As far as the report goes, the Prinxe and their father had a grand glorious tiff, worse than any in recent memory, that ended with Hail stalking off to their chambers with a promise to leave Westfenster and never return. The notion of a permanent separation from his only child didn't seem to trouble His Majesty nearly as much as one might expect.
"But whatever were they scrapping about?" the scullery-maid asks.
"Something to do with the Gramercy clan, and a petition they've made," the Herald says, shrugging helplessly. "The Prinxe seems to think His Majesty's being ill-advised."
In the instant, memories surface of Lady Gramercy asking His Majesty for a grant of Royal land as recompense for their military aid. Can the clandestine tête-à-tête you observed be coming to a head?
You drift away from the knot of conversation and speculation, your eyes settling on the three empty thrones at the far end of the room. If a counselor is needed, perhaps this is just the moment for a fool on the rise….