"Besides," she added, breezy, stealing a grape off Sierra, "the faces of the other princesses when they saw him ground his teeth? When the big comeback they expected died in his throat? Art. I'd commission it in oils. 'Portrait of a Prince Discovering Consequences, circa This Week.'"
"It's getting old, though," Sierra said.
The cabin turned to her.
"What he says," she clarified, cool and flat. "He tried the whole routine again at the club, you know. Same speech. The Melissa-Phei relationship, the cousins-illicit romance, mother-and-daughter, the family that — well. The entire brunch monologue reheated and served a second time. Are they going to keep using the same words against Phei? About all of us?"
She made a small dismissive gesture. "It doesn't land anymore. It stopped holding any weight for me some time ago."
"That's because it's the only thing they have," Patricia said.
And she was right, and the truth of it settled over the cabin like a warm blanket.
