Castiel positively bristles at the demand, even if he doesn't refute it just yet. Though he is quite humble in comparison with his brothers and fellow nobles and royals, Castiel is still highborn, has never been given an order in his life that did not come from his father or elder brothers, and it certainly chafes him to be commanded in any way. He's a living, sentient creature after all, capable of his own fully formed wants and opinions, with an independent streak a mile wide; though he's always been very obedient when it comes to his family, Castiel has always nurtured his own defiance, that lurks deep beneath the surface of his complacency.

So he doesn't argue, is wise enough not to open an argument with a large and potentially violent animal that he does not yet know well enough to entirely predict, on its own turf, entirely defenseless. But there is surely no missing the way his body tenses and his shoulders stiffen, Castiel's jaw setting tightly.

Once the beast is gone, he's quick to snap the door shut behind him, leaning against it, the thick furs hugged close to his chest.

Whatever will he do, here? How will he manage?

For now, he simply keeps one foot in front of the other, strips the bed of its dusty dressing and piles on the fresh furs instead; a musky scent clings to them that he can only attribute to his captor, and he hates that it is a pleasant smell. Still, stripped down to his underclothes and huddled tight beneath the furs, it is a long time still before Castiel finds sleep, and even then it is fitful and broken. He most certainly makes no effort to come to breakfast, that's for certain, he does not even leave his given rooms come morning.