The grand courtroom of the buzzed as noblemen and women, dressed in their finest attire, whispered amongst themselves, their voices rising and falling like the murmur of the sea. The marble columns that lined the hall seemed to stretch toward the heavens, and the elaborate tapestries that adorned the walls depicted scenes of past glories and battles won.

At the head of the room, seated on a gilded throne, the Queen observed the scene with an air of calm authority. Her regal bearing was accentuated by the way she held herself, her hands resting lightly on the arms of the throne, her gaze sharp and expectant. She was the very image of composure, but there was a keen alertness in her eyes that spoke of the importance of the announcement about to be made.

The murmurs in the courtroom hushed suddenly as the heavy doors at the far end creaked open. All eyes turned to see who would emerge, and the tension in the air thickened. The light from the corridor beyond spilled into the room, casting long shadows that danced on the polished floors.

Then, stepping into the doorway, flanked by two stern-faced guards, Kiernan North made his entrance. His dark hair was tousled, and his attire, while appropriate for court, carried a subtle dishevelment that hinted at his disregard for the formality of the occasion. His gaze swept lazily over the gathered nobility, as if he were sizing them up, deciding whether or not they were worth his attention.

And then, as the entire court watched, Kiernan let out a loud, unapologetic yawn that echoed through the chamber. The sound was so out of place, so brazen, that it drew gasps from some of the more tightly wound courtiers, while others exchanged shocked glances.

One of the guards at Kiernan's side leaned in slightly, his voice a harsh whisper. "We told you not to stay out late at the bar..."

But Kiernan just chuckled, a low, amused sound that sent a ripple of unease through those closest to him. "Relax," he replied, his voice carrying a careless ease that belied the seriousness of the situation. "I'm here, aren't I? What more could you possibly want?"

As Kiernan finally came to a stop before the throne, the atmosphere in the courtroom shifted. The tension that had been building seemed to hold its breath, as if the entire assembly were unsure of what to expect next. The Queen, who had been observing him with an inscrutable gaze, suddenly rose from her throne, a wide smile breaking through her previously composed exterior.

"Oh, Kiernan!" Queen Amalia exclaimed, her voice filled with a warmth that took everyone by surprise. She descended the few steps from her throne with a grace that belied her eagerness, her elegant gown sweeping behind her like a trail of stardust. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, arms outstretched.

Kiernan's expression shifted, his usual smirk softening into something more genuine, but there was still a hint of his usual guarded demeanour. When Queen Amalia reached him, she wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace, pulling him close as if he were a long-lost friend or a beloved family member.

But Kiernan didn't hug her back. Instead, he stood there, allowing her embrace, a faint smile playing on his lips. His arms remained at his sides, a subtle tension in his posture that only those closest to him might notice. Despite the lack of reciprocation, his eyes held a certain softness as he looked down at the Queen, a mixture of affection and caution.

"It's been so long!" Queen Amalia continued, her voice carrying a note of genuine delight. She finally pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his shoulders as she looked up at him, her eyes shining with an emotion that seemed almost out of place in the grand, formal setting.

Kiernan's smile widened just a fraction, enough to show that he wasn't completely immune to her affection. "Indeed it has, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice low and smooth. There was a warmth in his tone, but also a hint of distance, as if he were holding something back.

The Queen, either not noticing or choosing to ignore his hesitation, continued to smile at him, her joy at seeing him again clear to all. "We have much to discuss," she said, her tone becoming a bit more formal as she regained her composure, though the warmth in her eyes remained. 

As Queen Amalia reluctantly released Kiernan, her joy at his return still evident in her expression, the grand doors of the courtroom swung open once more. 

The heavy wood creaked a figure strode in, their presence immediately commanding attention. It was Arto, his eyes narrowed with disdain, his mouth set in a scowl that deepened the moment he laid eyes on Kiernan. 

Queen Amalia turned her attention to Arto as he approached. Her smile remained, but it lacked the warmth that had lit up her face upon seeing Kiernan. It was a polite, formal smile—one reserved for decorum rather than affection.

"Arto," she greeted, her voice carrying a touch of maternal affection but nothing that compared to the exuberance she had shown moments earlier. "I'm so glad you could join us."

Arto bowed slightly, his expression softening only for his mother. "Mother," he replied, his tone respectful but devoid of the same warmth. His gaze quickly shifted back to Kiernan, his eyes narrowing. "You could've told me we had visitors."

Kiernan, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, grinned mischievously. "What's this? Not excited to see me, Arto?" he quipped, his tone light and teasing, though the underlying tension was unmistakable.

Arto's glare remained icy, his silence heavy with the unspoken challenge between them. Kiernan, never one to back down, met his stare with equal intensity, his grin fading into a more serious expression as the tension between them thickened.

Before the tension could escalate further, Queen Amalia, sensing the brewing conflict, interjected with a firm but gentle tone. "Now, now, boys," she said, her voice cutting through the thick silence. "This is neither the time nor the place. I have an announcement to make."

Both men broke their locked gazes and turned their attention to the Queen. Kiernan's expression softened, and he leaned back slightly, his posture more relaxed but still alert. Arto, though still visibly displeased, composed himself, his attention shifting back to his mother.

Queen Amalia stood tall, her presence commanding as she prepared to address the court. The murmurs in the room quieted, and all eyes turned to her, waiting expectantly for what she had to say.

Queen Amalia's gaze swept across the room, ensuring that she had everyone's full attention. With a graceful clap of her hands, an attendant stepped forward, holding a scroll with an air of significance. The Queen took a deep breath, her expression firm yet triumphant as she began to speak.

"For years, the pirates of the Blackwood family have been a thorn in our side," she began, her voice resonating with authority. "Their defiance, their raids, and their very existence have threatened the peace and stability of our kingdom. But today, I am proud to announce that this menace has been eradicated."

The attendant unfurled the scroll, and the Queen's eyes gleamed as she continued, "The Blackwood family, notorious for their crimes against the crown, have all been killed. This marks a great victory for us and a new era of peace for our kingdom."

As the words hung in the air, a collective gasp rippled through the courtroom. But none were more shocked than Arto. His eyes widened in disbelief, the colour draining from his face as the news struck him like a physical blow. The room seemed to spin around him, and for a moment, he nearly lost his balance, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady himself on the edge of the dais.

Kiernan, who had been watching the proceedings with his usual mix of casual interest and scepticism, noticed Arto's reaction immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity piqued at Arto's unusually visceral response to the news.

Queen Amalia, however, was too caught up in the announcement to notice her son's distress. She smiled, raising her hands in a gesture of triumph, expecting the court to share in her victory. But the room remained eerily silent, all eyes flickering between the Queen and the visibly shaken Arto.

Queen Amalia's triumphant smile faltered slightly as she noticed the court's attention shift from her to Arto. The silence that followed her announcement was deafening, and she could feel the weight of the court's collective gaze. Her eyes followed the line of sight of the onlookers, finally landing on her son, who was visibly pale and unsteady.

Arto's reaction was impossible to ignore. His shock was evident, and for a brief moment, it looked as if he might collapse under the weight of the news. The Queen's heart skipped a beat, a flicker of concern crossing her mind, but she quickly masked it, not wanting to show any sign of weakness or hesitation.

With a practiced ease, she forced a warm, reassuring smile onto her face, as if everything was perfectly fine. "Arto, dear," she said, her tone light but firm, "Are you alright? This is, after all, a momentous day for our kingdom."

Arto blinked, quickly composing himself under the pressure of his mother's gaze and the scrutiny of the court. He straightened, though his hand still gripped the edge of the dais.

His voice trembled with barely contained fury as he spoke, his words slicing through the tense silence of the court like a knife. "What have you done?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with a mix of rage and disbelief as he stared at his mother. The room, already subdued, seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Queen Amalia's smile faltered completely this time, her confident demeanour cracking under the intensity of her son's gaze. "Arto," she began, her voice calm but laced with confusion, "I did what was necessary for the kingdom. The Blackwoods were a threat—"

"They were our allies!" Arto interrupted, his voice rising with each word. "Do you even understand what you've done?"

The court remained deathly silent, the shock of Arto's outburst leaving everyone stunned. The Queen, clearly taken aback, struggled to maintain her composure. "Arto, lower your voice," she commanded, though the uncertainty in her eyes betrayed her. "This is not the place—"

"Then where is the place, Mother?" Arto spat, his grip tightening on the edge of the dais until his knuckles turned white. "When will it ever be the place? You've sentenced them to death without even consulting me—without understanding the consequences!"

Queen Amalia's face flushed with a mixture of anger and frustration. "Arto, I did what was necessary for the security of the kingdom!" she retorted, her voice rising in both volume and intensity. "They were a threat."

Arto's eyes, however, were filled with a pain deeper than mere frustration. "A threat? Is that all they were to you?" he shot back, his voice cracking with emotion. "They were my friends. They stood by us when no one else would. And you—" His voice broke, but he fought to steady it. "You condemned them without a second thought."

The court remained eerily silent, watching as the familial confrontation unfolded. Arto's pain was palpable, his entire demeanour radiating betrayal and heartbreak. He looked at his mother with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow, struggling to reconcile the woman he once admired with the ruthless leader who had just orchestrated the death of those he held dear.

"Kael was my best friend! His family were good people—how could you do this to them? How could you be so heartless?!" Arto continued, his voice trembling but firm. "The Blackwoods were more than just allies—they were like family to me. You've taken them from me without even giving me a chance to say goodbye, without even letting me be a part of the decision. How could you?"

The Queen's expression hardened, her patience wearing thin. She raised a hand, a signal to the guards who were standing by. Their eyes shifted to her, ready to act on her command. As the guards moved forward, their heavy footsteps echoing in the grand hall, Arto's fury only intensified.

"No! Let me go!" Arto's voice rose to a desperate, hoarse cry as he struggled against the guards. He fought against their firm grips, his face contorted with pain and rage. "You need to listen to me!"

Despite his struggles, the guards were well-trained and strong. They managed to restrain him with practiced ease, their hands firm but not unnecessarily harsh. Arto's attempts to break free were futile, and he could feel the weight of his own helplessness pressing down on him.

Queen Amalia's face was a mask of stern resolve, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. She watched as her son was forcibly subdued, her expression a conflicted mixture of authority and regret.

"Enough, Arto!" she commanded, her voice ringing with a cold finality. "This is not the time or place for such outbursts. You will be taken to your quarters to calm down."

As Arto was being forcibly dragged from the room by the guards, his cries of outrage and anguish echoing through the grand hall, the doors at the far end of the courtroom burst open with a loud crash. Sir Balthus stormed in, his face a mask of alarm and urgency.

"The siren! She escaped last night!" Sir Balthus's voice cut through the murmur of the court, his words sharp and frantic.

The room fell into stunned silence, all eyes turning toward Sir Balthus. The Queen's face blanched, her previously controlled demeanour giving way to a flash of panic. She quickly composed herself, but the tremor in her voice was unmistakable.

"Escaped?" Queen Amalia repeated, her voice cold but edged with worry. "How is that possible? She was supposed to be securely confined!"

Sir Balthus's gaze momentarily softened as he looked at Arto, who was held by two guards, his face pale with shock and anger. Sir Balthus's concern was evident, though he quickly refocused on the immediate crisis.

Arto's mind raced as he absorbed the news of the siren's escape. The term "siren" echoed in his thoughts, but it was only when he glanced back at the Queen and saw the distress in her eyes that a realization dawned on him. He recalled Ondina, her face, her magic.

Arto's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he fought to control his rising anger and fear. The betrayal and sense of impending loss were overwhelming, but before he could voice more of his frustration, guards moved in to escort him.

"Come along, Arto," one of the guards said firmly, but with a hint of sympathy. "You need to go to your chambers."

Arto barely registered their words. His mind was racing, consumed by thoughts of Ondina, and the consequences of the Queen's decree. As the guards led him away, he cast a final, furious look at the Queen and the court. His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and rage, each step toward his chambers feeling like a step further from the chance to make things right.

The corridors of the palace seemed to stretch endlessly as he was escorted through them. The grandeur of the Ardyn palace, with its high ceilings and ornate decorations, felt distant and hollow to Arto. 

As the guards opened the door to his chambers and motioned for him to enter, Arto's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He stepped inside, the heavy door closing behind him with a resounding thud. The opulence of his quarters did nothing to soothe him. Instead, it heightened his sense of isolation.

Inside his chambers, the pressure of Arto's pent-up emotions finally broke through his composure. He slammed his fist against the heavy wooden door, the impact reverberating through the room. The pain from the strike was nothing compared to the turmoil that surged through him.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, a raw expression of his frustration and helplessness. He sank to his knees, clutching at his hair as tears streamed down his face. Each tear seemed to carry the weight of his grief and anger, mingling with the sweat and frustration of his outburst.

The room felt suffocating, the luxurious furnishings and tapestries mocking his despair. Arto pulled at his hair in a frantic, almost desperate attempt to release the pent-up energy. His breathing came in ragged gasps, the emotional storm inside him mirroring the chaos of the world outside his window.

As he looked up, the reflection of his anguished face in the ornate mirror seemed almost foreign to him. The regal, composed image of the prince was replaced by someone who was deeply vulnerable and broken.