By the time he's sat up again, he's blinked away any remnants of emotion. Instead, he's fixed his usual smile on his face, careless and carefree, a little mocking - and for Sonia, a little warm. "Although," he says, his voice arch and light, "I must say, you don't look like any princesses I've ever known." With a flutter of his hand, he says, "My image of a princess is stout, jowly - a bit judgmental - well into middle age - sagging décolletage - you simply don't fit the image at all."