Prince Blueblood sat at his desk, his brows furrowed. In front of him, spread across the oak, was a fan of newspapers—the editorial section of the Baltimare Sun from the last several weeks. And he stared it at with the same sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as a gambler might view a losing set of cards. There was a feeling of inevitability; a knowledge that the next newspaper dealt would just further the loss, and dig him deeper in the hole.