The Empress's birthday celebration brought chaos to the pace. For a week, servants rushed through corridors carrying decorations, polishing silver, and preparing eborate dishes. Even the library was not exempt—Master Holloway was tasked with dispying historically significant texts about the royal family in the grand reception hall.

  For Natalie, the week marked two significant milestones: a full month at the pace and her first real crisis of identity.

  "All female staff under sixteen are to serve at the banquet," Martha announced during breakfast. "Kitchen maids will assist with food service. Chamber maids will attend to the dies' retiring room. And you—" she pointed at Natalie, "—will help with the dispy of royal documents."

  Natalie nearly choked on her porridge. Public service at a royal function meant extreme visibility. Worse, it meant working closely with others, increasing the risk of discovery.

  "Is Master Holloway aware of this arrangement?" she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

  "It was his request," Martha replied. "He says you have the steadiest hands for handling the ancient texts."

  Sarah leaned close as Martha moved down the table. "It's an honor," she whispered. "First-year girls never get selected for royal functions."

  "I know," Natalie whispered back. "I'm just... nervous."

  The truth was more complicated. That morning had brought another kind of crisis—her dormitory-mates had begun discussing their monthly courses, and Lily had asked Natalie directly if hers had started. Following her mother's advice, she had cimed they recently had, which prompted a flood of advice from the older girls and the loan of necessary cloths she would need to pretend to use.

  The charade was becoming increasingly complex. Each day required constant vigince—changing clothes with strategic timing, bathing only when she could cim privacy due to her "monthly time," lowering her voice each morning to match the feminine pitch she maintained all day. The strain of it wore on her, creating moments when she almost forgot who she truly was.

  Only in the quiet corners of the library, especially during her now-regur meetings with Prince Julian, did she feel something close to authentic.

  Their friendship had developed steadily since their first encounter. The prince visited the library almost daily, slipping in through the private royal entrance and seeking out Natalie as she worked. Their conversations began tentatively—Julian asking about books, Natalie recommending titles she thought might interest him. But gradually, they had evolved into something more meaningful.

  "Don't bow so deeply when parrying," Natalie had advised st week after Julian described another humiliating training session with his brothers. "Keep your stance wider and your weight centered."

  The prince had looked at her curiously. "How would you know about swordpy?"

  Natalie had frozen momentarily before recovering. "My cousin was training to be a guardsman before he fell ill. I used to watch him practice."

  It wasn't entirely a lie. She had indeed watched the boys in her neighborhood practice with wooden swords, noting their techniques partly out of self-defense and partly out of envy for their freedom.

  "Show me," Julian had requested, standing and assuming a fighting stance in the secluded alcove they had cimed as their meeting spot.

  Checking that no one was nearby, Natalie had demonstrated, muscle memory from her former life taking over as she positioned her feet and held an imaginary sword.

  Julian had mimicked her movements, his face serious. "Like this?"

  "Lower your elbow a bit. Yes, that's better."

  The next day, he had returned triumphant. "It worked! Augustus tried his usual trick of striking from above, but I kept my stance wide like you showed me. He was so surprised when I didn't fall that he lost his bance instead!"

  Natalie had smiled, genuinely pleased for him. "See? Knowledge is power, just like I told you."

  These moments of connection had become precious to her—not just because the prince's favor provided a measure of protection, but because Julian was the only person in the pace who seemed to see her as more than just a servant.

  Now, as she prepared for the Empress's celebration, she worried that the increasing demands of pace life would threaten the fragile identity she had constructed.

  The night before the celebration, as the other girls slept, Natalie y awake fingering the silver locket her mother had given her. Word had reached the pace two weeks ago that Eleanor Foster had passed peacefully in her sleep. The news, delivered by Madame Bckwood herself, had pierced Natalie like a physical blow.

  "She asked me to give you this," Madame Bckwood had said, pressing a small package wrapped in brown paper into Natalie's hands. Inside was a simple bookmark made from a scrap of leather from Thomas Foster's workshop, stamped with his maker's mark—a small "F" enclosed in a circle.

  "Remember who you truly are, even if you can never speak of it," her mother had said. Those words echoed in Natalie's mind now, more haunting than comforting. Who was she, truly? Nathaniel Foster no longer existed in any meaningful way. But was Natalie Foster real, or merely a construct designed for survival?

  Sleep eluded her as she pondered these questions, until the pre-dawn bell forced her to rise and prepare for what promised to be the most challenging day of her new life.

  The grand reception hall bzed with hundreds of candles. Nobility from across the empire filled the space, a sea of silk, velvet, and jewels that dazzled the eye and overwhelmed the senses. At the far end, on a slightly raised ptform, stood the dispy of royal artifacts that Natalie had spent the day helping to arrange.

  Master Holloway hovered anxiously as nobles approached to examine the historical treasures—the first imperial charter, illuminated marriage contracts of past monarchs, maps of territorial expansions. Natalie stood slightly behind him, ready to fetch specific items or answer basic questions as instructed.

  "Remember," he had told her, "you are merely a shadow here. Answer if addressed directly, but otherwise remain invisible."

  Remaining invisible proved easier than expected. The nobility looked through her as if she were made of gss, addressing their questions to Master Holloway even when she stood directly before them.

  Midway through the evening, a commotion at the main entrance announced the arrival of the royal family. Natalie, like all servants, immediately dipped into a deep curtsy as the Emperor and Empress processed through the hall, followed by their four sons.

  Prince Augustus led the younger princes, his golden hair and confident bearing drawing admiring gnces from the court dies. Prince Edmond followed, almost a mirror image of his brother but with a slightly softer face. Prince Henry came next, shorter than his older brothers but making up for it with an exaggerated military bearing.

  Last came Prince Julian, noticeably smaller than his siblings, his dark hair and serious expression setting him apart from his fair-haired brothers. As the royal family moved through the crowd, Natalie noticed how Julian seemed to exist in a bubble of isotion—nobles who eagerly greeted the older princes barely acknowledged him with more than a cursory bow.

  The family paused at the historical dispy, the Emperor showing particur interest in a territorial map from his grandfather's reign. As Master Holloway expined the significance of certain boundary markers, Natalie kept her eyes downcast, heart pounding at her proximity to so many royal personages.

  "And this document?" the Emperor asked, gesturing to a faded parchment near where Natalie stood.

  "The treaty of Westmere, Your Majesty," Master Holloway replied. "If you'll observe the third cuse, which established the current northern trading routes—"

  "The girl can fetch it," interrupted Prince Augustus with casual arrogance. "No need for you to strain yourself, old man."

  Master Holloway bristled but nodded to Natalie, who stepped forward to carefully lift the document from its dispy stand. As she did, she felt rather than saw Prince Julian's gaze upon her. Risking a gnce upward, she met his eyes briefly. The prince gave her the smallest of smiles—a private acknowledgment in this most public of settings.

  Prince Augustus, noticing the exchange, frowned. "You there, girl. What are you staring at?"

  Natalie immediately lowered her gaze. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect."

  "Do you know this servant, Julian?" Augustus asked, his tone suggesting he'd found something to exploit.

  Julian's face remained impassive. "She works in the library, brother. Where I study."

  "Study?" Augustus ughed. "Is that what you call hiding among the books?"

  The Emperor cleared his throat, silencing his eldest son. "The treaty, if you please," he said to Natalie, who carefully presented the document on its velvet cushion.

  As the royal group moved on, Natalie exhaled slowly, grateful for Julian's restrained response. Any hint of particur friendship would have invited unwelcome scrutiny.

  The remainder of the evening passed without incident, though Natalie found herself repeatedly drawn to observe the royal family's dynamics. The Emperor barely acknowledged Julian's presence, while the Empress—not his birth mother—ignored him entirely. His brothers alternated between mocking him and forgetting his existence.

  Only Lady Eliza, Julian's mother, who attended not as part of the royal family but as a minor noblewoman, showed the boy any genuine affection. Natalie watched their brief interaction—how the dy straightened her son's colr with a tender touch, how Julian's solemn face momentarily brightened at her attention.

  As the celebration finally wound down near midnight, Natalie followed Master Holloway in carefully packing away the historical artifacts. Her arms ached and her feet throbbed in the too-rge shoes, but she felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had navigated her first major pace event without raising suspicion.

  She was carefully wrapping the treaty of Westmere when a shadow fell across the dispy table. Looking up, she was startled to find Prince Julian standing alone on the other side.

  "Your Highness," she said, dropping into a curtsy.

  "You did well tonight," he said quietly. "Augustus was trying to provoke you."

  "Thank you for not... for being discreet about our acquaintance."

  Julian's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "I've learned when to keep secrets." He gnced around to ensure they weren't observed, then added, "Will you still be in the library tomorrow? I've been practicing what you showed me."

  "The swordpy stance or the astronomy calcutions?" Natalie asked, unable to suppress a small smile of her own.

  "Both." His expression grew more serious. "I need—" He stopped as a voice called his name from across the hall. "I have to go. Mother is leaving."

  With a quick nod, he hurried away, leaving Natalie to finish her work with renewed determination. In a pace full of artifice and pretense, their strange friendship felt like the only genuine thing in her life.

  Later, as she made her way back to the dormitory through servants' corridors now quiet after the evening's chaos, Natalie realized something important. Julian needed her—not just as a servant or even a friend, but as someone who saw him clearly in a world determined to overlook him.

  That need created purpose, and purpose made her precarious existence bearable. For the first time since her father's death, she felt a glimmer of something beyond mere survival—something that might, in time, become a reason to embrace rather than merely endure her new identity.