Winter had surrendered to spring, spring had blossomed into summer, and summer had faded into autumn. And then the cycle had begun again. In the year since Emperor Valerian's recovery, the pace had settled into a new equilibrium—not peace, exactly, but a state of watchful tension where open conflict had been repced by careful maneuvering.

  Natalie stood in Julian's study, arranging documents for his upcoming meeting with the Eastern trade delegation. At nineteen, she had grown into her role as senior attendant to Prince Julian, respected by the pace staff for her efficiency and discretion. Her position had solidified as Julian's influence at court expanded under his father's guidance.

  She gnced out the window, where autumn sunlight illuminated the pace gardens. Julian was there, engaged in morning swordpy with Young Lord Voss, their bdes fshing in the golden light. From this distance, she could see how much Julian had changed in recent months.

  The growth spurt had begun in te spring, startling everyone—perhaps Julian most of all. The slender, schorly boy had suddenly shot up several inches, his frame filling out with unexpected breadth across the shoulders. At seventeen, he now stood nearly as tall as Augustus, though leaner in build. Even his face had changed, jawline sharpening, childish softness giving way to the defined features of a young man.

  Natalie found herself watching him longer than necessary, a habit that had become increasingly frequent. She turned away abruptly, focusing on organizing the trade agreements with unnecessary precision.

  A knock at the door provided welcome distraction. Martha entered, carrying fresh linens and her usual quiet authority. In her fifties now, the head maid had become something of a confidante to Natalie over the years, though Natalie had never revealed her deepest secret.

  "His Highness is still at practice?" Martha asked, setting down her basket.

  "Yes," Natalie replied. "Sir Rond extended their session. Apparently Julian's new reach gives him advantages he's still learning to use."

  Martha nodded, a knowing smile touching her lips. "Growing into himself, that one. Reminds me of his father at that age—all sudden height and elbows until he found his bance."

  Natalie made a noncommittal sound, returning to her task of arranging documents.

  "Not that you've noticed, I'm sure," Martha added with gentle teasing.

  Natalie felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Of course not." Martha began changing the bedlinens with practiced efficiency. "Just as half the young women at court haven't noticed either. Lady Caroline practically swooned when he asked her to dance at the harvest celebration."

  The mention of Lady Caroline—a beautiful, accomplished daughter of the Southern nobility—sent an unexpected pang through Natalie. She had watched that dance from her position along the wall, where attendants stood during royal functions. Had seen Julian smile at something Lady Caroline said, his head bent attentively toward her.

  "It's natural," Martha continued when Natalie remained silent. "He's a prince coming into his own, handsome as they come, and far kinder than his brothers. The Empress has already begun considering suitable matches, from what I hear."

  Natalie's hands stilled over the papers. Of course the Empress would be considering marriages for Julian. He was seventeen, of age to be betrothed even if actual marriage might wait another year or two. It was the natural order of things for a prince—duty to the Empire through strategic alliance.

  "That's hardly my concern," Natalie said, her voice stiffer than intended.

  Martha paused in her work, studying Natalie with eyes that saw too much. "No," she agreed softly. "It wouldn't be." After a moment, she added, "Though it's not uncommon, you know. For an attendant to develop certain... attachments. It happens in many great houses."

  Natalie looked up sharply. "I haven't developed any 'attachments.'"

  "Of course not," Martha repeated, returning to her work. After a moment, she added more gently, "But if you had, you wouldn't be the first. Nor would you be wrong to consider your future carefully."

  Natalie said nothing, unsure how to respond to Martha's implications. Had she been so transparent? Did others see what she herself had been trying to deny for months?

  "There is a position opening in Lady Emmeline's household," Martha mentioned casually. "Her senior dy's maid is retiring. With your skills and reputation, and her dyship's regard for Prince Julian, she would likely consider you favorably."

  "You think I should leave?" Natalie asked, the question escaping before she could stop it.

  Martha smoothed the fresh bedlinens. "I think sometimes a change of position allows everyone to maintain their dignity." She looked directly at Natalie. "Especially when certain roads can lead nowhere good."

  Before Natalie could respond, voices approached in the corridor outside. She quickly returned to arranging the documents, while Martha finished with the bed.

  The door opened to admit Julian, flushed from exertion, his practice clothes darkened with sweat. He'd pulled his hair back for swordpy, revealing the clean lines of a face that had lost its boyishness. He smiled when he saw Natalie, a genuine warmth that made something flutter in her chest.

  "There you are," he said. "Sir Rond thinks I've finally adjusted to this new height. Says I might actually become competent if I practice another decade or two." His tone was self-deprecating, but his stance showed new confidence.

  "Progress, then," Natalie replied with forced lightness. "The Eastern delegation arrives in two hours. I've prepared the background materials on their trading houses."

  Julian nodded, his expression shifting to focused attention—the prince repcing the young man. "Thank you. Has there been any word from my father about attending?"

  "The Emperor sends his regrets," Martha interjected with a proper curtsy. "The physicians have advised against lengthy ceremonies until his cough improves."

  Julian frowned slightly. Though his father had recovered from the crisis of the previous year, the Emperor's health remained fragile, with periodic setbacks that kept the question of succession silently present in all court dealings.

  "I'll visit him before the delegation arrives," Julian decided. "Natalie, would you have appropriate attire prepared? Something formal enough to represent the throne without overshadowing the trade ministers."

  "Of course, Your Highness." The formality felt safer somehow, with Martha present and Julian standing before her in this new, disconcertingly masculine incarnation of himself.

  After Julian withdrew to bathe and change, Martha gathered her cleaning supplies. At the door, she paused. "Just think about what I said," she murmured. "Sometimes the kindest choice is also the most difficult."

  Left alone, Natalie moved to the wardrobe to select Julian's attire for the delegation. Her hands passed over the fabrics—silks and brocades that had been recently remade to accommodate his taller frame. She found herself recalling the boy he had been when they first met, hiding in the library, and comparing that memory to the young man he was becoming.

  When had her feelings begun to change? She couldn't pinpoint the moment. Only that somewhere between the frightened child she had befriended and the prince who now commanded growing respect at court, something had shifted. What had begun as protective instinct had evolved into admiration, and then, without her permission, into something more complicated—something that made her pulse quicken when he smiled at her or spoke her name.

  Something that could destroy everything if she wasn't careful.

  Natalie closed the wardrobe with a decisive click. Martha was right. She needed to consider her future—and for the first time since arriving at the pace, she found herself wondering if that future should be somewhere else entirely.