"Don't worry, m'lord, I can help you with that," a sultry voice offered. He jumped, tried to spin around, reached for the sword that was in a rack at the palace and promptly fell over his skirts onto the bed. His eyes focused on the woman with the very painted face and the very tightly laced bodice. Not good.
There was a clunk as something was placed against the door. Like a chair bracing it shut.
"Er, no, really, that's quite all right, I can handle it fine myself, really, take off women's clothing all the time, well, not all the time, but often enough, though not off myself I suppose and..." He scrambled desperately back, legs tangled on the fine, embroidered blanket... promptly exposing the beautiful, expensive and above all, slick, satin sheets.
And arms windmilling, slid off the bed, briefly hitting his head on the edge of the frame, coming to land sprawled on the floor at the astonished prostitute's feet. His poor, abused dress had done little to cushion the blow, even if the skirts had been pulled over his head by his slide to the floor.
A spate of barking combined with the party noises and, oddly, riotous cursing in Antivan, echoed outside of the room's door.