[There is no air in Charlie's lungs, so the sound that comes out of his throat - caught between a laugh and surprise - is a pathetic, strangled wheeze. His reaction inspires another laugh, this one only nominally less wretched than the first.

His body stretches in disarray, shoulders pressing back into the much-desired pressure and head shaking to regain composure.

He'd just meant to chuckle lightly at the guy's attachment to his bed!] -damn it! [At least he can still talk. Charlie can always talk.]

Eh, thrones are overrated. [Thrones are a good way to get yourself killed. They're not debating the merit of becoming a king, there's no room in their comfortable little fantasy for concern. Everything here is a plush bed and a lively orphanage. Fairy tales.] I'd prefer to be a private investigator, too. What about you?

Romance or bein' a nosy little shi- [Wait] prince? [The bit must go on.]