Naqam was bored. Horribly, mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly bored.

The wretched Spades had tossed him unceremoniously into one of the many cells Naqam had seen when they'd led him down here. Then, they'd just... left. Naqam, admittedly, had been caught by some surprise when the worst he'd received had been some snide jokes and dirty looks from the guards. 

Now, he wished they would almost do something more, purely to give him something to engage with. At least seeing through pain required some brain power. Torture was just a mind game, one Naqam would have been almost glad to have. To him, nothing was worse than being stuck in this dark, miserable hole with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company.

It made his hate for Killian increase tenfold with each hour that passed.

It took twenty normal strides to pace the length of the cell. Forty half steps and one leap. Naqam knew this because he'd made the trip back and forth across the dim space somewhere around four thousand times over the past three days.

There were one hundred and twenty blocks of stone making up each wall. The stone in the exact middle of the floor had nine hundred and fifty two flecks of white in it.

His body ached with inactivity and he would have quite literally killed for something to do.

Boredom had always been his worst, most consistent enemy. Pain his most constant companion. He'd take pain over boredom any day. At least pain rarely got the best of him anymore. Boredom, however, threatened to push him over the cliff known as insanity.

His shoulders were beginning to burn as he held the handstand, attempting to find some relief from the lack of physical activity. Slowly, he lifted his left hand off the floor, bringing it out to the side. The small muscles in his right forearm trembled. His abdominal muscles began to complain. He relished the sensations, his mind battling for dominance over his body.

Blood rushed to his head, making him feel pleasantly woozy. He pointed his feet harder, straining to maintain the pose.

The door creaking open broke his concentration and he was forced to put his left hand down, wobbling hard for a moment. His legs came down in a ninety degree angle at his waist before he threw them back upright. He closed his eyes, letting his body guide him until he found balance once more. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

With a sigh, he let his legs fall backwards, flexing his spine so his feet hit the floor.

Lights sparkled in his vision as the blood rushed back down to the rest of his body. A light sheen of sweat made him feel a little sticky. He'd been holding the pose for what he thought might have been an hour and his body was less than pleased with him. His mind didn't feel like a cluttered mess anymore, though.

He rotated his shoulder, frowning at the crackling sound it made, then turned his attention on whoever had opened the door. He grimaced at the guard who usually brought his meals. Rolling his neck, he sighed, "Please tell me it's something other than the mush you've been feeding me?"

The guard snorted and Naqam stiffened with shock and cold when freezing water was dashed against him, soaking his clothes and hair. His skin tightened in protest of the sudden cold, gooseflesh prickling unpleasantly. Another wave of icy water was thrown over him and he hissed.

Naqam hated the cold.

Resisting the urge to wrestle the bucket away from the guard and beat him to death with it, Naqam shook his wet hair out of his eyes, blinking slowly. He snarled, jumping in surprise when he was hit by a third wave of water. It took him a second to understand that this one, at least, was warm. Baring his teeth, he snapped, "Am I to see the King looking like a half-drowned pheasant?"

The guard just threw a wad of dark cloth at him. He barked, "Get cleaned up. Dry off. Tap on the door and someone with give you some dry clothes."

"Am I seeing the King?" Naqam demanded. Excitement fluttered in the pit of his stomach. Finally! This sensation was quickly followed by a small whisper of caution.

He was fairly certain that King Killian would at least hear him out before he killed the Ace, but he couldn't really be sure. Naktis had made it extremely clear that the King had an intense hatred of the Heart's Ace because of something concerning Lady Adira. His mentor had never shared what that story had been, but it made unease flicker through Naqam, just to be quickly ignored. 

The guard merely sneered and shut the door with a sinister thud, leaving Naqam again in semi-darkness. Muttering under his breath, he stripped off his soaked, dirty clothes and used the cloth to towel off his dripping hair, teeth chattering a little. Shaking damp strands out of his face, he sourly wished Naktis would have let him cut his hair.

Once he was clean and reasonably dry, he slammed the side of his fist once into the door, making the wood quiver. There was a delay, then the door creaked open, letting in a shaft of warm golden light. The color was a relief after so long surrounded by dull grey. His hands quickly came up when a wad of cloth was thrown at his face and he was greeted by an unpleasant laugh.

Looking up, he found Adira leaning against the door frame. Her hair was in loose ebony waves today, framing her elegant features.

Slowly, unembarrassed by his nakedness, Naqam looked at the clothes she had thrown him. "Black's not really my color."

Lady Adira blinked slowly at him, looking confident and strong. He supposed she could have been considered pretty. Stunning even, with her pale features that seemed to have been carved from marble. Her dark eyes were luminous and her lips were soft and full. The tight trousers and fitted bodice she wore highlighted the lush curves of her body.

But he couldn't see past her dark hair or the Spade mark on the side of her elegant neck. 

All he saw was an enemy.

Naqam, finally succumbing to the cold, tugged the clothes on, shivering a little, no matter how hard he tried to stop. He flicked his hair free of the collar, then looked up when Lady Adira said, "I'm warning you now, Ace. If you make any move to hurt Killian or Alice, it won't be only myself that you have to answer to."

He smiled, amused by the threat. Adira's fingers trailed over the loops of the whip hanging at her side. With a sinister little smile of her own, she said, "I happen to be on rather good terms with someone who knows what it takes to break an Ace."

Naqam's smile never wavered, but he shivered once more and not because of the cold. Tilting his head, he asked, "And what of the princess? You didn't say anything about her."

The whip was in Adira's hand like it had slithered into her grasp. Looking like War herself, the woman snapped the whip, making a wicked breeze slash past Naqam's ear. Her red lips pulled back in a snarl, she hissed, "I wouldn't mention her Highness in front of the King if I was you, Ace. Not unless you want today to be your last."

Naqam held the woman's cruel gaze for a long time, then ground his teeth together. As much as he disliked her, he couldn't afford to antagonize one of the King's most trusted advisers. Not yet, anyway. Bowing his head, he rasped, "I mean no harm to your family, my lady."

Adira snorted, then left, not bothering to close the door behind her. Narrowing his eyes, he allowed a brief fantasy of what might make that woman beg for his mercy, then looked up when a shadow stretched across the room, reaching toward him.

The captain of the guard was watching him with practiced disinterest, though his eyes lit up slightly when he jingled the pair of shackles he was holding. Naqam obediently held up his hands, wrists pressed together, waiting for him to snap the cuffs into place.

The captain blinked in surprise before coming tentatively toward the Ace. Not moving so much as a muscle, Naqam let the Spade chain him, then quietly asked, "Am I being taken to the King?"

The silence that followed his question was so long that he thought he was being ignored, until the captain nodded swiftly. In the quiet, confident tone of a professional, the man said, "The King has thought over what he wants to do with you."

Trying to ruffle the man's collected calm, Naqam chuckled and, voice airy, asked, "Should I expect a view from the castle walls before tonight? Though," he paused and frowned, like he was considering what he might want for dinner, then he laughed, "I suppose beheadings are more of a sunrise event."

Looking distinctly unruffled -- to Naqam's great annoyance -- the captain simply said, "That will be for the King to decide."

Naqam gave him an eye roll and a long suffering sigh, then shuffled along quietly in the middle of the group of guards they had met at the end of the hall. He took the moment to think about what might happen next.

If King Killian had decided to just kill him, then Naqam would have to act fast; immediately after the announcement if he could.

He grinned down at his chained hands. Naktis had taught him to fight just as effectively with his hands bound as with them free. Plus, the fools had shackled his hands in front of him, rather than behind his back, which would have made assassinating Killian slightly more difficult.

Despite the somberness and uncertainty surrounding him, though, Naqam still trusted what he had learned from that book in the great library of the Diamonds.

Killian wanted to be fair; he needed to be fair with every fiber of his detestable being.

This gave Naqam every advantage. Advantage he would use to hurt the Spade badly.