The afternoon sun filtered through the leaded windows of Julian's study, casting geometric patterns across the scattered papers and open books. Natalie sat in the window alcove, mending one of Julian's formal tunics while he practiced his penmanship at the desk. The governors' council meeting had concluded three days ago, and Julian had been granted permission to attend the next session in two weeks—a victory that still brightened his eyes whenever it was mentioned.

  Natalie gnced up from her needlework to observe him. Julian's brow furrowed in concentration as he copied passages from General Tarkus's treatise, his quill moving with growing confidence across the parchment. His dark curls fell across his forehead, and occasionally he would absently brush them aside, leaving a small smudge of ink on his temple that he hadn't noticed.

  "You have ink on your face again, Your Highness," Natalie said, her voice soft with amusement.

  Julian looked up, startled from his concentration. "Where?" He touched his face with his fingertips, managing only to spread the mark further.

  "Here, let me." Setting aside her sewing, Natalie retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and approached. With gentle strokes, she dabbed at the ink stain on his temple. As she worked, Julian stilled beneath her touch, his eyes studying her face with an intensity that made her hesitate. "Is something wrong, Your Highness?"

  "I was just thinking," he said quietly, "about how different things would be without you here."

  Natalie's hand paused mid-motion, something fluttering in her chest at his words. She resumed cleaning the ink mark, grateful for the task that allowed her to hide her expression. "I'm merely doing my duty, Your Highness."

  "We both know it's more than that." Julian's voice was soft but certain. "If not for your guidance, I'd still be hiding in the library, avoiding my brothers and accomplishing nothing."

  Natalie stepped back once the ink was gone. "You give me too much credit. The strength was always within you."

  "Perhaps," Julian conceded, "but you helped me find it." He turned back to his work, adding thoughtfully, "Augustus was quite displeased when Father asked for my opinion during the council meeting. I saw it in his eyes—he didn't expect me to have anything worthwhile to contribute."

  "Yet you impressed even the Northern delegation with your knowledge of their trade customs," Natalie reminded him as she returned to her sewing. "Lady Emmeline told me afterward that her father called you 'surprisingly astute for one so young.'"

  Julian smiled, a brief fsh of pride crossing his features before his expression grew serious again. "Augustus will retaliate. He always does when I succeed at anything."

  "Then we'll be prepared," Natalie replied with more confidence than she felt. Augustus's vendettas had grown increasingly dangerous, and his gaze lingered too often on Natalie these days, as if searching for weaknesses he could exploit.

  They worked in companionable silence for a while, the scratching of Julian's quill and the soft sound of Natalie's needle punctuating the quiet afternoon. Outside, clouds gathered on the horizon, promising an evening storm. The peaceful moment felt precious to Natalie—a brief respite in what had become a constant battle for Julian's standing at court.

  "I had a strange dream st night," Julian said suddenly, setting down his quill.

  "Oh?" Natalie looked up from her mending.

  "I dreamed I was drowning again, like at the water tournament." His voice was distant, his eyes focused on something beyond the study walls. "But this time, when you pulled me from the water, you were different. You were..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's foolish."

  Natalie's pulse quickened. "Dreams often are, Your Highness."

  "I suppose." Julian shrugged, reaching for a different book. "In any case, it made me think about that day—how you risked yourself to save me without hesitation."

  "Anyone would have done the same," Natalie said carefully.

  "No, they wouldn't." Julian's gaze was direct now, piercing in its intensity. "Martha told me afterward that several courtiers were closer to me than you were, yet they did nothing. Only you acted."

  Natalie remembered that day with painful crity—the sight of Julian struggling in the water, the split-second decision to dive in despite knowing her disguise might be compromised, the terror not for herself but for him. It had been the first time she'd realized that her concern for Julian had grown beyond the bounds of self-preservation.

  "I couldn't bear to see you hurt," she admitted softly.

  "Why?" Julian asked, the directness of the question catching her off guard. "What am I to you, Natalie? A means to secure your position? A duty assigned by Madame Bckwood?"

  The question struck at the heart of something Natalie had been avoiding confronting. When she'd first arrived at the pace, disguised as her mother's niece and terrified of discovery, Julian had indeed been merely a fortunate opportunity—a lonely, overlooked prince whose favor could provide protection. Her kindness toward him had been calcuted, her advice designed to make herself indispensable.

  But now, looking at him—at this thoughtful boy who absorbed knowledge like a sponge, who faced his brothers' cruelty with growing dignity, who noticed the servants others overlooked and remembered their names—Natalie realized that somewhere along the way, everything had changed.

  "You are my prince," she said finally, the words inadequate for the complex truth. "But you're also..." She hesitated, uncomfortable with the vulnerability of honesty.

  "Also what?" Julian prompted when she didn't continue.

  "Someone I care about," she finished simply. "Someone whose welfare matters to me beyond duty or obligation."

  Julian studied her, as if searching for deception in her words. Finding none, his expression softened. "I feel the same. You're more than just my attendant, Natalie. You're the only person in this entire pace who sees me—the real me, not just the forgotten prince or the political liability."

  His words warmed something in Natalie's chest even as they twisted with guilt. If only he knew how much of her own identity remained hidden, how fundamental the deception that undery their retionship.

  "Your Highness—" she began, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

  Martha stood in the doorway, her stern face set in its usual lines of disapproval. "Prince Julian, your presence is requested in the East Gallery. The Duchess Harrington and her daughter have arrived for tea with the Empress, and Her Majesty has asked that you join them."

  Julian brightened at the mention of Lady Emmeline, their schorly ally who had proved so valuable during recent court events. "Thank you, Martha. Please inform Her Majesty that I'll be there shortly."

  After Martha departed, Julian rose and straightened his tunic. "Will you accompany me, Natalie? Lady Emmeline specifically mentioned wanting to discuss that Nordician poetry collection with both of us."

  "Of course," Natalie replied, setting aside her sewing and rising to help Julian with his formal jacket. As she adjusted his colr, their eyes met in the mirror.

  "Whatever happens with Augustus, with the council, with all of it," Julian said quietly, "I'm grateful you're here. I don't think I could face any of it without you."

  The simple sincerity in his voice caught at something deep in Natalie's chest. For a moment, the weight of her deception pressed down with almost unbearable heaviness. This boy trusted her completely, valued her above all others, while not even knowing her true name.

  As they walked together through the pace corridors toward the East Gallery, Natalie found herself reflecting on how dramatically her priorities had shifted. When she'd first arrived, her every action had been calcuted for survival—watching for threats, securing her position, avoiding scrutiny. Julian had been merely a means to an end, a fortuitous patron whose favor offered protection.

  Now, she realized with startling crity that she would risk that very safety for his welfare. The thought of leaving him vulnerable to Augustus's machinations was intolerable. The idea of him facing disappointment or failure filled her with genuine distress. Somewhere along this journey, Julian's well-being had become as important to her as her own—perhaps even more so.

  They paused outside the East Gallery doors, where the sounds of polite conversation and the clink of fine porcein drifted outward. Julian took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders in the way he did before facing any court function.

  "Remember," Natalie said softly, "the Empress favors discussions of the eastern provinces. Lady Emmeline mentioned her mother has estates there—it would be a good topic to introduce if conversation gs."

  Julian nodded, his expression serious. "And I should avoid any mention of the Nordician trade negotiations, as Augustus has cimed that territory."

  "Precisely." Natalie smiled with approval. "You're becoming quite the strategist, Your Highness."

  "I have an excellent teacher," he replied with a quick grin before his face composed itself into the careful mask of court propriety.

  As he entered the gallery, head high and steps measured exactly as she had taught him, Natalie felt an unexpected surge of pride. This wasn't the same frightened boy she had found hiding in the library all those months ago. He was growing into something remarkable—a prince with not just intelligence but compassion, not just knowledge but wisdom.

  And in that moment, watching him move with newfound confidence into the circle of intimidating nobles, Natalie recognized a truth she had been avoiding: her deception had begun as necessary subterfuge for survival, but her loyalty to Julian had become something genuine and profound. She would protect him not because doing so protected herself, but because he deserved protection—because the person he was becoming mattered.

  The realization was both freeing and terrifying. She was no longer merely pying a role but had somehow slipped into truly inhabiting it. Beneath the disguise of Natalie Foster, handmaiden and attendant, Nathaniel Finch had found something he'd never expected: a purpose greater than mere survival.

  Lady Emmeline spotted her lingering in the doorway and waved her forward with a warm smile. Taking a deep breath, Natalie stepped into the gallery to take her pce slightly behind Julian's chair, as protocol demanded. From this position, she could observe the entire room—the Empress's calcuting gaze, the Duchess Harrington's political maneuvering, Augustus watching from a far corner with narrowed eyes.

  Threats surrounded them on all sides. Discovery remained a constant danger. Yet for the first time since arriving at the pace, Natalie found herself motivated not by fear but by something that felt remarkably like hope—hope for the prince who trusted her, hope for the future he might build if given the chance to flourish.

  Whatever came next, whether triumph or disaster, she would face it not merely for her own survival, but for his. The realization settled in her chest with the weight of a vow—unspoken but binding nonetheless.

  As Julian gnced back at her, a brief look of gratitude crossing his features before he turned to answer the Empress's question, Natalie knew with absolute certainty that everything had changed. She was no longer simply pying a role to save herself; she had somehow, without intending it, found something worth protecting beyond her own life.

  And in that discovery y both danger and possibility, stretching out before them like a path into uncharted territory—a path they would walk together, whether they succeeded or failed.