"Forgotten my place," Caliqa scoffed. "No, Lord Ardrian, my memory happens to be very good. The best, even." He began plucking at his finger nails as if they were the strings of a harp, scraping the dried blood out from under. "If you looked correctly," he hissed, "you'd find that the door leading to the cells is right next to you. Caliqa waved his gloved hand vaguely at the scarred wood mere feet away from him. "Those are my chambers as well as a stairway leading towards the dungeons. If you have need of me, that'd be a far better place to look than up the King's arsehole, as much as I know he loves to receive the cocks of his advisers."

Caliqa reached to his side, still looking at Ardrian. He pulled a key from his pocket, let it slide into the door's lock, then twisted until he heard a click. He began drawing his knife along the wall, making little marks. An old habit. "Now," and he shoved open the door, twisting around and striding towards it, "you could find yourself a new justice, or, you could listen to a proposition of mine, Lord Ardrian. I do so love to deviously plot while in the safety of mine own quarters, so let me, ahhh, escort you into my chambers." He took one step inside the place. "There, now you're escorted. Lovely."

Caliqa looked the place over as he always did. Enemies of his at court had a tendency to steal his milk of the poppy, while several blades he'd left on the table had turned up missing a while back. It was rather empty. Cold and harsh, with the only proper place of warmth a nice and comfortable looking bed near the back of the room, covers bland but fluffy. He'd always loved sleep; it was the closest thing to dying that he could think of. A table in the center, scabbed with markings and stains, was surrounded in a circle by velvet chairs, and on the walls were scented candles from the Vale, burning bright, outlining everything in a faint, reddish glow.

Caliqa smirked, then sighed in mock satisfaction. "My humble little abode."