_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">The Eastern delegation seemed impressed by your knowledge of their customs," Natalie observed as she collected the scattered reports from Julian's desk. The evening light cast long shadows across the study where they had retired after a day of diplomatic engagements.

  Julian looked up from the notes he was reviewing. "They were being polite. I mispronounced the trade minister's title twice."

  "Once," Natalie corrected. "And he was fttered that you attempted their formal address at all. Most imperial representatives don't bother."

  A smile tugged at Julian's mouth. "Your diplomatic assessment is appreciated, but unnecessary. I know when I've muddled something."

  There was a comfortable familiarity in their exchange, the result of years working closely together. Yet recently, Natalie had become aware of a new undercurrent in their interactions—moments when conversation would suddenly feel charged with unspoken tension, when accidental contact would linger a beat too long.

  Like now, as Julian's hand brushed hers while reaching for a document. The brief contact sent a jolt through her that she struggled to conceal.

  "Are you feeling well?" Julian asked, noticing her sudden stillness. "You've seemed... distracted tely."

  Natalie busied herself with organizing papers. "Just tired. The preparations for the Autumn Council have been extensive."

  Julian studied her with that penetrating gaze that had become more discerning with maturity. "Is that all it is?"

  No, she wanted to say. I'm distracted because I can't stop noticing how your voice has deepened or how the sunlight catches in your eyes or how my heart races when you stand too close. I'm distracted because I'm living a lie that grows more complicated every day. I'm distracted because I don't know how to stop feeling what I'm feeling.

  "Of course," she said instead. "What else would it be?"

  Julian looked unconvinced but didn't press further. "The delegation leader mentioned something interesting about trade routes through the Western provinces. Did you notice?"

  Grateful for the shift to safer ground, Natalie nodded. "He suggested your uncle's territories control key mountain passes."

  "My uncle," Julian repeated thoughtfully. "Lord Marcus Devereux. We never did establish contact with him st year during..." He trailed off, but they both knew he meant during the succession crisis that had been temporarily resolved by the Emperor's recovery.

  "Do you think he might still be a potential ally?" Natalie asked.

  Julian leaned back, considering. "Perhaps. Augustus's focus on the Northern Territories has left the Western provinces rgely ignored. And with Father's health still uncertain..." He didn't finish the thought, but he didn't need to. The Emperor's periodic illnesses kept the question of succession ever-present, even if rarely spoken of directly.

  "You could send an envoy," Natalie suggested. "Someone discreet."

  "Perhaps." Julian's eyes found hers again. "Though I've learned to be cautious about whom I trust with such missions."

  The memory of Michael's dangerous journey the previous year hung between them. The quartermaster's assistant had nearly been caught delivering Julian's message, and though he had escaped detection, the incident had emphasized the risks of their position.

  Michael had continued his pursuit of Natalie afterward, his interest only seeming to intensify following the danger they had shared. She had gently discouraged him, using her duties to Julian as expnation. The truth—that she could never return his feelings, not just because of her disguise but because her heart was increasingly occupied elsewhere—was something she could never express.

  "Lady Emmeline might have connections in the West," Natalie said, returning to safer topics. "Her trading interests extend throughout the Empire."

  Julian nodded. "A good thought. I'll speak with her at the Chancellor's reception tomorrow." He stretched, rolling shoulders stiff from hours bent over diplomatic correspondence. The movement emphasized the breadth he had developed, the new physical presence that commanded attention even when he wasn't trying.

  Natalie looked away. "Will you need anything else this evening, Your Highness?"

  Julian raised an eyebrow at the formality—something she rarely used when they were alone unless she was annoyed with him. "No, thank you. You should rest. Tomorrow will be another long day."

  Natalie curtseyed and withdrew to her adjoining chamber, closing the door with quiet relief. Alone, she allowed her carefully maintained composure to slip, sinking onto her bed with a weary sigh.

  This couldn't continue. The feelings she had developed for Julian were not merely inappropriate—they were dangerous. Her entire presence at court was built on a deception that had seemed necessary for survival years ago but now felt like a trap of her own making.

  What would happen if anyone discovered that Natalie, trusted attendant to Prince Julian, was actually Nathaniel Foster, a young man in disguise? At best, immediate dismissal. At worst... she shuddered to think of the potential accusations. Deception, manipution, even treason.

  And what would Julian think? The betrayal would be devastating. After years of trusting her with his thoughts, his pns, his vulnerabilities—to learn it had all been shared with someone pretending to be something they were not.

  Natalie moved to her small dressing table, staring at her reflection in the modest mirror. At nineteen, her features had matured, but remained delicate enough to maintain her feminine disguise. Her mother had been right about that—she had inherited the Foster family's fine-boned structure rather than the sturdier build of her mother's retives.

  She loosened her hair from its practical style, letting it fall around her shoulders. The auburn waves had grown long over the years, another element of her carefully maintained appearance. What would she look like now, she wondered, if she had never become Natalie? Would Nathaniel Foster have grown tall and broad like Julian? Would his voice have deepened, his features hardened into more masculine lines?

  She would never know. The boy she might have been had been sacrificed years ago for survival. And the woman she pretended to be now faced a different kind of threat—feelings that could never be acknowledged, let alone acted upon.

  Martha's words returned to her. Sometimes a change of position allows everyone to maintain their dignity. Especially when certain roads can lead nowhere good.

  Perhaps the head maid was right. Perhaps it was time to consider a new path—one that would protect both Julian's position and her own secret. Lady Emmeline had always treated her kindly, recognizing her intelligence and capability. Service in her household would be comfortable, respectable.

  The thought of leaving Julian created a hollow ache in her chest. But wasn't that very pain proof that she should go? These feelings would only grow more complex, more difficult to hide. And as Julian's position at court strengthened, as marriage negotiations eventually began in earnest, her presence would become increasingly problematic.

  A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She quickly pinned her hair back up before opening the door to find Martha with a covered tray.

  "You missed the evening meal," the older woman said, setting the tray on the small table. "Can't have you fading away from hunger."

  "Thank you," Natalie said, genuinely touched by the thoughtfulness. "That's very kind."

  Martha waved away the gratitude. "Have you thought about what we discussed this morning?"

  Natalie hesitated, then nodded. "I have. You may be right. About all of it."

  The older woman's expression softened with sympathy. "It doesn't make it easier to hear, I know."

  "Does Lady Emmeline know you're... recruiting for her?" Natalie asked.

  "She mentioned the position. I suggested you." Martha studied Natalie's face. "She would be fortunate to have you. And her country estate is far from court politics."

  The implication was clear—far from Julian and the complications of Natalie's growing feelings.

  "I'll consider it formally," Natalie promised. "After the Autumn Council concludes. There's too much to organize before then."

  Martha nodded, apparently satisfied. "A wise approach. Nothing needs to be decided hastily."

  After Martha departed, Natalie picked at the food without appetite. The practical part of her knew that leaving was the sensible choice. Julian was a prince. Even if she had been truly the woman she pretended to be, there could be no future in her feelings for him. And being what she actually was—the truth complicated matters beyond any possibility of resolution.

  Yet the thought of leaving him created a pain she hadn't anticipated. Over the years, they had developed a partnership that transcended traditional boundaries between royal and servant. They anticipated each other's thoughts, banced each other's strengths and weaknesses. And beneath the political alliance was a genuine affection that had sustained them both through dangerous times.

  Could she really walk away from that? From him?

  A commotion in the main chamber interrupted her thoughts. She heard Julian's voice, followed by another she recognized as Captain Laurent of the Imperial Guard. Opening her door, she found Julian hastily donning a formal jacket.

  "What's happened?" she asked, noting the urgency in their movements.

  "My father has taken a turn," Julian said, his face tight with concern. "The physicians are with him, but he's asking for me."

  "I'll come with you," Natalie said automatically, reaching for her shawl.

  Julian shook his head. "No need. This may be a long night, and you've been exhausted tely. Stay and rest."

  Before she could protest, he was gone, following Captain Laurent down the corridor. Natalie stood in the doorway, a familiar fear gripping her heart. The Emperor's health had become a pendulum, swinging between improvement and decline. Each setback raised the same question—was this merely another temporary illness, or the beginning of the end?

  And if the Emperor's health truly failed this time, what would it mean for Julian? For the careful political bance that had been maintained over the past year? For all of them?

  Natalie returned to her chamber, sleep now impossible. Instead, she sat by the window, watching the pace guards moving with increased purpose through the gardens below, their nterns creating pools of light in the autumn darkness.

  Her personal dilemma suddenly seemed small against the rger political uncertainties surrounding them. If the Emperor died, Augustus would cim the throne—regardless of any private documents designating Julian as regent. The delicate peace of the past year would shatter. Julian would need every ally, every advantage.

  Could she really consider leaving him at such a time, simply because her own feelings had become uncomfortably complicated?

  Yet staying presented its own dangers. The closer she remained to Julian, the more she risked both discovery and the deepening of feelings that could never be acknowledged. And if those feelings affected her judgment, her ability to advise him objectively, she might become a liability rather than an asset.

  Natalie pressed her forehead against the cool gss of the window, her reflection a pale ghost against the darkness outside. The girl who looked back at her seemed a stranger sometimes—a creation she had maintained so carefully that the boundaries between truth and pretense had blurred years ago.

  Who was she really? Nathaniel, the frightened boy who had fled to the pace for safety? Natalie, the capable attendant who had built a life from deception? Or someone else entirely—someone caught between identities, belonging fully to neither?

  And what did she truly want? Safety? Purpose? Connection? Love? Some seemed possible; others remained forever beyond reach because of who she was—and wasn't.

  Dawn found her still at the window, no closer to answers but clearer about one thing: whatever she decided about her future, whatever complications her feelings created, she could not leave while the Emperor's health hung in the bance. Julian would need her in the uncertain days ahead, and she would not abandon him to face Augustus alone.

  The rest—her confused heart, her uncertain future, the growing risk of her disguise—would have to wait. For now, duty provided a path forward when emotions offered only confusion.

  When Julian returned to his chambers as the sun rose, exhausted but relieved that his father had stabilized, Natalie was waiting with fresh clothes and a carefully composed expression that revealed nothing of her night's turmoil.

  "How is the Emperor?" she asked, helping him remove his rumpled jacket.

  "Better than we feared," Julian replied, the strain evident in his voice. "The fever broke near dawn. The physicians are cautiously optimistic."

  "You should rest," Natalie suggested, noting the shadows beneath his eyes.

  Julian nodded, too tired to argue. "Wake me before midday. The Council meeting cannot be deyed, regardless of Father's condition."

  "Of course."

  As she turned to leave, Julian caught her hand—an impulsive gesture that sent that now-familiar jolt through her. "Thank you, Natalie," he said softly. "For always being here. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth of his hand around hers, the vulnerability in his tired face—all of it threatened to crumble her careful resolve.

  "Rest, Julian," she said gently, allowing herself the intimacy of his name just this once. "I'll be here when you wake."

  It wasn't a permanent solution to her dilemma. Sooner or ter, she would have to make difficult choices about her future, about her feelings, about the deception that had become her life. But for now, in this moment, she could offer him the certainty of her presence. And perhaps that was enough for today.

  As she quietly closed his door, Natalie acknowledged what she had been avoiding for months: her feelings for Julian had grown far beyond what was safe or sensible. And whether she stayed or left, those feelings would demand a reckoning eventually.

  But not today. Today, she would simply be what he needed—steady, reliable, present. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. And somewhere beyond that, a future she could not yet see but would eventually have to face.