"You could have asked for one larger," he replies, reaching out a hand and trailing his fingers along the harpsichord's side, feeling the veneer of the wood underneath.

"Oddly, though, I don't see a bed," Ganymede says, turning once more around to see all corners of the room with a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth. "Or do you simply not sleep in one? It strains the imagination to see you hanging from the rafters like a bat," he murmurs.