Winter had settled over the pace, transforming the gardens into crystalline sculptures and coating the stone walkways with treacherous sheets of ice. Inside, tapestries were hung to ward off drafts, and braziers burned day and night in the corridors, creating small isnds of warmth in the vast, chilly expanse of the imperial residence.

  Natalie moved through the royal wing with practiced efficiency, bancing a tray of hot tea as she navigated the morning bustle of servants preparing for the day. Two weeks had passed since the Genevieve incident, and a fragile normalcy had been restored to Julian's household. The rival attendant had been reassigned to the Empress's personal staff—a move Julian had engineered through a carefully worded request citing "overpping responsibilities" and "clearer chain of command."

  The Empress had accepted this reorganization with cool acquiescence that fooled neither Julian nor Natalie. They both understood it was merely a tactical retreat, not abandonment of whatever strategy the Empress was pursuing. The question of what exactly that strategy entailed remained unanswered, though the increasing frequency of Lady Sophia Harrington's appearances at court functions offered some indication.

  Natalie entered Julian's study to find him already awake and working, his desk covered with maps and correspondence. At seventeen, he had grown into his new height and broader shoulders, his posture naturally commanding even when he wasn't trying to impress. The boyish prince who had once hidden in the library was now a young man whose presence increasingly drew notice at court functions.

  "You're up early," she observed, setting down the tea tray. "Did you sleep at all?"

  Julian looked up, dark circles beneath his eyes confirming her suspicion. "A few hours. Augustus's test reports from the Northern territories arrived after midnight."

  "And they couldn't wait until morning?" Natalie poured his tea, adding honey without being asked.

  "They included intelligence about Western border movements that might affect trade negotiations." Julian accepted the tea gratefully. "My uncle's territories, specifically."

  The mention of Lord Marcus Devereux always caught Natalie's attention. Julian's estranged uncle remained a potential ally they had never successfully contacted, though Julian's interest in the Western provinces had grown steadily over the past year.

  "Anything concerning?"

  "Concerning enough that Augustus is using it to argue for increased military presence along the Western border." Julian rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Which my uncle will interpret as a threat to Western autonomy."

  "Creating tensions that Augustus can then cite as justification for further intervention," Natalie concluded. "It's his usual strategy."

  Julian nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Father's health improved enough for him to attend yesterday's Council session, but Augustus dominated the discussion. He's positioning himself not just as heir but as de facto ruler already."

  The Emperor's cycles of illness and recovery had continued throughout the autumn, each repse leaving him slightly weaker, each recovery less complete. Though no one spoke of it openly, preparations for eventual succession had become increasingly visible throughout the pace.

  "The Winter Festival begins next week," Natalie reminded him, changing the subject to more immediate concerns. "The Empress has requested your presence at the pnning session this morning."

  Julian's expression didn't change, but she noticed the slight tensing of his shoulders. "Of course she has."

  The Winter Festival traditionally marked the formal beginning of court marriage negotiations for eligible nobles. Julian's required participation in pnning sessions was transparently the Empress's way of ensuring he couldn't avoid Lady Sophia during the extended celebrations.

  "Your formal attire has been prepared," Natalie continued. "And I've arranged for the Western trade proposals to be delivered afterward, as you requested."

  Julian's eyes met hers, a hint of warmth breaking through his political concerns. "Always one step ahead, aren't you?"

  The simple appreciation in his voice created that now-familiar flutter in Natalie's chest. Since the Genevieve incident, they had maintained a careful bance—neither acknowledging directly what had almost been confessed, yet both aware that something fundamental had shifted between them.

  "It's my job to anticipate your needs," Natalie replied, keeping her tone professionally neutral despite the warmth spreading through her.

  "Is that all it is? A job?" Julian asked quietly.

  The question held dangerous implications, especially here in the pace where walls had ears. Natalie busied herself arranging papers on his desk rather than meeting his gaze.

  "The pnning session begins in an hour," she said instead of answering. "The Empress dislikes tardiness."

  Julian allowed the evasion, turning back to his maps with a small sigh. "Heaven forbid we displease the Empress."

  The Winter Festival pnning session unfolded exactly as expected—an eborate pretense for forcing Julian and Lady Sophia into proximity under the Empress's watchful eye. The Great Hall bustled with activity as nobles and servants arranged decorations, discussed menus, and pnned entertainments for the week-long celebration.

  Natalie stood along the wall with other attendants, observing as Julian was repeatedly paired with Lady Sophia for various decisions—the arrangement of the ceremonial ice sculptures, the selection of musicians for the opening night, the approval of the feast menu. The Empress orchestrated these interactions with subtle precision, creating opportunities for conversation while maintaining perfect propriety.

  Lady Sophia, for her part, pyed her role with practiced grace. At nineteen, she embodied Southern nobility's ideals—cultured, poised, with a beauty that was both striking and appropriately modest. Her conversation was intelligent without being challenging, her manner respectful without being obsequious. She ughed at Julian's occasional wry observations, offered thoughtful insights on imperial traditions, and deferred to his judgment with just enough independence to seem genuine.

  Objectively, Natalie could recognize that she was a perfect match for a prince in Julian's position—well-born, well-educated, connected to powerful Southern families whose allegiance would strengthen imperial stability during the eventual succession.

  Subjectively, each smile she directed at Julian felt like a dagger in Natalie's heart.

  "She's quite accomplished," Martha murmured, appearing beside Natalie as they watched Julian and Sophia discussing dance arrangements with the Master of Ceremonies. "Speaks three nguages, trained in cssical music, and her father controls the rgest shipping fleet in the Southern provinces."

  "The Empress has chosen well," Natalie acknowledged, her voice carefully empty of emotion.

  Martha's shrewd eyes studied her face. "The announcement is expected during the festival's final night. That's the tradition for royal betrothals."

  Though she had been expecting this information, hearing it stated so matter-of-factly made Natalie's stomach twist painfully. An official betrothal would change everything—not just Julian's future, but her own position in his household.

  "Has His Highness been informed?" she asked, proud of how steady she kept her voice.

  "Not officially," Martha replied. "But the Empress has made her expectations clear. The Emperor has already approved the match, according to my sources in the royal chambers."

  Before Natalie could respond, Lady Sophia's musical ugh floated across the hall as Julian said something that apparently amused her. The Empress, watching from nearby, wore an expression of satisfied approval.

  "If you're still considering Lady Emmeline's offer," Martha added quietly, "now might be the time to accept it. Before positions in the Prince's household become... complicated."

  The gentle warning was unnecessary. Natalie understood perfectly what would happen after a royal betrothal was announced. Julian's household would be reorganized to accommodate his new status as a soon-to-be-married prince. Female attendants would be repced or reassigned to ensure no hint of impropriety or complication for the future princess.

  "Thank you, Martha," Natalie said simply, neither confirming nor denying her intentions.

  The pnning session concluded with arrangements finalized for the week-long celebration. As the nobles departed, the Empress summoned Julian to a private conversation, while Lady Sophia was escorted to her family's pace apartments by her own attendants.

  Natalie waited in the corridor outside the small receiving room where Julian and the Empress spoke, maintaining a proper distance but close enough to be avaible when needed. Through the partially open door, fragments of conversation drifted out—not enough to follow completely, but sufficient to confirm her fears.

  "...the alliance would strengthen..." the Empress was saying.

  "...still early for formal arrangements..." Julian's response came, his tone carefully diplomatic.

  "...father's health continues to decline..."

  "...aware of my responsibilities, but..."

  The conversation continued for nearly half an hour before Julian emerged, his expression composed into the neutral mask he wore for court functions. Only someone who knew him as well as Natalie would recognize the tension in his jaw, the slight stiffness in his gait as they walked back toward his chambers.

  "The Empress seems pleased with the festival arrangements," Natalie observed neutrally once they were alone in the corridor.

  "The Empress is pleased with her matchmaking arrangements," Julian corrected, his voice low with suppressed frustration. "The festival is merely her stage."

  "Lady Sophia seems..." Natalie searched for a word that was both honest and tactful, "...suitable."

  Julian gnced at her sharply. "Suitable," he repeated. "Yes, that's precisely what she is. Suitable. Appropriate. Politically advantageous." Each word carried increasing bitterness. "Everything a prince should want in a potential bride."

  Natalie remained silent, unsure how to respond to the obvious anger beneath his words.

  "Do you know what the Empress told me?" Julian continued as they turned down a less-traveled corridor. "That my father has agreed to announce the betrothal during the festival's closing ceremony. Not 'if I approve' or 'should the discussions prove favorable'—as though it's already settled."

  The confirmation of Martha's information sent a fresh wave of pain through Natalie, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. "I see."

  "Do you?" Julian stopped walking, turning to face her directly. "Do you understand what's happening? I'm being maneuvered into a position where refusal would require directly contradicting both the Empress and my father before the entire court."

  "It's how royal marriages have always been arranged," Natalie said softly, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears.

  "That doesn't make it right," Julian replied, running a hand through his hair in a rare dispy of agitation. "Lady Sophia is perfectly pleasant, perfectly accomplished, and perfectly uninteresting to me. We've exchanged perhaps twenty conversations, none deeper than court gossip and diplomatic pleasantries. And on that basis, I'm expected to commit to a lifetime partnership?"

  Natalie gnced around, concerned that his uncharacteristic outburst might be overheard. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion in your chambers, Your Highness."

  Julian recognized the wisdom in her caution, nodding curtly before resuming their walk in tense silence. Once safely behind the closed doors of his study, he moved to the window, staring out at the snow-covered gardens below.

  "I knew this was coming," he said finally, his voice calmer but tinged with resignation. "I've always known marriage would be a political arrangement. I just didn't expect it so soon, or with so little pretense of choice."

  "The Emperor's health has made succession pnning more urgent," Natalie observed, staying near the door rather than approaching him as she might have once done. Their changing feelings had created invisible boundaries, areas of caution where once they had moved freely in each other's presence.

  "Augustus is behind this," Julian said with sudden certainty. "He wants me securely married and focused on domestic matters rather than court politics. A wife, eventually children—these would anchor me away from challenging his authority as he positions himself for succession."

  The political assessment was likely accurate, Natalie realized. Augustus had always worked to isote Julian from potential bases of power. Marriage to a Southern noble house would appear advantageous while actually limiting Julian's ability to build his own political network.

  "What will you do?" she asked quietly.

  Julian turned from the window, his expression resolute. "I need time. Time to establish my own connections, particurly in the Western provinces. Time to understand what my uncle's position truly is and whether alliance with him is possible." His eyes met hers directly. "I can't refuse outright—that would only provoke immediate countermeasures from Augustus. But I can dey, cite concerns about compatibility, request a longer courtship period."

  The strategy was sound, though Natalie suspected it would only postpone the inevitable. Still, even a dey would allow Julian to strengthen his position before being forced into marriage.

  "The Empress won't be easily dissuaded," she cautioned. "She's invested considerable effort in this match."

  "No," Julian agreed. "But she's also pragmatic. If I express concerns about Lady Sophia's suitability in specific, addressable ways, she'll focus on resolving those issues rather than suspecting deeper resistance."

  As Julian outlined his deying strategy, Natalie listened with the mixture of admiration and sadness that had become increasingly familiar. His political instincts had sharpened remarkably in recent years, developing a subtlety that even Augustus might eventually find challenging. Yet beneath his strategic thinking, she could sense the personal frustration of a young man being denied basic choice in his own life.

  "What about you?" Julian asked suddenly, interrupting his own pnning to fix her with an intent gaze.

  "Me?" Natalie echoed, surprised by the shift.

  "Yes, you." His voice softened. "Martha mentioned Lady Emmeline's offer again, didn't she? I saw you speaking with her during the pnning session."

  Natalie hesitated, then nodded. "She suggested it might be a good time to consider my options. Before your household arrangements... change."

  Something fshed in Julian's eyes—anger, perhaps, or determination. "And what did you tell her?"

  "That I appreciated her concern," Natalie replied carefully. "I made no commitments."

  Julian studied her face for a long moment. "Do you want to leave, Natalie? Truly?"

  It was the same question he had asked during the Genevieve incident, and in the garden weeks before that. Each time, the honest answer remained unchanged: no, she didn't want to leave him. But circumstances were making that truth increasingly irrelevant.

  "What I want doesn't matter," she said finally. "Once your betrothal is announced, changes to your household will be expected. Required, even. The future princess would have her own attendants, her own preferences."

  "You're avoiding the question," Julian observed quietly.

  Natalie met his gaze, allowing herself one moment of honesty. "No, Julian. I don't want to leave. But I also don't want to be forced out when circumstances make my position untenable. Sometimes choosing the time and manner of one's departure is the only control one has."

  The sadness in her voice must have revealed more than she intended, because Julian crossed the room to stand before her, closer than propriety strictly allowed.

  "I won't let them send you away," he said, his voice low and intense. "Not the Empress, not Augustus, not even my father. I've already prevented one attempt; I can handle others."

  The fierce protectiveness in his tone made Natalie's heart ache with complicated emotion. "You can't fight the entire court to keep one attendant," she reminded him gently. "Especially once you're betrothed. It would raise questions neither of us wants answered."

  Julian's expression hardened with frustration. "So I'm just supposed to accept everything they arrange? My marriage, my household, every aspect of my life dictated by political convenience?"

  "You're a prince," Natalie said simply. "It's the reality of your position."

  "A reality I increasingly resent," Julian replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

  They stood in silence for a moment, close enough that Natalie could feel the warmth radiating from him, could see the individual strands of copper in his brown hair where the winter sunlight caught it. In another life, another world, she might have reached out to brush it back from his forehead, might have offered comfort through touch rather than carefully chosen words.

  Instead, she took a step back, restoring the proper distance between prince and attendant. "The Western trade delegation will be arriving soon," she reminded him. "You should prepare for their presentation."

  Julian recognized the gentle redirection for what it was—a return to safer ground, to the practical duties that defined their official retionship. With visible effort, he composed himself, nodding once before moving to his desk to review the relevant documents.

  "Thank you, Natalie," he said after a moment, his voice neutral once more.

  She understood he was thanking her not just for the reminder, but for the restoration of normalcy, for not allowing their conversation to venture further into dangerous territory. It was a dance they had perfected over recent months—approaching emotional boundaries but never quite crossing them, acknowledging feelings through implication rather than decration.

  As they settled into their familiar working routine, Natalie wondered how much longer this delicate bance could be maintained. The Winter Festival loomed ahead, bringing with it the near-certainty of Julian's betrothal announcement. Whatever his deying tactics, the Empress and Augustus would eventually prevail. The machinery of imperial politics was too powerful, the expectations too deeply ingrained for real resistance.

  Perhaps Martha was right. Perhaps it was time to accept Lady Emmeline's offer, to leave on her own terms rather than waiting for inevitable dismissal. Yet the thought of leaving Julian—especially now, when he faced life-changing decisions without allies he could truly trust—created a pain so acute she could barely breathe.

  For today, at least, she would remain. Tomorrow's choices would have to wait for tomorrow.