Her original plan was unraveling before her eyes. Each accusation she had carefully laid out was being stripped bare, dismissed with infuriating ease, and now she was left grasping at straws.

Desperation crept in where confidence once lived as she scrambled for something, anything she could still use to pin Ragnar down. If he refused an audit, that refusal alone could be twisted into proof of guilt. It would mean he had something to hide, and she would pounce upon it without hesitation.

"I am open to whatever further inspection you wish to conduct," Ragnar said evenly, his voice calm and unruffled. "I have nothing to hide from the court."

Laheir’s lips curled, the expression on his face sharp and venomous. "You truly expect us to believe that you have had no connection with Westeria since the war?" he spat. "I have eyes at the border, Prince Ragnar. They inform me that you recently procured a painting from there."

Those were not the words Ragnar expected to hear. He felt the air in his lungs turn to ice, his breath momentarily stolen from him. For Laheir to know about the purchase meant only one thing: the man had been watching him closely. Far more closely than Ragnar was comfortable with.

How much else did he know? Had he discovered who the subject of the painting truly was?

If word spread that Ragnar possessed a portrait of the late queen of Westeria, the court would not see it as mere admiration for art. They would misconstrue it entirely, twist the reality to fit their own narrative. They would think of it as treason, as Ragnar harboring loyalty to the defeated House Valdris.

That would not do at all. Not here. Not now. Ragnar’s mind raced, thoughts colliding as he searched for the quickest way to smother the threat before it could take root.

"I collect art pieces," Ragnar replied at last, his composure flawlessly intact. He turned his gaze toward Laheir, who was barely concealing his fury. "And Westeria is renowned for producing some of the finest and most exotic artworks. I was unaware that importing foreign items now constituted an act of treason."

"If that is truly the case," Ragnar continued, "then every lady present wearing a gown sewn from Azairen silk is equally guilty. And let us not forget the lords who delight in their exotic pets and foreign luxuries. By your reasoning, perhaps we should all proceed to the king’s tower at once, because each and every one of us would stand accused of treason."

"That is enough!" the king thundered, his voice cutting through the chatter. His sharp gaze was fixed on Ragnar once more. "You have made your point."

Ragnar inclined his head slightly. "Then I implore Your Majesty to punish the two liars standing before you with the same severity that would have been reserved for me, had I been found guilty." He paused, then added, "And I wish to return to my home."

A tense silence followed.

"Very well," the king said at last, lifting a hand in a silent command.

At once, the royal guards lining the throne room moved forward. They closed in on Mira and Edric, who cried out in shock and disbelief, their protests echoing through the chamber as they were seized. They struggled uselessly as the guards dragged them away, their voices fading as the doors swung shut behind them.

Laheir watched as the king rose from his throne, the depth of his displeasure plain for all to see.

"This is the second time Prince Ragnar has successfully evaded justice," Laheir muttered through clenched teeth. "Careful, Your Majesty. Not everyone will appreciate such an obvious display of favoritism."

The frown Zeriel turned upon him was nothing short of lethal. "You dare to question me?"

Laheir immediately lowered his head, the motion stiff and rigid with forced respect. "No, Your Majesty. Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

Zeriel glared at him for a moment longer, letting the weight of his authority press down on the man before finally looking away.

"You are dismissed," the king announced. "All of you. Return to your homes. This case is closed."

In the end, things had worked out in his favor, yet Ragnar felt no sense of relief. There was no surge of triumph, no breathless gratitude for having narrowly escaped execution. Instead, a cold hollowness settled deep in his chest as he stood rooted in place, watching his father stride out of the throne room without a backward glance.

The heavy doors closed behind the king with a dull echo, and that sound lingered far longer than the murmurs of the courtiers left behind.

It did not matter that the king had eventually seen reason and dismissed the case. That truth offered Ragnar no comfort. What cut far deeper was the knowledge that Zeriel had listened, had entertained, and worse, had believed such blatantly false accusations against his own son.

The ease with which his father had allowed those rumors to take shape into a formal trial bothered Ragnar relentlessly. How swiftly judgment had been passed. How little hesitation there had been. If Zeriel could summon him to defend himself before the court so readily, then it meant that he could condemn him just as easily, should the tides ever turn again.

For a long while now, ever since discovering house Tavish’s plot to overthrow the king, Ragnar had wrestled with indecision. He had weighed his options in silence, turning them over in his mind during sleepless nights; whether to bring Laheir’s treachery before the king, whether loyalty demanded he trust his father with such dangerous knowledge.

But the events of this day, and the sting of betrayal he now carried, stripped that uncertainty away.

His father’s actions had spoken louder than anything else and not even the blood they shared could change that. It had led Ragnar to a firm conclusion, one that settled over him with grim clarity as the guards finally removed his shackles. And as the chains fell away, so did his blind loyalty to his father.