The Munyoça family are charming and attractive and intelligent—intelligent, in stunningly different ways, but intelligent nevertheless. There were three triplets, their father, their mother, their uncle, and one of their fiancées', the other two remaining single.
The popularity of the three young princes was romanticized, almost; romanticized by the public, their subjects, their worshippers. The heir, the prince, the one who doesn't belong. They were stereotypes, real-life dreams, inhuman to everybody except each other. They never seemed sick of it, and were never vulnerable—often, even in front of their favourite people, of which there were very few.
They are playful, pretty, cunning; they have everything in common and nothing in common. Their father, they say, is more like their brother than their father by nature of being so similar to them, and it seemed to work out well enough for him.
There was no reason, the princes thought, it wouldn't work out for them.