"Oh, the North is cold and the Duke is grim, but we'll put some floral soap on him! Scrub-a-rub-rub~"
Reiner sang the last note, a surprisingly stable vibrato, as he skipped down the final stretch of the West Wing corridor. He was balancing a tray that held a steaming pot of honey-ginger tea.
He didn't bother with a formal, heavy knock. Instead, he used his elbow to give the wood a playful thump-thump-thump before nudging the door open with his hip.
"Lord Cherion? It's far past the hour for slumbering, I'm afraid. The sun is practically shouting at us," Reiner sang out, his voice a bright contrast to the heavy, frost-nipped air clinging to the castle's exterior.
He crossed the plush rug with light feet, heading straight for the massive velvet curtains. With a dramatic swish, he flung them wide. The light flooded the room, illuminating the floating dust motes and the fine carvings of the furniture. Reiner hummed a little tune, and turned around to face the bed.
