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“Nothing,” I purr, stifling maniacal laughter.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, unconvinced, but soon enough, a crooked smile lights up her face. “Couldn’t possibly be that you’re imagining Father going broke?”

“No, of course not. I always imagine fates much, much worse than that for that asshole,” I whisper, clutching my knife a little too hard as I try to put some food on my stomach.

The steak is a bit tough for my liking, but crackers, cheese, celery, champagne, and wine won’t hold me over for six more hours in the sky.

Faith lets loose a dramatic sigh, holding the back of her hand to her forehead as Mother used to do. We both burst out laughing again, imagining her fainting on the spot too. She was a drama queen. Regal, lovely, and fair. But, a drama queen nonetheless.

I guess that’s where we get our dramatic flair from.

“I’ll pray for you,” she says sarcastically, in the same tone Mother used to use, and I combust into another giggling fit. Only my sister can make a blessing sound like a curse.

But our moment of bliss doesn’t last long. Suddenly, Faith’s face stiffens, and she looks over her shoulder in confusion. I dab at my mouth with a handkerchief embroidered with palm leaves and exotic flowers, Faith made for me years ago during a trip to Hawaii.

“What’s wrong?” I ask tentatively, as her expression shifts from confusion to surprise to horror in a matter of seconds.

“Faith? What’s wrong?” I ask more forcefully, but my tone pitches too high, conveying how frantic and afraid I am.

Faith turns back to the screen, holding her phone with one hand, before she’s knocked down to the ground.

I bolt up, or at least try to, tied down by my seat belt.

I struggle to undo it as Faith scrambles for her phone on hands and knees.

It’s skittered across the deck, and the image is blurry and choppy.

“He-He-Hello?” she asks as people start running in every direction, screaming, sobbing. “Grace? Help—”

The screen goes pitch black, and I clutch my phone with both hands, screaming like a madwoman. And then, all hell breaks loose.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” A stern and frightened voice blares over the speakers as the cabin goes dark.

We jerk left, and I hit my head, stunned by the impact. A voice is screaming to sit down and strap in, but all I can do is hold my handkerchief to the cut. Cut? Oh fuck, I’m bleeding! I stumble back, leaning into my seat.

“What in the…” I whisper as I look out of the window at a scene ripped from hell. The wing is on fire! Pieces of metal melt off, exposing the skeleton of the jet’s machinery.

A new, higher-pitched piercing scream fills the air-tight compartment as our plane starts nosediving out of the sky, shuddering, spiraling. We’re all going to die!

I lurch to the window, this time bracing for impact, despite the crew members’ warnings to strap in, and press my face to the glass.

To my horror, a massive explosion rocks the back half of Faith’s craft.

It’s barely visible to me, and maybe it’s just part of the plane falling into the sea and burning up.

But I can’t shake the bone-deep feeling that it’s—

“Faith!” I scream into my phone, but the screen remains pitch black, creaking and crunching beneath my fingers as it’s crushed under a rush of footsteps.

I realize it’s a stampede of fleeing guests’ shoes blocking the camera, but then they’re no longer visible or audible as the video cuts out for good.

“What’s happening!” I shout, pushing against the beta flight attendants trying to hold me down.

“Strap in your highness, now!” a woman barks, and I sit back down because I can’t figure out what else to do but freak out and get in the way, praying they can rescue me by saving the plane.

Oxygen masks fall from the ceiling, and the same woman puts it over my head before securing her own, going against everything flight attendants have taught me to do over the years.

Bile rises in my throat, and it’s not from the chaos or the impending crash.

Your highness? No one calls me that, not in America, at least, and not even in Europe, except for a select few.

That means, more likely than not, the people on this airplane are not just employees of Wilder, Inc.

, but royalists loyal to their deposed king.

I strap in with shaky hands, praying that my deflated mask is pumping oxygen into my heaving chest. My stomach does extreme somersaults as we nosedive to the water’s surface.

I don’t have time to decipher why and how royalists are onboard.

One of the flight attendants wails as the pilot’s door suddenly swings open, revealing an empty seat.

Something is beeping sharply, and the sound pierces my ears like nails.

The storage compartments overhead swing open as we drift hard to the right.

Five carry-on suitcases slide out, and most of my life scatters and slams around this burning tin can like trash.

More bags drop from the ceiling, and I realize the dizziness I’m feeling is from losing air.

So nothing is pumping into my battered lungs, hoarse from my terrified screeching.

My vision fades in and out, clutching the armrests so tightly I’m sure I’ve snapped all my French-tipped acrylic nails.

Red seeps into my field of view, and I wonder if my skull has popped and my brain is oozing from the wound.

But then, to my horror, I realize it’s blood—too much blood from such a minor head wound.

“Aaaah!” I wail as a severed head hits the cabin above the bathroom after a sickening snapping sound fills the air, and then the plane curves hard to the left again, without guidance. Freefalling. We’re freefalling out of the fucking sky!

I double over, sure I’ll vomit up the charcuterie and champagne I’ve been grazing on since we took off. We’re crashing into the sea, and I might be dead before I can ever find out what happened to Faith, Hoku, and their capsizing ship.