The Autumn Council had concluded, bringing with it a flurry of diplomatic farewells as nobles and provincial governors departed the pace for their distant homes. The Emperor, recovered enough to attend the final ceremonies, had retired to his chambers, leaving Julian to manage the remaining courtesies.

  Natalie stood at her usual position along the wall of the Great Hall, observing Julian as he conversed easily with the departing dignitaries. The past months had continued his transformation—not just physical growth, but a new confidence in his bearing, a measured authority in his speech that commanded attention without demanding it.

  She wasn't the only one who noticed. Throughout the Council sessions, she had watched the calcuting gnces of noblewomen and their ambitious mothers, the specutive conversations behind fans, the strategic positioning that pced eligible daughters in Julian's path during receptions.

  "He's coming into his own," Lady Emmeline remarked, appearing beside Natalie with her usual quiet grace. "The Council members have noticed. I overheard Lord Mercer comment that Julian reminds him of the Emperor in his prime."

  Natalie maintained her professional composure, though Lady Emmeline was one of the few courtiers who treated her as more than a servant. "His Highness has worked hard to master the diplomatic protocols."

  Lady Emmeline's shrewd eyes studied her. "Indeed. With excellent guidance, I'm sure." A slight pause. "Martha mentioned you might be considering a change of position."

  So it had progressed from suggestion to discussion. Natalie felt a flicker of discomfort that her future was being arranged without her direct involvement, though she understood the practical necessity. An attendant did not simply resign; transitions were managed through careful negotiations among those of higher rank.

  "I am honored by your interest, my dy," Natalie replied carefully. "Though no decisions have been made."

  "Of course," Lady Emmeline agreed. "My household would welcome your talents, should you ever wish for a change. My estate in the Western provinces is particurly pleasant in spring."

  The Western provinces—close to where Lord Marcus Devereux, Julian's estranged uncle, maintained his nds. Natalie wondered if this was coincidence or careful calcution on Lady Emmeline's part.

  Their conversation was interrupted as Julian approached, having completed his diplomatic duties.

  "Lady Emmeline," he greeted her with genuine warmth. "I hope you're not pnning an early departure. Father mentioned hoping to consult with you before you return to your estates."

  "I remain at His Majesty's disposal," Lady Emmeline replied with a graceful inclination of her head. "And yours, Your Highness."

  "Excellent. Perhaps you might join us for a private dinner tomorrow evening? There are certain Western matters I'd value your perspective on."

  Lady Emmeline's eyes showed understanding. "I would be delighted." With a meaningful gnce at Natalie, she added, "Until tomorrow, then," before departing with practiced dignity.

  Once alone, Julian's formal posture rexed slightly. "I thought they'd never leave," he murmured, quiet enough that only Natalie could hear. "Lord Krendish tried to expin fishing rights in the Northern river valleys for nearly an hour."

  Despite herself, Natalie smiled. These glimpses of the private Julian—witty, occasionally impatient, refreshingly human beneath the princely exterior—were both her joy and her torment.

  "You handled it well," she observed. "He seemed quite impressed with your knowledge of regional waterways."

  Julian's eyes held hers a moment too long. "Another benefit of endless hours spent studying maps and provincial reports. Though I suspect Lord Krendish would be shocked to know how much of that knowledge came from you rather than my tutors."

  The compliment warmed her cheeks. "I merely organized the information, Your Highness."

  "Julian," he corrected softly. "We're practically alone, and I've had enough formality for one day."

  The use of his name—something she had become increasingly careful about—created that familiar tightness in her chest. Once, their easy friendship had been a comfort. Now, every interaction felt yered with unspoken complexities.

  "The Empress was looking for you earlier," Natalie said, deliberately changing the subject. "She mentioned something about visiting nobles from the Southern provinces."

  Julian's expression shifted, a brief shadow crossing his features. "Yes, the Harrington family. Their daughter Sophia is apparently accomplished in music and nguages."

  "Another potential match," Natalie observed, keeping her tone neutral despite the uncomfortable twist in her stomach.

  "Another parade of eligible noblewomen," Julian agreed with a hint of resignation. "Augustus finds it amusing. He told Father that at the rate they're presenting candidates, I'll still be considering options when I'm forty."

  Natalie busied herself straightening papers left from the Council session. "It's to be expected. You're of age now, and your position has strengthened considerably this past year."

  Julian made a noncommittal sound, moving to the tall windows that overlooked the pace gardens. The te afternoon sun cast his profile in sharp relief, highlighting the strong lines that had repced boyish softness.

  "None of them interest me," he said quietly, his back still turned to her.

  Natalie's hands stilled over the papers. "Your Highness?"

  "These noblewomen," Julian crified, turning to face her. "These 'suitable matches' the Empress keeps arranging for me to meet. They're accomplished, beautiful, politically advantageous—and completely uninteresting."

  Natalie chose her words with care. "Perhaps you haven't met the right one yet. There are many considerations in a royal match beyond personal preference."

  "So I'm told. Repeatedly." His tone held a edge of frustration rarely heard from the usually composed prince. "My responsibility to the Empire, the importance of alliances, the expectations of my position." He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture that reminded her of the boy he had been. "As if I haven't had those expectations hammered into me since childhood."

  Natalie remained silent, unsure how to respond to this unusual dispy of emotion.

  Julian seemed to collect himself, offering a rueful smile. "Forgive me. Council politics have left me irritable, it seems."

  "There's nothing to forgive," Natalie assured him. "Your burden is not an easy one."

  His eyes found hers again, with an intensity that made her breath catch. "No, it isn't. But it's made bearable by having someone who understands."

  The sincerity in his voice, the unguarded appreciation in his expression—these were dangerous waters. Natalie took an instinctive step back, creating physical distance where emotional boundaries were becoming armingly unclear.

  "I should check that your evening attire is prepared," she said, reverting to the safety of practical duties. "The Empress expects you at the farewell dinner for the Northern delegation."

  Julian's expression flickered with what might have been disappointment before his princely mask returned. "Of course. Thank you, Natalie."

  As she curtseyed and withdrew, Natalie felt the weight of his gaze following her. Something was shifting between them—something neither acknowledged but both increasingly felt. The careful equilibrium they had maintained for years was tilting, threatening to upend everything.

  In her chamber, Natalie leaned against the closed door, heart racing uncomfortably. Julian's words echoed in her mind: None of them interest me. What had he meant by sharing that? And why had his eyes held hers with such intensity?

  A terrible suspicion began forming—one she had been avoiding for weeks. What if Julian's feelings were changing too? What if his occasional lingering gnces, his increased use of her name rather than her position, his confiding personal frustrations—what if these weren't merely the natural evolution of their long association but something more dangerous?

  The possibility both thrilled and terrified her. If Julian was developing feelings for her as she had for him...

  No. She couldn't allow herself to complete that thought. Such a path led only to disaster—for him politically, for her personally. She was living a lie, regardless of how real her feelings might be. Any retionship built on such deception would be doomed from the start.

  And yet... and yet a treacherous part of her heart quickened at the possibility that he might see her as more than an attendant, more than a trusted advisor. That he might feel even a fraction of what she felt for him.

  This has to stop, she told herself firmly. Before it goes too far. Before anyone gets hurt.

  The practical solution—accepting Lady Emmeline's offer—rose again in her mind. Distance would resolve everything. Away from Julian, perhaps these feelings would fade. Perhaps she could rebuild a life that didn't bance on such a precarious lie.

  But the thought of leaving him created an ache so profound she could barely breathe.

  For now, she had duties to fulfill. Julian needed her composed and efficient for the evening's diplomatic dinner. Personal turmoil would have to wait.

  With practiced discipline, Natalie pushed her emotions aside and returned to the practical tasks that had been her anchor for years. She selected appropriate attire for Julian's dinner, arranged for his bath to be prepared, and reviewed the guest list to brief him on key diplomatic points to remember.

  Routine offered temporary refuge from the storm building in her heart—but she knew, with increasing certainty, that she couldn't outrun it forever.