The Council of Crowns always began the same way: stiff introductions, overly long speeches, and a parade of heirs dressed in their finest, pretending not to notice each other while secretly assessing every detail. For those of royal blood, every interaction was an unspoken battle of wits and appearances—a high-stakes game in which alliances could be forged or broken over a single poorly chosen word.
For Coal, however, the whole affair was just another stage for his personal theater of mischief.
He lounged against one of the marble pillars in the grand hall, spinning a goblet of wine in his hand. His expression was the perfect mixture of nonchalance and amusement as he watched the other heirs interact. Across the room, Silver was locked in a serious discussion with an ambassador, his expression as taut as a bowstring. Mist lingered nearby, his sharp eyes scanning the room for anything out of place, likely preparing to disappear into the shadows at the first opportunity.
Coal smirked. "Look at him," he muttered under his breath to Lyric, the poised and perpetually unimpressed princess of the Southern Isles, who had approached with her usual air of exasperation. "Already working himself into an early grave."
"Better than whatever it is you're doing," Lyric retorted, sipping her drink with a raised brow. "Are you ever going to take this seriously, or are you just here to embarrass yourself?"
Coal flashed her a grin. "If I did, would I still be me?"
Before she could respond, a loud crash drew their attention. Near the banquet table, a hapless servant had tripped over an ornamental rug, sending a tray of desserts flying. The group closest to the chaos, led by Crown Prince Ash of the Northern Plains, erupted into laughter.
"Typical," muttered Lyric, shaking her head. "Ash has been insufferable all day."
Coal's grin widened. "Want me to make him more insufferable?"
"Don't you dare," she hissed, but it was too late. Coal was already moving.
With the grace of someone who had spent his entire life getting into trouble and somehow never paying for it, Coal sidled up to Ash's group. He clapped the prince on the shoulder, flashing his most charming smile.
"That was quite the show," Coal said, nodding toward the hapless servant. "Tell me, Ash, do you practice looking like a pompous ass, or does it just come naturally?"
The group around Ash stifled their laughter, unsure whether to take Coal's words as an insult or a joke. Ash, for his part, glared daggers at him.
"And what about you, Coal?" Ash shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still pretending to belong here, or are you just here for the free wine?"
Coal raised his goblet in mock toast. "Why not both?"
Before the situation could escalate, a loud clap echoed through the hall. Cyrus, Coal's jovial instructor from his home kingdom and an expert in aura manipulation, strode toward the scene, his grin as broad as the banners hanging from the ceiling.
"Coal, my boy!" Cyrus boomed, grabbing Coal by the shoulder and steering him away. "Let's not traumatize the Northern Plains' heir just yet. Save some of that wit for later—preferably when I'm not the one cleaning up the diplomatic mess."
Coal raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I was just keeping things interesting."
"You're going to 'interest' us all into an international incident," Cyrus muttered, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.
From across the hall, Mist's sharp whistle cut through the din. All eyes turned to him, standing near the center of the room with his arms crossed, his usual deadpan expression firmly in place.
"Coal," Mist called, his voice as dry as the desert wind. "If you're done antagonizing the Northern Plains, Silver's looking for you."
Coal's grin faltered for a moment. "Looking for me? Why do I feel like I'm about to be lectured?"
"You probably are," Mist replied flatly.
Coal sighed dramatically but complied, leaving Ash's group to stew. As he approached Silver, who had just finished his conversation with the ambassador, he couldn't resist needling him.
"Looking for me, Your Highness?" Coal said, bowing with exaggerated flourish.
Silver pinched the bridge of his nose. "Coal, we're supposed to be building alliances, not starting wars."
"Starting wars? Me?" Coal feigned shock. "I'm nothing but a humble diplomat."
"You're a menace," Silver muttered.
The trio didn't make it far before they were intercepted by Instructor Velora, a stern and elegant woman who had taught fencing and combat strategy to half the heirs present, including Silver and Coal. Her sharp gaze landed on Coal first.
"Coal," she said crisply, "you're walking a fine line today. I've already had to mediate two complaints about your 'diplomacy.' Care to explain?"
"I prefer to think of it as creative tension," Coal replied, grinning. "After all, a little chaos keeps people on their toes."
"Perhaps you should focus on staying upright yourself," Velora shot back, her tone as sharp as her blade. "I'd hate for another sparring match to end with you flat on your back."
Mist snorted quietly, earning a glare from Coal.
"Some of us like to make an impression," Coal muttered.
"And some of us like to avoid being a walking disaster," Mist countered.
Before the exchange could escalate, Cyrus clapped his hands together, cutting through the tension. "Now, now! We're all friends here. Let's save the squabbles for the sparring ring, eh?"
Velora sighed but relented, turning her attention to Silver. "And you, Silver, have you finalized the seating arrangements for tomorrow's banquet?"
Silver nodded, his composure unshaken despite the chaos around him. "It's done. Though I suspect Coal's antics will undo half of my work before the night is over."
Coal grinned. "I live to challenge you, cousin."
As the evening wore on, the heirs gradually dispersed, each retreating to prepare for the official Council sessions. Coal found himself back on the balcony with Cyrus, who leaned on the stone railing and surveyed the sprawling city below.
"Something's brewing, lad," Cyrus said, his jovial tone momentarily giving way to something more serious. "There's tension in the air. Be careful who you antagonize—there's more at stake here than bruised egos."
Coal's grin slipped, if only for a moment. He glanced at the stars overhead, his thoughts straying to the veiled warnings he had overheard during the day. Whispers of unrest, rumors of a plot.
"Don't worry, Cyrus," Coal said lightly, though his tone didn't quite match his usual bravado. "I'm always careful."
Cyrus chuckled, clapping him on the back. "That's what worries me."
As the city lights flickered in the distance, the weight of the Council's games settled over them—a reminder that behind the laughter and banter lay a battlefield where the stakes were far higher than anyone cared to admit.