The Grand Hall of Sovereigns was a masterpiece of Celestria's imperial architecture. Massive columns adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts reached high into the domed ceiling, where golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the marble floor. Courtiers from all over the empire, dressed in elaborate robes denoting their ranks and allegiances, filled the room with murmurs and whispers, eagerly awaiting the day’s court session to begin.

In the center of the hall, the princes were already assembled. Each stood with their factions, silent observers clustered behind them like soldiers awaiting orders on a battlefield. But this was no silent war. As usual, the morning was ripe with tension, and the princes wasted no time in attacking each other with thinly veiled insults.

Third Prince Gerrafin stood with his usual relaxed posture, his lips curved in a lazy smirk as he listened to First Prince Damien's faction spew criticism.

"Perhaps if some of us spent less time enjoying leisure and more time tending to matters of state, we wouldn’t see such inefficiency in our provinces," one of Damien’s supporters said, his voice ringing out in the hall.

Gerrafin raised an eyebrow, not even turning to face the man, and spoke lazily over his shoulder. "It’s strange for you to mention efficiency, considering Prince Damien’s most recent failure to handle the grain crisis in the southern territories. What’s that they say? Something about people in glass houses?"

A chuckle ran through Gerrafin's supporters, while Damien’s face flushed red with fury. He stepped forward, eyes flashing with barely contained rage. "You dare accuse me of negligence, Gerrafin? The crisis was due to the incompetence of the local lords, not my oversight."

Gerrafin waved his hand dismissively, yawning. "Of course, it’s always someone else’s fault with you."

Before Damien could retort, Fourth Prince Nathaniel chimed in, his voice as calm as ever. "Gentlemen, there’s no need for all this hostility so early in the morning." His tone was smooth, almost disarming. "After all, we're here to serve the empire, not tear it apart."

Damien’s eyes narrowed. "Stay out of this, Nathaniel. You always have something to say, yet you never do anything of consequence."

Nathaniel’s smile never faltered. "Perhaps that’s why I’ve never had a crisis to resolve, brother."

Laughter erupted from Nathaniel’s faction, while Damien clenched his fists. The arguments escalated as courtiers from each faction began adding their own fuel to the fire, throwing accusations and snide remarks at one another.

Just as the tension in the room reached its boiling point, the great doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a resounding thud. King Gerald entered, followed by royal guards in gleaming armor. The room immediately fell silent, the princes and their factions straightening as the king made his way to the throne at the head of the hall.

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The king's presence was commanding, despite the lines of age that creased his face. His cold eyes surveyed the room, taking in the scene with a glance that could pierce through any deceit. Once seated on his throne, he spoke, his deep voice filling the hall.

"Enough of this childish bickering," he said. "We have work to do."

The courtiers bowed, and the princes fell silent, each casting quick glances at the others. The tension, though muted now, still hung in the air as King Gerald’s gaze shifted from one prince to the next.

"Now," the king began, his eyes landing on Damien first. "Yesterday, I tasked you with addressing the military supply issues in the northern borderlands. What progress have you made?"

Damien straightened his shoulders, trying to suppress the lingering anger from earlier. "Your Majesty, I have already sent word to our military commanders, instructing them to redistribute supplies from our reserves to the eastern territories. The provisions should reach the border within the week."

King Gerald nodded, though his expression was unreadable. "Good. But I expect regular updates on the situation. The northern border is important to the empire."

Damien bowed his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."

The king then turned to Third Prince. "And you, Gerrafin. You were to handle the trade negotiations with the merchants of Triven. What progress?"

Gerrafin gave his usual lazy smile, stepping forward with a small bow. "I’ve made arrangements for a meeting with the Triven merchants, Your Majesty. They’ve expressed interest in expanding their trade routes, and I plan to finalize the negotiations by week’s end."

King Gerald's gaze was sharp, though he gave a curt nod. "I hope you’re not being too lax in this, Gerrafin. Our trade with Triven is vital for the empire’s economy. I expect results, not just promises."

Gerrafin’s smile flickered, but he bowed again. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Next, the king’s eyes fell on Nathaniel, who stood with his usual calm composure. "Nathaniel, you were to investigate the unrest in the southern provinces. What have you discovered?"

Nathaniel stepped forward, offering a slight bow. "The unrest seems to be rooted in a local conflict between rival noble families. I've dispatched envoys to mediate the dispute, and early reports suggest we may be able to resolve it without military intervention."

The king nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep me informed of any developments."

Nathaniel bowed once more, his expression as neutral as ever.

Finally, the king looked toward Edric's vacant place. The second prince had not yet arrived at court, and a flicker of doubt crossed the king’s face.

"Where is the Second Prince?" the king asked, his voice.

Before anyone could answer, a courtier stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, Prince Edric is currently attending to a matter with his advisors. He sends his apologies and will join the court shortly."

The king narrowed his eyes. Raising his brows, he said "Tell him he is expected in the hall without delay. I will not tolerate tardiness when the empire’s future is at stake."

The courtier bowed deeply and hurried away to deliver the message.

As the session continued, the princes gave their reports and the courtiers debated matters of state. But all the while, an undercurrent of tension rippled through the hall. The subtle barbs exchanged between the brothers, the murmurs among the factions—these were the true politics of the court, and everyone knew it.

King Gerald, seated on his throne, watched it all with cold detachment. He knew his sons well enough to see through their facades, but for now, he allowed the game to continue. After all, the empire was vast, and there were many more pieces to move on the board.

As the court session wore on, the arguments and strategies shifted like the tides, each prince angling for favor, each faction pushing for power. And above it all, the king watched, silent and ever watchful, waiting for the next move in the game of thrones that was his empire.

The session ended with the king's dismissal, but the real battles had only just begun.