Steam rose from the copper tub as Natalie poured the st bucket of hot water. The private bathing chamber adjacent to Julian's quarters was a luxury afforded to the prince's personal attendant—a small sanctuary where Natalie could maintain the disguise that had become second nature over the past five years.

  "Will there be anything else, Your Highness?" she asked, straightening her apron.

  Julian barely looked up from the tactical manual he was studying, preparation for his first week at the Junior Officers' Academy. "No, thank you, Natalie. I'll call if I need anything."

  She curtseyed and withdrew to her own small chamber, gathering her bathing supplies. These quiet evening moments were the only time Nathaniel could emerge, however briefly, from behind Natalie's carefully constructed fa?ade.

  Locking the door to the bathing chamber, she exhaled slowly, allowing her posture to shift—the subtle, feminine movements she had practiced for so long momentarily abandoned. In the polished metal mirror hanging on the wall, Nathaniel studied his reflection with the critical assessment that had become ritual.

  At sixteen, his face remained delicate—high cheekbones and rge eyes that had served the disguise well. His body, too, had cooperated in ways he hadn't dared hope for when this deception began. Where other boys his age had broadened and roughened, Nathaniel remained slender, his frame refusing the masculine bulk that would have made Natalie's existence impossible.

  He removed the cap that contained his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders—another blessing, as its natural texture took well to the feminine styles Martha had taught him to arrange years ago.

  "Nathaniel," he whispered to the reflection, the name sounding foreign on his lips after so long disuse.

  Slipping out of his servant's dress, he studied his body with mixed emotions. Relief came first—the desperate gamble of disguise continued to succeed, his physical development remaining merciful to their deception. His chest was ft but not broadly muscled, his shoulders narrow enough to pass as a girl's with proper clothing, his voice having settled at a pitch that could be managed with careful control.

  But beneath that relief lurked something more complicated—a twisting discomfort he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. In the stories he had read as a child, young men Nathaniel's age were becoming warriors and heroes, their bodies transforming into testaments of masculine strength. What would his father have thought of a son who at sixteen still looked more like a girl than a man?

  Nathaniel submerged himself in the warm water, letting it cover his face momentarily as if to wash away the thought. When he emerged, he was Natalie again—practical, focused, with no time for such useless reflections.

  She bathed efficiently, rebraided her hair, and donned her nightdress. The person who returned to her small chamber adjacent to the prince's quarters was wholly Natalie once more, the brief moment of Nathaniel's existence locked away like a dangerous secret.

  The Junior Officers' Academy occupied the western wing of the military compound, its stone buildings arranged around a central training yard. Julian had been in attendance for three days now, returning each evening exhausted but determined, his mind full of new challenges and strategies.

  Natalie stood at the edge of the yard, a basket of clean linens providing her excuse to observe the training session. Julian was paired with the son of a northern duke, both youths working through a complex series of maneuvers under Sir Rond's watchful eye.

  "The prince shows surprising aptitude," came a voice at her elbow.

  Natalie turned to find Martha, the head maid who had been one of her first instructors in pace service. The older woman had risen further in the household ranks over the years, now supervising all the personal attendants to the royal family.

  "His Highness applies himself diligently," Natalie replied carefully.

  Martha nodded, her shrewd eyes watching Julian execute a perfect parry. "The other young officers didn't expect much from him. The schorly prince and all that." Her gaze shifted to Natalie. "You've served him well these past years."

  "I merely attend to his needs, as is my duty."

  Martha's mouth quirked in a knowing smile. "Your 'mere attendance' has helped transform a frightened boy into a young man of promise." She paused. "The Empress has noticed, you know. She commented on how well-mannered and composed Prince Julian has become, compared to his brothers at the same age."

  Natalie felt a flush of pride she tried to conceal. "His Highness has a natural dignity."

  "Perhaps. But he also has a dedicated attendant who anticipates his needs and supports his growth." Martha adjusted her own basket of linens. "You've matured yourself, Natalie. When you first came to us, I wondered if you'd st a month."

  The comment sent an unexpected pang through Natalie's chest. She remembered those first terrifying weeks, the desperate fear of discovery that had accompanied every movement, every word.

  "I found my pce," she said simply.

  "Indeed you have." Martha's expression softened slightly, the closest she came to dispying affection. "Though I sometimes wonder if you've found too much of your identity in service to the prince."

  Natalie blinked, unsure how to respond.

  Martha continued, her voice lowered. "A girl your age should have interests beyond her duties. Friends, perhaps even admirers."

  The suggestion sent a cold jolt through Natalie. "I have sufficient companionship through my work," she replied stiffly.

  "That may be true now, but in time..." Martha studied her with suddenly penetrating eyes. "You're what, sixteen? Seventeen? Yet you show no interest in the young men who've clearly noticed you."

  Natalie clutched her basket tighter. "My position requires propriety."

  "Propriety, yes. Complete isotion, no." Martha sighed. "Sarah from the stillroom is getting married next month. Rebecca has been courting that carpenter's apprentice for nearly a year now. Even shy Grace has been seen walking in the gardens with one of the stable hands."

  "I'm pleased for them," Natalie said, her discomfort growing. "But my focus must remain on Prince Julian's needs. Especially now, with his new responsibilities at the Academy."

  Martha seemed about to press further but was interrupted by the training master's whistle signaling the end of the session. "Well," she said finally, "just remember that serving the prince doesn't mean forgetting you're a young woman. It wouldn't hurt you to attend the Midsummer Festival this year—there will be dancing in the servants' hall."

  With that unwelcome suggestion, Martha departed, leaving Natalie frozen in pce, a tumult of emotions churning beneath her carefully composed exterior.

  Across the yard, Julian was gathering his training gear, exchanging words with a fellow cadet who seemed to be paying him newfound respect. His gaze found Natalie, and he nodded slightly, indicating he would need her assistance soon.

  The simple, familiar gesture anchored her, pushing Martha's unsettling observations away. This was her reality—not dances or admirers or the normal progression of a young woman's life, but service to Julian and the protection that service provided.

  Yet as she moved to meet the prince, Natalie couldn't entirely banish the small voice at the back of her mind—not the voice of Natalie the maid, but of Nathaniel the bookbinder's son—wondering what kind of man he might have become if fate had allowed that path.

  That evening, as Natalie helped Julian prepare for a formal dinner with the Academy's senior instructors, the prince noticed her unusual silence.

  "You seem preoccupied," he observed, standing patiently as she adjusted his formal colr.

  "It's nothing, Your Highness. Just... household matters."

  Julian raised an eyebrow. "You seem unusually distracted this evening."

  "It's nothing of importance, Your Highness," Natalie replied, focusing on adjusting his colr.

  "If something is troubling you, I hope you know you can speak freely," Julian said, his tone gentle. "Your wellbeing matters to me."

  Natalie hesitated. While she couldn't share her true conflict, perhaps a partial truth would satisfy his concern.

  "Martha suggested I should attend the Midsummer Festival," she said finally. "She thinks I spend too little time with people my own age."

  "Ah," Julian nodded. "Social gatherings can be valuable, I suppose."

  "My priority is your service, Your Highness," Natalie said quickly. "I've declined such invitations before."

  Julian studied her for a moment. "Your dedication is admirable, but perhaps Martha has a point. Even the most devoted servants require some personal time."

  "I prefer my duties," Natalie insisted, busying herself with straightening items on his dressing table.

  "If you wish to attend the festival—even briefly—arrangements could be made," Julian offered. "I wouldn't want you to forsake all personal enjoyment for my sake."

  Natalie shook her head. "That won't be necessary, Your Highness. I find my work fulfilling."

  Julian seemed to sense her reluctance to discuss the matter further. "As you wish. But the offer remains open should you change your mind." He reached for his formal gloves. "My success at the Academy owes much to your support, Natalie. I wouldn't want that support to come at too great a personal cost."

  The wisdom in his words—spoken by a fourteen-year-old prince who had grown remarkably perceptive under her guidance—left Natalie momentarily speechless.

  "I shall bear that in mind, Your Highness," she finally managed.

  As she watched Julian depart for his dinner, Natalie was struck by how their roles had subtly shifted. She had begun as his protector, a disguised guardian providing safety and guidance. Yet increasingly, his growing insight offered her a mirror in which her own struggles became visible.

  Later that night, alone in her small chamber, Natalie stood before her small mirror and deliberately sought Nathaniel in her reflection. Beyond the long hair and feminine attire, she searched for the boy who had once existed—the quick-witted son of a bookbinder who had dreamed of following in his father's craft.

  "Who are you now?" she whispered to the reflection.

  The face that stared back offered no simple answer. Years of pying Natalie had left their mark, embedding feminine mannerisms and habits so deeply they no longer required conscious thought. Yet beneath that performance remained a core identity that was neither fully Natalie nor entirely the Nathaniel of childhood.

  She touched her cheek, tracing features that hadn't developed as she'd once imagined they would. Where she had feared betraying masculine angles, her face had maintained a softness that served her disguise all too well. Her body, too, remained slight—strong enough for her duties but cking the obvious masculine development that would have exposed her.

  The physical reality brought both profound relief and a surprising sting of disappointment. The relief was practical—her safety depended on maintaining the illusion. But the disappointment came from somewhere deeper—a pce where a young boy had once imagined growing into a man like his father, strong and capable in a distinctly masculine way.

  "Does it matter?" she asked herself pragmatically. "This form has kept you alive."

  Yet Julian's gentle question echoed: What cost did survival exact? And how much of Nathaniel could remain buried before something essential was lost?

  Natalie turned away from the mirror, unwilling to pursue the question further. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—Julian's training at the Academy, the continuing threat of Augustus's eventual return, the constant vigince required by their circumstances.

  Personal confusion was a luxury they could ill afford.

  For now, she was Natalie. The rest would have to remain safely locked away.