisper in his ear.

"Hold on tight, Spaceman."

Then they were off like a rocket, careening through the halls of the palace, shouting at staff and guests to move out of the way as the guards ran after them.

"Just like old times!" Nina laughed, turning the northwest corner and pulling up suddenly when they reached the doors of the portico. Felipe could hear her gasping to catch her breath, and he looked up at her.

"We went to the portico," he pointed out to her.

"I don't like being told what to do," Nina shrugged, quickly fixing her hair and her dress as Felipe pushed the door open.

The portico was the grand hallway where the Mercados usually held functions and receptions. The king's funeral had been no exception, except Nina and Felipe were clearly too late. Members of the Mercado family, cousins and other relatives were still milling around, trying to come up to Nina to offer condolences, but all she could do was smile and point at him for some reason. Traces of the funeral reception were being cleared as they spoke—bouquets of bright yellow daisies were being carted off for burning, baskets of food were being prepared for donation to charities. Any expense made was reused and shared with the people, which was why Felipe appreciated Tita Delia. She knew all the rules that he was still trying to pick up.

They ambled along quite slowly, as was the tendency when someone from your party was injured by a hole in the ground. The staff at Concordia was used to seeing Felipe in various states of injury. His excursions around farmlands and contemplations around the Palace had left him with little cuts, bruises, and once (he would always announce proudly), a broken rib.

"You okay?" Nina looked at him before she smiled awkwardly at someone.

"I'm . . . no, I'm fine, fine," he assured her from his spot in the wheelchair. "It's just a twisted ankle."

"Your foot is swelling." Nina pointed out, puckering her lips in the direction of his ankle.

"Pish, it's nothing," he said, over pronouncing the word 'pish'.

Instead of throwing back a remark or a snipe, Nina actually laughed. He liked the way she laughed, exactly the same as she did when she was a kid—loud and brassy, without a care who heard.

The tough little girl he knew had grown into a beautiful and confident woman, with a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts and a body that moved without a hint of awkwardness or uncertainty.

She was a goddess on earth. A rose in a glass jar. Felipe would be lying if he said that he wasn't affected by her.

"Oh, there you two are." Tita Delia turned to them like they'd just been strolling along the countryside. Felipe felt her laser-focused gaze scan him from head to toe, her lips thinning as she seemed to finally notice the wheelchair. Tito Ernie's brow was quizzically raised over Felipe's head, and he missed the nuance of the unspoken conversation between uncle and niece.

"I see we've been out in the fields again, your Highness," another voice joined into the fray of disapproving adults.

Francisco Almario took a spot next to Tita Delia like a contestant in a pageant, striking a stiff but formal pose beside the tableau. He was Felipe's first adviser, the dowager princess' eyes and ears whenever he was outside the palace. While he had spent most of his life learning the ropes of his current role, he still relied heavily on his vizier's advice, which had not failed him yet.

Francisco was there to be Felipe's parent when he needed one, reminding him of his image, and that going out to the Palace gates to party with the locals of a neighboring principality was an absolute N-O even if it was in celebration of a deceased King's life.

Francisco and Felipe worked together long enough that Felipe knew when he had done something outside protocol and this, along with hurting himself while strolling the lanzones orchard had been extremely high on Francisco's list of 'things Felipe shouldn't do,' along with being caught with any kind of tool in his hand during the harvest season.

Oddly enough, both Tita Delia and Francisco were smiling, which made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

"We were wondering where you two had wandered off to," Tita Delia said lightly.

"Really? Was that why you sent the suits after us?" Nina snapped, jerking her thumb at the regent's guard as the entire party adjourned to the library adjacent to the portico. Felipe was helped into a large wingback chair, a plastic bathroom stool placed at his foot to use as a footrest.

"Well, I had to when one of you is a known flight risk," Delia said coolly at Nina, but it was he who visibly winced.

Nina's eyes narrowed, but said nothing more as someone came in with a cart laden with ginger tea, rice cakes, and caramelized saba bananas, a Cincamarre specialty lovingly called banana-cue by the locals.

"And that's my banana-cue to exit," Tito Ernie joked, striding across the room to quickly snatch a piece of rice cake from the cart. He stopped in front of his niece and looked into her eyes, and placed his free hand on her shoulder.

"You've got this." He assured her, kissing the top of her head before he left the room.

Felipe didn't miss the way Tita Delia rolled her eyes at the exchange.

"There are . . . matters of concern we need to discuss," Francisco announced, his hands clasped behind his back.

"How about we find a doctor for Felipe first?" Nina asked, sliding up next to him, sitting on the side of the wingback.

Felipe felt her thigh press against his arm as she turned to him.

"No, no need. I'm fine," he insisted.

"You don't have to pretend that it doesn't hurt."

"Sometimes you do, if there were more important things."

"Felipe," she said in a low voice.

"No, it's fine." He insisted. "It's a minor twist, I can handle it. Now, what do we need to talk about?"

"As you both know," Francisco began, "Concordia and Cincamarre have enjoyed very good relations since they were established. Both of you have known each other since you were children, in fact."

"Yes, yes, I think we were both there for that part." Felipe waved his hand to urge his adviser to get to the point much quicker.

But Francisco threw a glance at Delia, who picked up the loose end of the conversation. It did nothing to dissuade the acid rising in his stomach.

"The princess," Tita Delia continued, "has been having some . . . issues with her reputation as of late. While her father was well-loved by her people, her history of scandals and debauchery has had an impact."

"I'm in the room, Tita, you can address me when you're talking about me," Nina said sharply. Clearly neither of them were happy with where the conversation was going. "And I just came from meeting the people. They didn't seem to have a problem with their Royal Highness' debauchery."

"They're in mourning, and you're still just that: Their princess," Delia went on. "Once the gloss and specter of the funeral is over, everyone will start to remember your supposed affair with the Korean celebrity. The partying. The man in Los Angeles. The yacht incident. My dear, you are one naked selfie away from complete ruin."

Both his and Nina's stony expressions didn't change at Tita Delia's raised concerns. While Nina knew that she'd done things thoughtlessly and without care for her station, she knew there was nothing she could do but move on from that past. She was completely aware that she had nothing to apologize for. Even that leaked photograph of her was taken with her consent, albeit shared without permission. It was difficult, trying to explain to older people that they understood the world differently. Sometimes it felt like they were shouting into a void.

"My worth is not determined by reputation," Nina finally said. "Did you really just say 'naked selfie'?"

"Take this seriously, Nina." Her aunt snapped at her. "You have yet to do anything to prove your worth to the people. Everyone expects their queens to have a certain amount of grace and dignity about her."

"They only expect that because it's what they've been told!" Nina argued. "Queens have become warriors, seductresses, and murderers if they had to. Grace and prudish coquettishness was never a requirement! Even Princess Ann cut her hair and ran away from the palace with a journalist, and it didn't make her any less of a princess later on."

Never mind that said adventure was actually the plot of Roman Holiday, and purely fictional.

"And," Felipe piped up, "Nina's reputation has nothing to do with me, or Concordia."

"Your Highness, you provide an excellent foil for Princess Saturnina," Francisco pointed out to him. "But your . . . enthusiasm about your work can be interpreted as excessive. People are starting to wonder at your . . . preferences."

Nina watched all the color drain from Felipe's face when his adviser said that, and reached over to give his shoulder a firm squeeze of support. For someone who had been away for as long as she had, she was now perfectly comfortable around him. For once, she felt like someone was on her side.

"My sexuality or Nina's has nothing to do with our capabilities for the roles we were born into," he snapped, his eyes going dark as he lowered his gaze. "Be very careful about what you're going to say next, Francisco."

"Oh my god," Nina breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're not going to make me marry him, are you?"