_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">The weeks following the Autumn Council brought an unexpected lull to pace life. With provincial delegates returned to their territories and the Emperor's health temporarily stable, court activities settled into quieter rhythms. Even Augustus had departed for his Northern holdings, called away by reports of border disputes that required the Crown Prince's personal attention.

  For Julian, this period offered a welcome respite from the constant political maneuvering that normally filled his days. He had used the time to deepen his study of imperial w and history, particurly focusing on the Western provinces where his uncle held nds.

  "Lord Marcus maintains control of three key mountain passes," Julian observed one evening, studying maps spread across his desk. "No wonder Augustus has been trying to circumvent his authority by creating new trade routes."

  Natalie, who had been organizing correspondence nearby, gnced at the map. "The Western nobles have traditionally maintained more independence than those in other provinces. Your great-grandfather granted them special privileges after they supported his cim during the succession crisis."

  Julian looked up with appreciation. "Your knowledge of imperial history continues to impress me. I don't recall my tutors ever mentioning those details."

  "Master Holloway provided access to some of the more obscure historical records," Natalie expined, though in truth, she had sought out that knowledge specifically to help Julian understand his uncle's position. "The Western nobility values their autonomy above all else."

  "Which expins why my uncle withdrew from court rather than bend to imperial centralization," Julian concluded. "He chose principle over power—quite unlike Augustus."

  As Julian returned to his maps, Natalie took the opportunity to study him unobserved. Lamplight softened his features, highlighting the schorly concentration that had always defined him, even as he grew into his new physical presence. The past weeks had brought an easier companionship between them—perhaps because the reduced court activity meant fewer noble daughters being presented as potential matches, fewer formal occasions where their roles separated them.

  These quiet evenings in his study had become both precious and painful to Natalie—moments of genuine connection that felt increasingly rare, yet dangerously intimate.

  "You're staring," Julian said without looking up, a slight smile pying at his lips.

  Caught, Natalie quickly returned her attention to the correspondence. "I was merely waiting to see if you needed anything before I retire for the evening."

  Julian set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, stretching shoulders stiff from hours bent over his work. "Actually, I thought we might walk in the gardens. The autumn air might clear my head after all these dusty treaties."

  The suggestion was innocent enough—they had often walked the grounds together in the past when Julian needed to think through complex problems. But recently, Natalie had been careful to avoid such private moments, manufacturing duties that kept their interactions focused on practical matters.

  "It's rather te," she demurred. "And there's still tomorrow's correspondence to prepare."

  "The correspondence can wait," Julian said, rising from his desk with casual authority. "And the night is unusually warm for autumn. The gardens will be empty at this hour—perfect for uninterrupted thought."

  Natalie recognized the gentle but firm tone that had developed as Julian grew into his royal role. When he used it, he expected to be obeyed—not from arrogance, but from the natural assumption of one born to command.

  "Of course, Your Highness," she acquiesced, unable to manufacture a reasonable objection.

  The pace gardens at night were indeed empty, illuminated by strategically pced nterns that created pools of golden light along the walking paths. Above, stars punctuated the clear sky, and a nearly full moon cast silver highlights across the formal hedges and te-blooming flowers. In daylight, these gardens served as the setting for court politics and social maneuvering; at night, they transformed into a peaceful sanctuary rarely enjoyed by the pace inhabitants.

  They walked in silence for a time, Julian seemingly lost in thought while Natalie remained acutely aware of his proximity, of the occasional brush of his sleeve against hers when the path narrowed.

  "I've been thinking about the future," Julian said finally as they paused near a small fountain whose gentle spshing masked their conversation from any distant ears.

  "The succession?" Natalie asked, assuming he meant the ongoing political concerns that had dominated their discussions for years.

  "No," Julian replied, turning to face her directly. "My personal future."

  Something in his tone made Natalie's pulse quicken warily. "I'm not sure I understand, Your Highness."

  "Julian," he corrected softly. "We're alone, Natalie. Surely after all these years, you can use my name when no one else is present."

  The gentle admonishment carried an undercurrent that made her increasingly uneasy. "Julian," she amended. "What about your personal future concerns you?"

  He was quiet for a moment, watching the py of moonlight on the fountain's water. "The Empress has informed me that formal marriage negotiations will begin after the winter solstice. Apparently, several promising candidates have been identified from households with appropriate lineage and political connections."

  Natalie kept her expression carefully neutral despite the painful twist in her chest. "That's to be expected. You're seventeen now, of age for a formal betrothal."

  "Yes," Julian agreed. "Perfectly expected. Perfectly appropriate. Perfectly political." Each word carried a subtle edge of frustration. "And perfectly meaningless in terms of what I might actually want."

  "Royal marriages have always been matters of state rather than personal preference," Natalie reminded him gently. "You've always understood that."

  "Understanding doesn't make it any easier to accept." Julian's eyes met hers, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her breath catch. For a moment, she thought he might say more—something dangerous, something that would cross the fragile boundaries they had maintained. Instead, he turned back to the fountain, his profile outlined in silver moonlight.

  "None of these noble daughters know me," he said quietly. "Not really. They see a prince, a political alliance, a path to power. They don't see..."

  "You," Natalie finished when he trailed off.

  Julian gnced at her, surprise and something warmer softening his features. "Yes. They don't see me." A rueful smile touched his lips. "Sometimes I think you're the only one who does."

  The simple statement carried more weight than any decration of feeling might have. Natalie felt her carefully constructed defenses wavering under the sincerity in his voice.

  "I've known you a long time," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward safer ground. "Since you were hiding from your brothers in the library."

  "You've always seen me clearly," Julian agreed. "Even when I couldn't see myself." He hesitated, then added, "That's why I value your counsel above all others. Why I trust you with thoughts I share with no one else."

  Natalie recognized the danger in this conversation—not in what Julian was saying directly, but in what remained unspoken between his words. The current of feeling beneath the surface was becoming harder to ignore with each passing day.

  "Lady Emmeline has offered me a position in her household," she said abruptly, the words emerging before she had fully decided to speak them. "As her senior dy's maid. At her Western estate."

  Julian's expression shifted from warmth to shock. "You're leaving?"

  "I'm considering it," Natalie admitted, unable to meet his eyes. "It would be a good position. Respectable. Comfortable."

  "When were you going to tell me this?" The hurt in his voice was unmistakable.

  "When I had made a decision." Natalie forced herself to continue despite the pain in his eyes. "It might be better for both of us. A clean separation. You could appoint a new attendant without... complications."

  "Complications," Julian repeated, the word ft. "Is that what I am to you now? A complication?"

  "No," Natalie said quickly. "That's not what I meant. I just..." She struggled to find words that wouldn't reveal too much. "Your position at court is strengthening. You'll soon have a betrothed. It might be appropriate for you to have an attendant more suited to your new status."

  Julian studied her face in the moonlight, as if searching for something she wasn't saying. "Do you want to leave?" he asked finally, his voice carefully controlled.

  The direct question caught her off-guard. Did she want to leave? The answer was simple and agonizing: no. Despite the danger, despite the deception at the heart of her existence, despite the impossibility of the feelings growing between them—she didn't want to go.

  "It's not about what I want," she said finally.

  "It should be," Julian countered. "At least in part. You've devoted years to serving this family, to helping me navigate court politics. Surely your wishes matter in your own future."

  The consideration in his words—his automatic assumption that her feelings should be valued—made her throat tighten with emotion she couldn't express.

  "What do you want, Natalie?" Julian pressed when she remained silent. "Not what you think is proper or appropriate or expected—but what do you truly want?"

  I want to stay with you, she thought. I want to remain by your side, regardless of the cost. I want to stop lying to you, but I'm terrified of losing you if I tell the truth. I want impossible things.

  "I don't know," she whispered, offering the closest thing to honesty she could manage.

  Julian's expression softened. "Then don't make any decisions yet. Give yourself time to be certain." He hesitated, then added more quietly, "And know that I don't want you to go. Whatever your reasons for considering Lady Emmeline's offer, I hope you'll discuss them with me before making your choice."

  The vulnerability in his voice, the careful way he avoided pressuring her while making his own preference clear—these touched Natalie more deeply than any grand decration could have. Julian respected her enough to accept her decision, even while hoping she would stay.

  "I will," she promised. "I won't decide anything without speaking to you first."

  Relief crossed his features. "Thank you." After a moment, he added, "We should return to the pace. It's getting te, and we both have early duties tomorrow."

  The walk back was quieter, den with things unsaid on both sides. At the entrance to the royal wing, Julian paused.

  "Goodnight, Natalie," he said, his voice gentle in the night stillness.

  "Goodnight... Julian," she replied, allowing herself the intimacy of his name.

  As she watched him disappear down the corridor toward his chambers, Natalie felt the weight of the evening settling over her. Something had shifted between them—nothing as explicit as a confession, but a acknowledgment of the undercurrent that had been building for months. Julian valued her, wanted her to stay, saw her in ways others didn't. And while he hadn't spoken of deeper feelings, she had glimpsed them in his eyes, heard them in the spaces between his words.

  In her own chamber, Natalie stood before her small mirror, studying the reflection that had become both refuge and prison. At nineteen, her features had maintained the delicacy that allowed her disguise to continue unchallenged. But for how much longer could this deception st? Especially with Julian's attention increasingly focused on her in ways that went beyond professional regard?

  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 from Julian that she could see growing clearer each day, mirroring her own forbidden emotions.

  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—both his and hers—would only grow more complex, more difficult to hide. And as Julian's position at court strengthened, as marriage negotiations began in earnest, her presence would become increasingly problematic.

  For tonight, she had promised only to consult him before making any decision. It wasn't a commitment to stay, merely a postponement of choice. Yet even that small promise had brought such relief to Julian's face, such warmth to his eyes.

  He cares for me, she admitted to herself in the darkness of her room. Not just as his attendant or advisor, but as... something more. Something neither of us can name without changing everything.

  And therein y the true danger. Julian's feelings were genuine but based on a fundamental misunderstanding of who she was. How could she encourage or return those feelings knowing they were built on deception? Yet how could she continue to serve him daily, seeing his regard in his eyes, feeling her own heart respond in kind?

  There were no easy answers, only the certainty that each day brought them closer to a reckoning neither could avoid. For now, she would remain, fulfilling her duties while searching for the courage to either leave or reveal the truth.

  Which would prove more painful, she couldn't begin to guess.