Caspian sat on a three-legged stool in the corner of the royal dressing room, a quill shaking in his hand as he stared down at the leather-bound book resting on his knee.
The book was thick, heavy, and titled Inventory of Royal Linens. It was, in reality, a chronicle of high treason.
"Entry four-hundred-and-twelve," Caspian muttered, dipping the quill into the ink pot with the enthusiasm of a man signing his own death warrant. "Reason for the loud, operatic rendition of 'The Ballad of the Lusty Milkmaid' at one o'clock in the morning beneath the Royal Chapel..."
He paused, chewing his lip.
"Bat infestation," Prince Aeron supplied helpfully from across the room.
Aeron was standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of a crisp white shirt. He looked vibrant. He looked energized. He looked like a man who had spent the night feasting on forbidden fruit and had slept the sleep of the righteous.
"Bats, My Lord?" Caspian asked weakly.
