Spring arrived at the imperial pace with a burst of color and activity. The gardens erupted in blossoms, the air grew warm with promise, and the corridors buzzed with preparations for the vernal equinox celebration—a traditional occasion for announcing new military appointments, diplomatic postings, and other imperial honors.

  For Prince Julian, the changing season brought mixed fortunes. His confidence had continued to grow under Natalie's careful tutege, and his academic progress had drawn favorable comments from the Emperor on two separate occasions. His small private library had expanded with gifts from impressed tutors and nobles seeking the young prince's good opinion.

  But these successes had come at a cost. Augustus, Edmond, and to a lesser extent Henry had abandoned their previous strategy of mere dismissal in favor of something more targeted and relentless.

  "It begins again," Julian sighed one afternoon, entering his chambers with slumped shoulders and ink-stained sleeves.

  Natalie looked up from the desk where she had been organizing his correspondence. After months in his service, she could read his moods with increasing accuracy. "What happened, Your Highness?"

  "Augustus and his friends were waiting after my geography lesson." Julian removed his outer jacket, revealing a rge wet stain across the back of his shirt. "They thought it would be amusing to demonstrate the principle of water-seeking-its-level by upending a pitcher over me as I passed."

  Natalie bit back her anger and moved efficiently to help him change into dry clothing. "Was Master Elwyn present?" she asked, referring to the geography tutor.

  "No. He had already departed." Julian's voice was controlled, but she could sense the hurt beneath his composure. "Augustus timed it perfectly, as always."

  This had become the pattern over the past several weeks: calcuted humiliations conducted just beyond the sight of any authority figure who might intervene. A foot extended to trip Julian in the corridor. His notes mysteriously soaked in ink before an important recitation. Whispers that fell silent when tutors entered but left their mark in Julian's reddened ears and tight expression.

  "Perhaps we should speak to Madame Bckwood," Natalie suggested, not for the first time. "She could ensure that you're escorted between lessons."

  Julian shook his head firmly. "No. That would only confirm what Augustus already believes—that I'm weak and in need of protection." He straightened his fresh shirt with careful precision. "Besides, the equinox celebration is in three days. I must show my father and the court that I can stand on my own."

  Natalie understood his reasoning but worried nonetheless. The winter solstice reception had established Julian as someone worthy of notice; the equinox celebration would either confirm that impression or undermine it. And given Augustus's escating campaign, she feared the tter outcome was more likely.

  "Then we must prepare thoroughly," she said, matching his resolute tone. "The celebration will include the military dispy this year, correct?"

  Julian nodded. "Yes. Father has commissioned new ceremonial armor for the pace guard, and there will be a demonstration of horsemanship and swordsmanship in the great courtyard."

  Natalie considered this information carefully. Unlike the winter reception, which had centered on formal conversation and dancing, the equinox celebration would emphasize martial skills—precisely the area where Julian was most disadvantaged compared to his brothers.

  "We should focus on your knowledge of military history and strategy," she decided. "Your brothers may outshine you in physical dispys, but you can demonstrate your understanding of the principles behind them."

  Julian brightened at this suggestion. "I've been reading General Tarkus's treatise on cavalry formations. And Lady Emmeline sent me a rare text on the northern tribes' archery techniques."

  Natalie ignored the familiar twinge she felt whenever Lady Emmeline was mentioned. The noble girl's interest in Julian seemed genuine and academically focused, but it represented a connection beyond Natalie's control—a potential complication in their carefully managed world.

  "Excellent," she said instead. "We'll also review the lineages of the major military families who will be present. Knowledge of their ancestors' achievements will impress them more than any dispy of physical prowess."

  They spent the next three days in intensive preparation, working te into the night and rising early. Natalie drilled Julian on names, dates, and battles until he could recite them fwlessly. They practiced appropriate comments on military dispys and rehearsed responses to potential provocations from his brothers.

  On the morning of the celebration, Natalie helped Julian dress in his formal attire—simir to what he had worn for the winter reception but augmented with a ceremonial dagger that all princes were required to carry for military observances. The small weapon looked somewhat incongruous on his slender frame, but he wore it with careful dignity.

  "Remember," Natalie said as she adjusted his colr, "maintain physical distance from your brothers whenever possible. Stay within sight of the Emperor or other senior officials."

  Julian nodded, his expression solemn. "And if provoked, respond with courtesy so impeccable it makes the provocation itself seem boorish."

  "Exactly." She stepped back to assess his appearance. Despite his youth and small stature, there was a growing gravity to Julian that impressed her. "You look every inch a prince, Your Highness."

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Thanks to your guidance." His expression sobered. "I only wish... I wish you could be there with me."

  "I'll be waiting in the attendants' chamber," she reminded him. "And I'll be watching when I can." The servants' viewing panels would allow her glimpses of the proceedings, as they had during the winter reception.

  Julian squared his shoulders, a gesture she recognized as his preparation for facing difficulty. "Wish me luck, Natalie."

  "You don't need luck," she replied with firm confidence. "You have preparation, intelligence, and inner strength. Those are far more reliable."

  When Julian had departed for the official procession that would begin the day's events, Natalie hurried through the servants' corridors to position herself near one of the viewing panels that overlooked the great courtyard. Already, nobles and officials were assembling on the elevated viewing ptforms, their spring finery creating a riot of color against the pale stone of the pace walls.

  The imperial family entered in formal procession: the Emperor and Empress first, followed by the four princes in order of succession, and then various lesser retions. Julian walked with perfect posture, his expression appropriately solemn, though Natalie noted the tension in his shoulders.

  The morning proceeded according to tradition, with the Emperor blessing the new season and acknowledging various officials with honors and appointments. Julian stood quietly with his brothers, speaking only when directly addressed and maintaining a respectful distance from Augustus, whose muscur frame dwarfed his younger brother.

  The first indication of trouble came during the military parade, when the four princes were required to receive the salute of the pace guard. Augustus, Edmond, and Henry performed the ritual response with practiced ease, their ceremonial daggers fshing in the spring sunlight as they extended them in the traditional gesture of acknowledgment.

  When Julian's turn came, he began the movement correctly—but as he withdrew his dagger from its sheath, it caught on the fabric of his sleeve. The momentary fumble was minor, but it drew a barely audible snicker from Edmond and a contemptuous gnce from Augustus.

  Natalie saw Julian's neck flush with embarrassment, but he completed the gesture and resheathed the dagger without further incident. To most observers, it would have appeared a minor error from a young prince still learning court protocols. But she knew how deeply Julian would feel even this small failure.

  The more significant challenge came during the horsemanship dispy, when each prince was expected to perform a simple riding circuit around the courtyard. Augustus, Edmond, and Henry rode with confident skill, guiding their mounts through the prescribed turns and acknowledgments to the assembled dignitaries.

  Julian mounted his horse—a smaller, gentler animal selected for his size and limited experience—with adequate grace. He began the circuit cautiously but correctly, his back straight as he had practiced. Halfway through, however, his horse suddenly sidled and tossed its head, nearly unseating him. Julian clutched at the saddle, regaining his bance but losing all sembnce of the dignified posture he had maintained until that point.

  From her vantage point, Natalie saw Augustus smirk and exchange gnces with one of his companions—a young noble who had been standing near Julian's horse before the demonstration began. Had they done something to startle the animal? It seemed all too likely.

  Julian completed the circuit, but the damage was done. Whispers rippled through the assembled nobles, and even the Emperor's expression showed a flicker of disappointment. When Julian dismounted, his face was a careful mask, but Natalie could see the mortification in his rigid posture and overly precise movements.

  The final indignity came during the afternoon reception, when the princes were expected to converse with military officials and visiting dignitaries. Natalie had positioned herself at a different viewing panel to observe this portion of the event, concerned about Julian's state of mind after the earlier setbacks.

  She watched as he approached a group of northern commanders—men whose families and battle histories he had studied meticulously. Julian began to speak, clearly intending to demonstrate his knowledge, but before he could complete his first sentence, Augustus appeared at his side.

  "Ah, brother, are you boring these good men with your little historical anecdotes?" Augustus's voice carried just enough to be heard by those nearby. "I'm sure they'd rather hear about actual military experience than dusty books."

  Julian faltered momentarily, his carefully prepared comments disrupted.

  "Indeed, Your Highness," one of the commanders replied to Augustus with a deferential nod. "Though the young prince's interest in our traditions is... charming."

  The word 'charming' hung in the air like a dismissal—reducing Julian's serious schorship to a child's amusing hobby. Natalie saw his expression close like a book being shut, his eyes lowering briefly before he manufactured a polite smile.

  "I would never presume to compete with my brother's practical knowledge," Julian said smoothly, though Natalie could hear the strain beneath his composure. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

  He withdrew with dignity, but the damage was done. For the remainder of the reception, Julian remained at the periphery of conversations, speaking little and drawing minimal attention—a complete reversal of his triumph at the winter solstice event.

  When he finally returned to his chambers that evening, Julian maintained his composed facade until the door closed behind him. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sank into his desk chair with uncharacteristic heaviness.

  "It was a disaster," he said quietly as Natalie moved to help him remove his formal attire.

  "It wasn't as bad as you think, Your Highness," she tried to reassure him, though she had witnessed enough to know his assessment wasn't entirely wrong.

  Julian looked up at her, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and frustration. "You saw?"

  "Parts," she admitted. "The incident with the dagger was barely noticeable. And many horses grow restive in crowds—no experienced observer would bme you for that."

  "Augustus would. Did." Julian removed the troublesome dagger and set it on his desk with evident distaste. "And that wasn't coincidence. I saw his friend Tiberius near my horse before the demonstration."

  Natalie nodded, confirming her suspicion. "As for the conversation with the northern commanders—"

  "Another humiliation," Julian interrupted, a rare bitterness entering his voice. "All our preparation, all those hours of study, and Augustus dismissed it with a single comment."

  "He feels threatened by you," Natalie pointed out, carefully removing the heavy formal jacket from Julian's shoulders. "Otherwise, he wouldn't work so hard to undermine you."

  "Cold comfort when the entire court now sees me as fumbling, inept, and 'charming,'" Julian replied, practically spitting the st word.

  Natalie knelt to meet his downcast eyes, temporarily setting aside the formal distance she usually maintained. "One difficult day doesn't erase the progress you've made, Your Highness. And setbacks are inevitable in any campaign."

  Julian looked at her thoughtfully. "You really see this as a campaign, don't you?"

  "Of course," she replied without hesitation. "Your brothers decred war on you long ago. The only question is how we respond to their tactics."

  "We've been losing tely."

  "Today, perhaps," Natalie conceded. "But not the rger conflict." She rose and moved to pour him a cup of the herbal tea he preferred in the evenings. "The Emperor still notices your academic progress. Lady Emmeline and her mother still speak highly of you to other nobles. Even today, I saw several military officers listening with genuine interest before Augustus interrupted."

  Julian accepted the tea with a small nod of thanks. "So what do we do now?"

  It was the question Natalie had been pondering since witnessing the day's events. The bance they had been trying to maintain—helping Julian stand up for himself while keeping a low enough profile to ensure his safety—was proving increasingly difficult. Augustus's targeted campaign of humiliation demanded a response, but direct confrontation remained too dangerous.

  "We adapt," she said finally. "Your brothers have discovered that you pose a potential threat in the realm of schorship and courtly conversation. They're countering by forcing confrontations in areas where your youth and physical size disadvantage you."

  Julian considered this analysis with his usual seriousness. "So I should avoid such situations?"

  "Not avoid—prepare differently," Natalie crified. "We've focused on building your confidence and knowledge. Now we must add practical skills to counter their specific attacks."

  "What kind of practical skills?"

  Natalie smiled slightly. "First, we'll practice with that ceremonial dagger until you can draw and present it fwlessly even half-asleep. Second, I'll arrange additional riding lessons—not with the official riding master who reports to Augustus, but with the head groom who has no such allegiances."

  Julian's expression lightened somewhat. "And for situations like today with the commanders?"

  "We'll develop responses that acknowledge your youth and retive inexperience but turn them from weaknesses into strengths," Natalie expined. "For instance, 'While I haven't had my brother's opportunities on the training field yet, my studies have shown me that understanding history prevents repeating its mistakes.'"

  Julian nodded slowly, his natural intelligence engaging with the problem. "Positioning my knowledge as complementary to experience rather than competing with it."

  "Exactly." Natalie felt a surge of pride at his quick understanding. "Your brothers want to force you into direct competition on their terms. Instead, we'll create your own arena with different rules."

  For the first time since returning from the difficult day, Julian's posture rexed slightly. "You really think we can counter their attacks?"

  "I know we can," Natalie assured him. "But it will require patience and resilience. Today was difficult, but it's also valuable information about their tactics."

  Julian sipped his tea thoughtfully. "In the military history I've been reading, many great commanders suffered defeats before their eventual victories."

  "Indeed," Natalie agreed, pleased to see his natural optimism reasserting itself. "And they succeeded because they learned from those defeats rather than being defined by them."

  As she helped Julian prepare for bed, Natalie maintained an encouraging demeanor, but inwardly her concerns had deepened. Augustus's campaign against his youngest brother was escating in both frequency and sophistication. What had once been casual cruelty now appeared more calcuted—almost strategic.

  More troubling still was the apparent coordination among the three older princes. Previously, Henry had rgely followed Augustus's lead out of habit rather than true malice. Now, he seemed fully enlisted in the campaign against Julian, expanding the network of eyes watching for opportunities to undermine the youngest prince.

  When Julian had finally fallen asleep, Natalie retreated to her small chamber and allowed her careful facade to drop. The day's events had shaken her more than she had let Julian see. His position in the pace remained precarious, and her ability to protect him had clear limits.

  Moreover, her own situation remained a constant concern, though with one unexpected blessing. At thirteen, almost fourteen now, Natalie had noticed with quiet relief that she seemed to be taking after her mother's side of the family—small-boned and with delicate features that maintained an androgynous quality. While other boys her age in the pace had begun developing broader shoulders and deeper voices, Nathaniel's physique remained slender and his voice clear. The small cloth pouches in her bodice needed only minimal adjustment, and her loose servant's attire continued to conceal what few masculine traits had begun to emerge.

  It was as if fate had granted her this one mercy—a physical appearance that made her disguise easier to maintain than she had initially feared. Even so, she knew that adolescence was unpredictable, and maintained vigint daily rituals to preserve her feminine presentation.

  How much time did they have before one or both of their precarious positions colpsed? And what would happen then?

  Natalie pushed these questions aside and focused instead on their immediate challenges. Tomorrow, they would begin adapting their strategy to counter Augustus's new tactics. Julian had suffered a setback today, but with proper guidance, he would recover.

  He had to. Because in the dangerous game they were pying, failure meant more than mere embarrassment. For both of them, it could mean destruction.