Strange furniture in this place, always moving around on its own, must be enchanted—

"Hitting my head on the floor might make it easier," he says to his bed, leaning over it to brush down the linen, as though it isn't already as neat as can be. He hates this little room. He hates sharing this little room. He hates having to perform regular humanizing functions, such as sleeping, in front of anyone not of his choosing. True, he's slept in places far worse than this—worse than that wretched dungeon, even—but as far as he's concerned, he's earned his comfort a thousand times over.
The beds are turned down for them, at least, as they should be.

That done, he slips off his shoes (more slipper than sandal, the closed toe preferred, why should just anyone be allowed to see his feet) and climbs in to sit. Placement of the pillows between his back and the headboard requires a little more fussing, but soon enough he has indeed made himself comfortable, legs folded and all.

"I trust I needn't encourage you to mind your manners while I'm... away." Or whatever.