_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">Summer heat descended on the pace, transforming the elegant stone structure into an oven. Servants wilted as they rushed through sun-drenched courtyards. Nobility retreated to country estates or cooler coastal properties. Even the library, usually a haven of tranquility, became stifling as hot air remained trapped beneath its high ceilings.

  For the pace's junior servants, summer brought one small mercy—swimming lessons in the ornamental ke that cooled the eastern gardens. Ostensibly, these lessons served a practical purpose: servants who could swim might one day save drowning nobility or retrieve valuable items dropped in water features. In reality, they were a merciful tradition begun by a long-dead empress who had been raised in a fishing vilge and understood the misery of endless work in summer heat.

  When Martha announced the upcoming swimming sessions at breakfast, Natalie felt her stomach drop. The other girls excimed in delight—Grace boasting of her swimming prowess, the twins debating whether the water would be cold enough to be refreshing.

  "Natalie, you'll join the Monday group with Sarah and Rebecca," Martha decred, consulting her list. "First session begins next week."

  Panic cwed at Natalie's throat. Swimming meant revealing one's body. There would be no possibility of maintaining her disguise in the water.

  "I can't swim," she blurted out.

  Martha raised an eyebrow. "That's the point of lessons, girl."

  "I mean—I'm afraid of water," Natalie amended desperately. "Terrified, actually. My cousin drowned when I was small, and I've never been able to..."

  She let her voice trail off, hoping the lie was convincing. It wasn't entirely false—a boy in her neighborhood had indeed drowned in the river three years ago, though he'd been no retion to her.

  Martha studied her face. "I'll speak to Madame Bckwood. Perhaps an exception can be made, though I've never heard of such a thing in my twenty years of service."

  The reprieve was temporary at best. Natalie spent the day in a fog of anxiety, mechanically dusting shelves and fetching books while her mind raced through increasingly desperate scenarios.

  When Prince Julian appeared for their usual afternoon meeting, he immediately noticed her distraction.

  "What's troubling you?" he asked as they sat in their alcove, a fortress of privacy created by strategically arranged astronomy texts and a rge celestial globe.

  Natalie hesitated. "Just... servant matters, Your Highness. Nothing that should concern you."

  Julian frowned. "I thought we were past such formalities when we're alone."

  Over the past two months, their friendship had deepened into something close to equality within the confines of their hidden corner. Julian had even insisted she call him by his name without titles when no one could overhear—a shocking breach of protocol that nonetheless felt right to both of them.

  "I'm sorry, Julian," she amended. "It's just... there's to be swimming lessons, and I've cimed to be afraid of water to avoid them."

  "Are you afraid of water?"

  "No," she admitted. "But I can't... I can't participate for other reasons."

  Julian studied her with surprising perception for a nine-year-old. "You have secrets," he said finally. It wasn't a question.

  Natalie looked away. "Everyone has secrets."

  "True. I certainly do." He was quiet for a moment. "Would it help if you had a royal exemption from swimming? For service reasons?"

  Natalie's head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

  "I could request that you be assigned to assist me with a special research project during the swimming lesson times. No one questions a prince's requirements for schorly pursuits—it's the one area where I'm actually encouraged to excel, since I'm considered unsuitable for military or political roles."

  The bitterness in his voice caught Natalie by surprise. In their conversations, Julian rarely acknowledged his treatment by the royal family so directly.

  "They underestimate you," she said softly.

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Everyone does. It's occasionally useful." He straightened. "So, shall I arrange it? Your exemption?"

  Relief flooded through her. "If you could... but wouldn't it seem strange? Your interest in a servant?"

  "Not if it's properly framed. I've been excelling in my studies tely—my tutors have noted improvement. I'll simply say I've found a competent assistant who helps me locate relevant texts." His eyes twinkled. "It's not even a lie."

  True to his word, Julian spoke with Master Holloway the very next day. By that evening, Martha informed Natalie that she had been reassigned during swimming periods to assist Prince Julian with research on imperial history.

  "An unusual arrangement," Martha commented, her tone suggesting curiosity rather than suspicion. "But Madame Bckwood approved it personally. You're to report to the small study adjacent to the library instead of joining the swimming group."

  The crisis averted, Natalie found herself in the unexpected position of having regur, sanctioned time alone with Julian. The small study—a cozy room with a single desk, two chairs, and shelves of reference materials—became their domain for two hours every Monday and Thursday afternoon.

  Initially, they maintained the pretense of historical research. Julian would request specific texts, and Natalie would fetch them from the library. They would read companionably, occasionally discussing interesting passages. But gradually, their sessions evolved into something more akin to actual tutoring—though who was teaching whom became increasingly unclear.

  "The tutor says I must memorize the succession of the Devereux line," Julian compined one particurly hot afternoon as they sat with windows open to catch any hint of breeze. "Fifty-six names, with dates and major achievements."

  "That seems excessive," Natalie agreed, fanning herself with a thin book of maps.

  "Especially since I'm seventh in line and unlikely to ever need such knowledge," he added with a resigned shrug.

  Natalie considered this. "Perhaps not for succession purposes, but understanding your ancestors might reveal patterns useful for navigating court politics."

  Julian looked up with interest. "What do you mean?"

  "Well," she began, warming to the subject, "patterns repeat in families and institutions. If you know how previous emperors handled certain challenges, you might predict how your father will react to simir situations."

  "I never thought of history that way," Julian admitted. "As a practical tool rather than just facts to memorize."

  "My father used to say that bookbinding wasn't just about keeping pages together, but about understanding how different elements—paper, leather, glue—interacted over time," Natalie expined. "Knowledge works the same way. It's not just collecting facts; it's about understanding connections."

  Julian considered this, then reached for a piece of parchment. "Show me. Help me organize these names in a way that reveals patterns."

  Together, they created a chart that grouped emperors by their approaches to governance rather than strict chronology. Patterns indeed emerged—cycles of expansion and consolidation, alternating generations of warrior and diplomat rulers, recurring tensions between central authority and noble independence.

  "This makes so much more sense," Julian excimed, studying their creation. "I can actually remember them now because there's logic to it, not just arbitrary dates."

  Natalie smiled, pleased by his enthusiasm. "Sometimes changing how you look at information reveals things you couldn't see before."

  Julian gave her a searching look. "Is that what you do? See things differently than others?"

  The question hit uncomfortably close to her situation. "I suppose I've had to," she said carefully. "When your position in the world changes suddenly, you learn to observe rather than assume."

  Something in her tone must have revealed more than she intended, for Julian's expression turned thoughtful.

  "You lost your parents recently," he said. "That's a significant change."

  "Yes," she acknowledged, grateful he had interpreted her words in this way. "Everything looks different when the people who defined your world are gone."

  Julian nodded with unexpected understanding. "Mother says I see the pace differently than my brothers because I stand between worlds—not quite royal enough for some, not common enough for others."

  This frank admission created a moment of genuine connection between them. Both understood what it meant to exist in disguise—Julian hiding his intelligence and sensitivity behind the mask of the overlooked prince, Natalie concealing her true identity beneath servant's garb.

  Their conversations during these sessions ranged widely—from history and strategy to art and science. Julian possessed a quick mind, absorbing new ideas with remarkable speed once they were presented in ways that engaged his interest. Natalie found herself drawing on everything she had learned in her father's workshop and her mother's lessons, supplemented by the vast resources of the royal library.

  As summer progressed, their twice-weekly meetings became the foundation of a true friendship based on mutual respect and shared secrets—even if Julian didn't know the full extent of Natalie's deception.

  The danger of discovery remained ever-present. Several times, servants or tutors entered the study without warning, forcing them to quickly assume the formal postures of prince and servant. Julian proved remarkably adept at this transition, his face shifting instantly from animated discussion to aristocratic indifference.

  Natalie learned to carry a relevant book at all times, prepared to appear in the act of fetching or returning it whenever someone approached. They developed subtle signals—a cleared throat, a tapped foot—to warn each other of potential interruptions.

  These precautions became second nature, part of the complex dance of survival in the pace. But they also created a heightened sense of intimacy—the thrill of shared conspiracy binding them together more firmly than conventional friendship might have.

  One sweltering Thursday in te summer, as they were discussing the ancient military strategy of misdirection, Julian suddenly asked, "Do you ever wish you could be someone else entirely?"

  Natalie froze, her quill hovering above the diagram she'd been sketching. "What makes you ask that?"

  He shrugged, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. "Sometimes I imagine what life would be like if I weren't a prince. If I were just... ordinary. Free to choose my own path."

  The irony was almost painful. Here she was, living the very deception he fantasized about, while he dreamed of escaping the privilege she had once envied.

  "Being ordinary has its own constraints," she said carefully. "Limited choices, hardships you can't imagine."

  "I suppose that's true," he acknowledged. "But there would be a certain freedom in anonymity, wouldn't there? No one watching your every move, measuring you against impossible standards."

  Natalie thought of her daily vigince, the constant fear of discovery, the exhausting performance of femininity.

  "Anonymity comes with its own burdens," she said softly. "Living as someone other than your true self requires constant attention. One mistake could bring everything crashing down."

  Julian studied her with that unnerving perception that sometimes made her wonder if he suspected more than he revealed.

  "You speak as if from experience," he observed.

  Natalie felt a fsh of panic. Had she said too much? "I only mean that everyone wears masks of some kind," she recovered quickly. "You pretend to be less capable than you are to avoid your brothers' attention. I pretend to be more confident than I feel to survive in the pace. Perhaps the freedom we both seek isn't in becoming someone else, but in finding pces where we can be honest."

  Julian considered this, then nodded slowly. "Like this room. This is where I don't have to pretend."

  "Yes," she agreed, relieved at the turn in conversation. "Exactly like that."

  He smiled, the expression transforming his solemn face into something almost carefree. "Then I'm fortunate to have found both this pce and you, Natalie Foster."

  The genuine affection in his voice touched her deeply. In that moment, she felt a pang of guilt for the fundamental lie at the heart of their friendship. Julian trusted her with his vulnerabilities, his hopes, his true self—while she could never fully reciprocate.

  Yet she couldn't bring herself to regret the deception that had brought them together. In an unexpected way, her disguise had created the opportunity for a connection that transcended their respective positions. Within the confines of Natalie's identity, she could offer Julian something no one else in the pace provided—recognition of his true worth and potential.

  As summer waned and the swimming lessons came to an end, Madame Bckwood summoned Natalie to her office. Sitting behind her immacute desk, keys gleaming at her waist, the Head of Household fixed Natalie with an appraising look.

  "Prince Julian's tutors report marked improvement in his studies," she said without preamble. "They attribute this change to his research sessions."

  Natalie stood with hands csped, unsure whether to be pleased or armed by this attention. "His Highness is very intelligent, ma'am. He simply needed encouragement."

  Madame Bckwood's expression remained neutral. "The arrangement was meant to be temporary—a solution to your... aversion to water. However, given the positive results, the prince has requested its continuation."

  Natalie's heart leapt. "Has he?"

  "Indeed. He has asked that you be assigned as his regur library assistant." Madame Bckwood leaned forward. "This is most unusual, Natalie. Such a position would pce you in regur, close proximity to a member of the royal family."

  The unspoken question hung in the air between them: Why has the prince taken such an interest in you?

  "I believe His Highness appreciates having help navigating the library's resources," Natalie replied carefully. "Master Holloway is often occupied with schorly visitors, and I've learned the organization system well enough to locate materials efficiently."

  Madame Bckwood studied her for a long moment. "You understand, of course, that such a position requires absolute discretion. Anything you observe or hear in the prince's presence must remain private."

  "Of course, ma'am."

  "And you must maintain proper distance and formality at all times. The prince is young and perhaps... lonely. But he is still a prince."

  The warning was clear. Whatever friendship had developed between them must remain invisible to the pace at rge.

  "I understand completely, ma'am."

  Madame Bckwood nodded, apparently satisfied. "Then the arrangement is approved. Beginning next week, you will divide your time between general library duties and service to Prince Julian during his study periods."

  As Natalie curtseyed and turned to leave, Madame Bckwood added, "One more thing, Natalie."

  She paused at the door. "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Your mother would be proud of how well you've adapted to pace life." Something in the older woman's tone suggested deeper meaning than the simple words conveyed.

  "Thank you, ma'am," Natalie replied, wondering not for the first time exactly how much Madame Bckwood suspected about her true identity.

  That night, as she y in her narrow bed listening to her roommates' breathing, Natalie reflected on how dramatically her circumstances had changed in just a few months. From desperate flight to royal service, from complete isotion to meaningful friendship—albeit one built on a fundamental deception.

  Her finger traced the outline of her father's bookmark, which she kept hidden in a small pocket she had sewn into her nightdress. Remember who you truly are, even if you can never speak of it. Her mother's words echoed in her mind.

  But who was she truly? Nathaniel Foster, the bookbinder's son, felt increasingly distant—a character in a story rather than her authentic self. Natalie Foster, the quiet, observant library maid, had become real in ways she hadn't anticipated.

  Perhaps, she thought as sleep finally cimed her, the truth y somewhere in between—not in the name or the appearance, but in the values and connections that remained constant beneath the surface. Her father's appreciation for knowledge, her mother's resilience, her own newfound purpose in guiding a forgotten prince toward his potential.

  These were the threads that connected her past to her present, the elements of identity that no disguise could truly alter.

  And so the disguise that began as mere survival slowly became a bridge to an unexpected future—one where a bookbinder's son and an overlooked prince might together weave a new pattern into the tapestry of the empire.