"Again," Sir Rond commanded, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he circled Julian.

  Sweat dripped from Julian's brow as he reset his stance, sword held in the guard position. At fourteen, he had grown considerably in the past year—still slender compared to his brothers, but taller now, with a wiry strength that had begun to emerge through consistent training. Across from him, his sparring partner—young Lord Voss, grandson of the Lord Chancellor—adjusted his own position.

  Natalie watched from the edge of the training yard, her hands csped before her as befitted an attendant observing their master's lessons. But her eyes missed nothing, cataloging every movement, every adjustment in Julian's form.

  "Begin," Sir Rond called.

  The csh of practice swords echoed through the yard as the two young men engaged. Julian parried Lord Voss's opening thrust with surprising ease, stepping to the side rather than meeting force with force. His countermove was swift and economical—not the powerful ssh that Augustus might have employed, but a precise strike that slipped past his opponent's guard.

  Lord Voss stumbled backward, surprise evident on his face.

  "Point to Prince Julian," Sir Rond announced, a hint of appreciation in his voice. "Well executed, Your Highness."

  Julian nodded in acknowledgment, resuming his ready stance. His expression remained focused, almost detached, as if solving a complex mathematical problem rather than engaging in combat.

  Three more exchanges followed, with Julian winning two and fighting Lord Voss to a draw in the third. When Sir Rond finally called an end to the session, even the stoic swordmaster's face showed a flicker of something Natalie recognized as reassessment.

  "Your progress is... notable, Your Highness," Sir Rond said as Julian returned his practice sword to the rack. "Particurly your grasp of tactical positioning."

  "Thank you, Sir Rond," Julian replied, accepting a cloth from Natalie to wipe his face. "Lord Voss is an excellent opponent."

  Young Lord Voss, still catching his breath, managed a respectful bow. "The prince has developed a unique style. Most challenging to counter."

  After the young nobles departed, Sir Rond remained behind, his gaze following Julian as he crossed the courtyard toward the main pace. The old swordmaster turned, seeming unsurprised to find Natalie still present.

  "The prince studies strategy beyond these sessions," Sir Rond observed. It wasn't quite a question.

  "His Highness has diverse intellectual interests," Natalie replied carefully.

  Sir Rond's weathered face creased in what might have been amusement. "Indeed. You may inform Prince Julian that I'll be adjusting his training regimen. His... intellectual approach merits specialized attention."

  Natalie curtseyed. "I'll convey your message, Sir Rond."

  As she hurried to catch up with Julian, Natalie found herself smiling slightly. For nearly a year now, they had incorporated physical applications into their strategic studies—Julian insisting that understanding combat theory was meaningless without practical experience. What had begun as simple footwork exercises in his chambers had evolved into a systematic analysis of swordsmanship principles.

  "Sir Rond is impressed," she informed Julian as they walked through the pace corridors. "Though he tried not to show it."

  Julian allowed himself a small smile. "He expected me to fail against Lord Voss. The Chancellor's grandson has been training since he was five years old."

  "Yet you anticipated his patterns."

  "Everyone has patterns," Julian replied. "Even accomplished swordsmen. Lord Voss favors his right side and telegraphs his attacks with a slight shift of his shoulder."

  Natalie nodded, remembering the countless hours Julian had spent studying combat treatises and having her read aloud from Master Wei's writings on the art of observation while he practiced basic forms. "Your approach is unconventional."

  "Necessity often breeds innovation," Julian said as they reached his chambers. "I'll never match Augustus's natural strength or Edmond's aggressive style. But I don't need to."

  Inside his rooms, Julian immediately went to his desk where maps and diagrams y spread across the surface. Natalie poured water for him as he traced a finger along what appeared to be a battle formation.

  "Sir Rond mentioned adjusting your training regimen," she said.

  Julian looked up with interest. "Did he? That's unexpected. Sir Rond rarely alters his teaching methods."

  "Perhaps he recognizes that you require a different approach."

  "Or perhaps," Julian said thoughtfully, "he's finally seeing what we discovered through our games—that victory doesn't always belong to the strongest contestant, but often to the one who best understands the true nature of the contest."

  Two days ter, Julian was summoned to the officers' study hall—a section of the military wing usually reserved for senior guards and tactical instructors. Natalie accompanied him, carrying the books he had requested from the library on historical siege techniques.

  Captain Darius, Augustus's loyal guard captain who had remained at court while the Crown Prince was in the North, scowled at their arrival. "This is highly irregur, Sir Rond," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "These sessions are for serious military study, not to entertain a bookish prince."

  Sir Rond's face remained impassive. "I've received authorization from the Master of Arms himself. Prince Julian's presence is at my request."

  Julian gave no indication he had heard the exchange, his attention apparently captured by the rge tactical table dominating the center of the room. Several senior officers were positioned around it, moving markers that represented troop formations across a three-dimensional terrain model.

  "The Western Ridge scenario," Julian observed quietly to Natalie. "The famous fnking maneuver from General Tarkus's third campaign."

  Sir Rond approached them. "Your Highness, I've taken the liberty of setting a challenge for today's senior officers. Perhaps you might observe their approach."

  Julian nodded. "I would be honored."

  Natalie found a position along the wall, watching as Julian was introduced to the assembled officers. Some nodded respectfully, others made little effort to hide their skepticism at the presence of the schorly youngest prince.

  "The scenario represents the Battle of Westridge Ford," Sir Rond expined for Julian's benefit, though Natalie knew he had studied this historical battle extensively. "Imperial forces, represented by the blue markers, are attempting to hold the crossing against a numerically superior rebel force, shown in red."

  The officers began their tactical exercise, discussing options and moving markers to represent troop movements. Julian observed in silence, his eyes moving constantly between the model terrain and the officers' deployments.

  After nearly an hour, the senior officers had settled on their strategy—a defensive position along the high ground with cavalry units positioned to counter enemy movements across the ford.

  "A sound approach," Sir Rond acknowledged. "Though historically, General Tarkus faced additional complications." He turned to Julian. "Your Highness, have you any observations?"

  Several officers exchanged gnces, clearly expecting nothing of substance from the fourteen-year-old prince.

  Julian stepped forward, studying the terrain model for a moment before speaking. "The strategy assumes the rebel forces will attempt a direct crossing," he said, his voice quiet but clear. "Historical accounts suggest General Tarkus anticipated this assumption."

  He reached for a marker, hesitating until Sir Rond nodded permission. Julian moved three red unit markers from their position at the ford's edge.

  "General Tarkus divided his forces," Julian continued. "While making a show of preparation for a frontal assault, he sent his most mobile units five miles downriver to a lesser-known crossing point, mentioned in this terrain model only by this small marker." He pointed to a tiny symbol nearly hidden by a fold in the represented ndscape.

  The senior officers leaned forward with sudden interest.

  "The imperial forces, believing they faced the entirety of the rebel army at the main ford, committed their reserves too early." Julian shifted several blue markers to the ford's edge. "When Tarkus's fnking force emerged from the forest behind the imperial position, their lines colpsed in disarray."

  Captain Darius frowned. "That's not the standard interpretation of the Battle of Westridge Ford."

  "No," Sir Rond agreed, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "It is not. It is, however, correct according to General Tarkus's personal campaign journals, which are held in the imperial archives." He turned to Julian. "Journals I believe you've studied, Your Highness?"

  Julian nodded. "For my historical research project st winter. General Tarkus was most thorough in documenting both his public strategies and his actual intentions."

  A murmur ran through the assembled officers. One of the older men stepped forward, studying Julian with new interest. "Your Highness has an unexpected grasp of military history."

  "Prince Julian has been pursuing an... independent course of study," Sir Rond expined. "One that merits more formal recognition."

  Captain Darius scowled. "Reading about battles in ancient texts hardly qualifies as military training."

  "Perhaps not," Sir Rond acknowledged. "But understanding why those battles were won and lost most certainly does." He turned to Julian. "Your Highness, would you care to demonstrate your solution to the Northern Pass scenario?"

  For the next hour, Julian worked through three different historical battle scenarios, expining his tactical reasoning with a crity that gradually won over even the most skeptical officers. By the session's end, the atmosphere in the room had transformed—the initial condescension repced by genuine, if surprised, respect.

  As they prepared to leave, Sir Rond drew Julian aside. "Your Highness, with your permission, I would like to incorporate these tactical sessions into your regur training."

  Julian's eyes widened slightly. "You would welcome my participation?"

  "I would insist upon it," Sir Rond replied. "Your approach is... unconventional, but effective. The imperial forces benefit from diverse perspectives." He paused. "Though I would recommend we keep the full extent of your abilities between us for now. Until you're ready."

  "Ready for what, Sir Rond?" Julian asked.

  The swordmaster's weathered face showed a hint of a smile. "For whatever challenge comes next, Your Highness. In my experience, true skill revealed too early often faces unnecessary resistance."

  As they walked back to Julian's chambers, Natalie could sense his contained excitement. "Sir Rond sees your potential," she observed.

  "He sees a useful perspective," Julian corrected, though pleasure colored his voice. "Different from Augustus's brute force approach or Edmond's aggression."

  "The officers were impressed by your knowledge of General Tarkus's journals."

  Julian's smile held a hint of mischief now. "What they don't realize is that understanding Tarkus's deception was simple once I recognized the pattern. Historical texts always emphasize the general's brilliance in splitting his forces, but never expin how he knew the secondary ford would be unguarded."

  "And how did he know?" Natalie asked.

  "He had studied his opponent for months," Julian replied. "The imperial commander was known for his rigid adherence to standard defensive protocols—which dictated all forces be concentrated at major crossing points."

  Natalie considered this. "You didn't just study Tarkus's strategy. You studied the personalities and patterns of everyone involved."

  "Precisely." Julian's expression grew thoughtful. "Military strategy isn't merely about troop movements or terrain. It's about understanding how people think—their habits, their biases, their predictable responses under pressure."

  "Like our games of Stones and Stars," Natalie noted.

  "Yes, but with far higher stakes." Julian paused as they reached his chambers. "Though I suspect Augustus would disagree with my approach."

  "Your brother believes in overwhelming force."

  "And he's not wrong—when such force is avaible," Julian acknowledged. "But history is filled with victories by those who recognized when force alone was insufficient."

  Inside his chambers, Julian went directly to his desk where a letter bearing Lady Emmeline's seal awaited him. As he read, his expression grew increasingly serious.

  "News from the North?" Natalie asked.

  Julian nodded. "Augustus has resolved the Bckridge dispute, but new tensions have emerged with the coastal tribes. Lady Emmeline says his patience wears thin." He set the letter down. "He's requested reinforcements from the Emperor."

  "Is that unusual?"

  "It suggests Augustus hasn't fully grasped the Northern mindset," Julian said carefully. "Force inspires resistance among the tribes—it's embedded in their cultural identity. Each show of imperial strength only deepens their resolve."

  "Have you shared this insight with Augustus?"

  Julian shook his head. "He didn't ask for my opinion, only historical documentation. And even that he used selectively." He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on Lady Emmeline's letter. "But perhaps Sir Rond's tactical sessions present an opportunity."

  "How so?"

  Julian's expression was thoughtful. "If I demonstrate sufficient military aptitude to the senior officers, my perspectives might reach the Emperor through channels Augustus doesn't control."

  Natalie raised an eyebrow. "A dangerous game."

  "A necessary one," Julian replied. "Augustus's approach in the North could lead to a costly conflict that benefits no one—not the empire, not the tribes, and certainly not Augustus himself."

  "And you believe you know better?" Natalie asked, not critically but curiously.

  Julian looked up, his young face serious. "I believe I see something Augustus doesn't. Whether that constitutes 'better' remains to be proven." He picked up one of the stone game pieces from his desk—the mountain that Augustus had sent him. "But I intend to find out."