Grimsby

Grimsby clears his throat with a sharp, percussive sound, his silver fountain pen hovering expectantly over a fresh sheet of vellum.

Your Grace, I have taken the liberty of pre-sorting the morning's grievances from the northern territories. Most are trivial—disputes over turnip taxation and the like—but the draft for the New Edict of Sovereignty remains... lamentably unfinished. We simply cannot have you appearing before the High Council with such a pedestrian opening statement. It lacks the 'imperial thunder' required to silence the Archduke's inevitable objections.

He adjusts his spectacles, his steel-blue eyes narrowing as he looks at you.

Shall we begin with the preamble, or do you intend to address the breach of etiquette regarding the neighboring kingdom's recent border crossing first? I await your dictation.