Um.
He liked her name. The way it rolled off the tongue, in one quick syllable. It was short, succinct, and to the point. He liked that. He supposed she could've been called pond-scum for all he cared, as there were far more appealing qualities in her possession. She was tall for one, and he certainly liked the largeness, it represented an unorthodox beauty in the assassin's eyes. The way she pouted when she looked at him, and the way those slender legs crossed so neatly when at the Queen's side. She was his idea of heaven, of perfection, and of something he rightfully deserved.
After years of serving Iracebeth in more ways than were professionally acceptable, didn't he too deserve some shred of happiness? He wanted to caress her cheek, to hold her close and to feel her breath against his skin. It was more than just lust, he wanted to care for her too. To protect her from the whimsical flights of fancy he'd had to endure as the Queen's favourite in the past. He didn't know what he'd do if she were to be beheaded. Perhaps he'd ride in on a valiant white steed and sweep her off her feet! He could've sworn he'd heard the Hatter singing a song to that effect some time ago. If Um ever needed a hero, he would be hers.
Of course, that was before things had changed. Um was revealed to be Alice, and proceeded to defeat them all. So there he was, left trudging through a barren wasteland with a woman he could barely stand. Even with Iracebeth so close, he couldn't stop thinking about dear Um. He refused to acknowledge she was anything other than a proud native of Umbridge. If he ignored the facts, he could continue with his delusions of grandeur.
He could dream of courting Um, of being by her side for the years to come. She hadn't threatened to kill him every time he made a mistake, or shot him looks of contemptuous pride. She'd had simply stared, eyes boring straight into his very soul. Stayn had already grasped that she was none too impressed by his hallway prowling, but he couldn't help it. He needed to see her, to be near her, to prove that he was worthy despite his past deeds.
Iracebeth lay sleeping at his side, and the scarred man shot her a dirty look before returning to his own optimistic dreaming. He wouldn't be the Knave of Hearts forever, he concluded. One day, he would be the King of Umbridge.