The morning light cast long shadows across Julian's study as he sat before a rge parchment, carefully mapping the pace's power structure. Natalie stood behind him, watching as he sketched connections between various nobles and officials.

  "There," Julian said, marking a name with a star. "Lady Cordelia Bckwood."

  "Madame Bckwood's niece?" Natalie asked, leaning closer.

  Julian nodded. "Widowed three years ago. Her husband was Lord Chamberin under my grandfather. She maintains correspondence with half the noble houses in the Empire, yet Augustus considers her irrelevant because she holds no official position."

  He made another mark. "And here—Sir Thaddeus Mercer. Former ambassador to the Eastern Provinces, retired after thirty years of service when Augustus convinced Father to appoint a younger man. He still receives letters from contacts throughout the East."

  Natalie studied the growing network Julian was sketching. Over the past week since the Emperor had fallen ill, they had been methodically identifying individuals overlooked by Augustus and his supporters—people with knowledge, connections, or skills that might prove valuable, yet who existed on the periphery of court power.

  "The forgotten courtiers," she murmured.

  "Not forgotten," Julian corrected. "Simply underestimated. Which makes them perfect allies—if approached carefully."

  The Emperor's condition remained unchanged—conscious briefly each day but too weak to resume his duties. The delegation that had visited him confirmed this status, temporarily legitimizing the Council's collective governance. Augustus had been forced to accept this arrangement publicly, though he continued to consolidate power behind the scenes.

  "Lady Emmeline has invited Lady Cordelia to tea this afternoon," Julian continued. "She'll assess her potential allegiance."

  "And Sir Thaddeus?" Natalie asked.

  "I've arranged to 'accidentally' encounter him in the East Garden during his daily constitutional. He's known to be an enthusiast of rare botany—as am I, suddenly." Julian's smile held a hint of the mischievous boy Natalie had first met years ago in the library.

  Natalie couldn't help but smile in return. "Your interest in obscure subjects finally proves useful."

  "Indeed." Julian set down his pen and stood, stretching his shoulders. At sixteen, he had grown into a lithe young man whose schorly appearance belied an increasingly strategic mind. "There's another name I've been considering, but approaching him carries significant risk."

  He pointed to a name written at the edge of the parchment: Lord Marcus Devereux.

  Natalie's eyebrows rose. "Your uncle? The one who lives in the Western countryside?"

  "Father's half-brother," Julian confirmed. "There was a falling out decades ago—something political that predates even Augustus's birth. He renounced his cim to succession and retired to his estates."

  "Augustus would notice if you contacted him directly," Natalie observed.

  "Precisely. Which is why I won't." Julian's expression grew thoughtful. "But there might be another way."

  Before he could eborate, a sharp knock interrupted them. Julian quickly covered the parchment with bnk papers as Natalie moved to answer the door.

  Martha stood outside, her usual composed demeanor repced by barely concealed agitation. "Prince Henry requests Prince Julian's presence in the Western Sor," she announced, her eyes briefly flicking to Natalie with a warning that something was amiss.

  Julian frowned. Henry, the third prince, rarely sought him out directly. "Thank you, Martha. Please inform Prince Henry I'll attend him shortly."

  After Martha departed, Julian turned to Natalie. "This is unexpected."

  "And concerning," Natalie added. "Henry follows Augustus like a shadow. If he's seeking you independently..."

  "It could be a trap," Julian agreed. "Or perhaps a fracture in my brothers' unified front." He considered for a moment. "We should discover which."

  They found Prince Henry pacing in the Western Sor, a chamber rarely used since the Empress preferred the brighter Eastern rooms. At twenty-four, Henry was the least imposing of the royal brothers—neither as commanding as Augustus nor as cutting as Edmond. He had always seemed content to exist in their shadow, lending his support without voicing strong opinions of his own.

  He startled when Julian entered, eyes darting nervously to Natalie before focusing on his youngest brother. "Julian. Thank you for coming."

  Julian inclined his head. "Your message suggested urgency, brother."

  Henry gnced toward the door. "Is anyone else aware you're here?"

  "Only my attendant," Julian replied, gesturing to Natalie, who had positioned herself discreetly by the wall as was proper for a servant during royal conversations.

  Henry seemed to wrestle with himself before speaking. "Augustus is pnning something. Something I fear crosses a line even he should not cross."

  Julian kept his expression neutral despite his surprise at this unexpected confidence. "What line would that be?"

  "He's summoned specialists from the North," Henry continued, lowering his voice. "Men who deal in... potions. Accelerants, he called them."

  The implication hung in the air between them. Julian felt a chill run through him but maintained his composure. "To accelerate Father's recovery, surely?"

  Henry's ugh held no humor. "That's what I told myself at first. Then I overheard him with Edmond. They spoke of 'hastening the inevitable' and 'ensuring the transition proceeds without complication.'"

  "Serious accusations, brother," Julian said carefully. "Why bring this to me and not the Council?"

  "The Council?" Henry's voice rose slightly before he controlled it. "Half of them are already in Augustus's pocket. The others would never believe me over the Crown Prince." He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture Julian had rarely seen from him. "And I'm not... I'm not like you, Julian. I don't have your gift for persuasion or your reputation for integrity."

  Julian studied his brother, searching for signs of deception. Henry had never shown such independence before—was this genuine concern or an eborate ploy by Augustus to test Julian's loyalty?

  "Why now?" Julian asked. "You've supported Augustus in all things for years."

  Henry's eyes dropped. "Because Father named you regent in his private instructions. Augustus found out yesterday."

  Julian felt his heart stop momentarily. The document he had hidden—had the Emperor created multiple copies? Or had Augustus somehow discovered Julian's copy?

  "How did he discover this?" Julian managed to ask, his tone betraying nothing.

  "The Imperial Physician mentioned that Father had been conscious and lucid for nearly an hour the day before his colpse—long enough to update his private papers." Henry shook his head. "Augustus had the physician's quarters searched. They found notes suggesting Father had revised the regency arrangements."

  Julian carefully controlled his expression, but his mind raced. Augustus didn't have the actual document—only knowledge that it might exist. That bought them some time, but not much.

  "And what would you have me do with this information, Henry?" Julian asked.

  His brother looked genuinely lost. "I don't know. I just... I can accept many things, Julian. Politics, manipution, even cruelty when necessary. But not this. Not hastening our father's death."

  Julian considered his brother for a long moment. "Thank you for bringing this to me. I will consider how best to proceed."

  Henry seemed relieved, though still agitated. "Augustus must not know we spoke."

  "Of course not," Julian agreed. As Henry turned to leave, Julian added, "Brother? Why do you believe Father named me regent instead of you or Edmond?"

  Henry paused at the door. "Because you're like him," he said simply. "The rest of us are our mother's sons—political creatures to our bones. But you... you have his sense of duty." With that, he slipped out of the sor, leaving Julian and Natalie alone.

  When his footsteps had faded, Natalie approached. "Do you believe him?"

  Julian moved to the window, looking out at the pace grounds where courtiers strolled, oblivious to the deadly game unfolding within the royal family.

  "I believe that he believes what he's saying," Julian replied carefully. "Whether Augustus truly intends to hasten Father's death or Henry is merely interpreting ambiguous statements through his own fear... that I cannot say with certainty."

  "But we must assume the worst," Natalie said.

  Julian nodded grimly. "We must accelerate our own pns. If Augustus knows about the regency document, we have days at most before he makes his move." He turned back to Natalie, his expression resolute. "We need to meet with Lady Emmeline immediately. And I need to send a message to Lord Chancellor Voss. If Henry is right, Father's life may depend on how quickly we can build our network of allies."

  As they hurried back to Julian's chambers to retrieve the hidden regency document, Julian's mind worked furiously. The quiet approach he had pnned—gradually building support among the overlooked courtiers—would need to be compressed into days rather than weeks.

  "We'll need someone reliable who can travel to my uncle's estate without arousing suspicion," Julian murmured as they walked.

  "I might know someone," Natalie replied. "Michael, the quartermaster's assistant. He often makes supply runs to the outer estates. And he's shown loyalty to me—to us—in the past."

  Julian gnced at her, momentarily surprised. "The young man who's been courting you?"

  Natalie felt a slight flush rise to her cheeks. "He's not... we're just friends. But yes, he's expressed interest, which makes him both useful and trustworthy. Augustus would never suspect him."

  Julian seemed to consider this. "Very well. Arrange it as soon as possible. But be careful—involving him pces him in danger as well."

  The weight of that reality settled between them as they quickened their pace. What had begun as a careful political maneuver was rapidly transforming into something far more dangerous—a race against time with the Emperor's life hanging in the bance.