A muffled curse drifted out of the king's wardrobe. It was followed immediately by the cascading whump of a significant amount of fabric falling to the ground.
"Everything alright in there?" the king called idly from his chamber.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the attendants chorused. Then Hilarion ordered Philologos out of the closet, saying something indistinctly about "an air-headed daydreamer." Philologos emerged shamefaced but dignified, standing politely just inside the king's chamber as if he had meant to be waiting on him all along.
"And what have you done now, Philologos?" the king asked, not betraying his amusement with so much as a twitch of his mouth.
"Hindered the process of unpacking Your Majesty's new clothes," Philologos answered, as gravely.
"And why have you done that?"
There was no point in protesting that it had not been his intention. "I was thinking on a problem, Your Majesty. I may have arrived on a startling solution, and my inattention caused—"
The king waved away the rest of the excuse. "What problem have you solved?"
Philologos glanced away, weighing the merits of disobedience—but silence and lies were the very essence of the king. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Philologos decided that the king would have the truth in the end, so it was better not to prolong the process.
"When Your Majesty arranged," he laid the most delicate of emphases on the word, "the removal of Sejanus from court, you drugged your wine yourself, but later claimed to have not drunk it."
The king nodded.
"The nightmare that we believed to be from the quinalums was therefore naturally-occurring, so to speak." The king snorted, but made no comment, so Philologos continued. "But the plan would not have worked unless Your Majesty was certain that a nightmare would come. For that to be true, Your Majesty must have been having nightmares anytime you slept. I was wondering how that was possible, since none of the attendants had ever heard any sign of troubled sleep."
A smile spread across the king's face as he listened. It was akin to the smug expression of a well-fed cat, crossed perhaps with vengeful glee and a delighted, oddly childish anticipation. "Go on Philologos, live up to your namesake," he said. "What's the logical conclusion?"
Philologos' heart quailed, but he continued with his recitation. "Recalling, then, Your Majesty's ability to move freely about the palace, I concluded that since becoming king, you have…never once slept in your own chambers." The last words felt like they were being dragged out of him with a fishing hook, and when they were through, he stood there in front of his king with his cheeks burning.
Eugenides raised the cup of chilled wine from the desk next to him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Excellently deduced. You are dismissed until dinner; go rest in the anteroom."
Philologos went.

The next day, the queen announced her pregnancy, and Philologos couldn't look the king in the eye for a week.