Twenty miles from the capital, fmes licked the night sky as Imperial supply wagons burned. It was the fifth such attack in three days, each strike executed with precision against targets carefully selected to maximize disruption while minimizing casualties.

  From his chamber window in the North Tower, Julian watched the distant glow that marked yet another successful raid. In the three weeks since his "relocation"—Augustus's euphemism for imprisonment—the signs of organized resistance had grown increasingly difficult for the regime to conceal.

  His quarters, while luxurious in their appointments, were undeniably a cell. Guards stood constantly outside his door, windows were sealed with decorative but effective iron grilles, and his only visitors were Augustus himself and the Imperial Physician who treated the injuries from Julian's "unfortunate fall down the pace stairs"—another of Augustus's creative expnations for wounds inflicted during interrogation.

  The te evening knock at his door was unexpected. Julian turned from the window, composing his features into the mask of defeated resignation he had carefully cultivated. Better to let Augustus believe his spirit was breaking than to show defiance that would only invite more "conversations."

  But it wasn't Augustus who entered. Instead, Natalie slipped inside, carrying a tray with evening tea. Behind her, a guard gnced into the room before closing the door.

  "Your Highness," she said clearly for the benefit of listening ears, "I've brought your evening refreshment as the physician recommended."

  Julian maintained his impassive expression despite his surprise and relief. He hadn't seen Natalie in over a week, after Augustus had restricted his attending staff to a handful of trusted servants.

  "Thank you," he replied neutrally, waiting until she had set down the tray and begun pouring tea before adding, "I've missed your attention to detail. The others never prepare it correctly."

  It was their established code—the exchange confirming no immediate danger of being overheard. Augustus's men monitored conversations but had grown compcent about the prince's seemingly broken servant.

  "The Emperor has granted me permission to resume attending you," Natalie expined, her voice carefully moduted. "He feels your recovery has progressed sufficiently."

  Transtion: Augustus believes Julian has been sufficiently subdued that Natalie poses no threat.

  "Most generous," Julian murmured.

  Only when Natalie moved closer to adjust a pillow behind him did she whisper, barely audibly: "The West has risen. Highpoint under siege. South blocks shipping nes."

  Julian's heart leapt, though his face remained impassive. "Have there been difficulties with the pace staff?" he asked normally.

  "Minor adjustments only," Natalie replied aloud, while her hands, shielded from the door by her body, rapidly formed their private sign nguage: Augustus leaves tomorrow. Taking troops to Highpoint.

  "I trust everything will run smoothly in my absence," Julian responded, his own hands signing back: Escape pns?

  Natalie busied herself straightening items on his desk. "The household maintains its routines despite outside disturbances." Her fingers moved rapidly: Third night. Be ready.

  For the next several minutes, they maintained their double conversation—spoken words innocuous, signed communication urgent. Natalie conveyed crucial intelligence: Augustus was personally leading forces to crush the Western rebellion, leaving his Northern general to maintain control of the capital. The Imperial Guard had been split, with many career officers "reassigned" after questioning Augustus's increasingly erratic commands.

  Most importantly, supporters inside the pace had organized an escape route requiring precise timing and quick movement when the moment came.

  As Natalie prepared to leave, Julian signed one final question: Sophia?

  Natalie's response was swift: Safe. Western territory.

  The relief Julian felt must have shown on his face for an instant, because Natalie immediately covered by saying aloud, "The physician will be pleased that your color is improving, Your Highness."

  After she departed, Julian returned to the window, watching the distant fires with renewed purpose. His allies had moved sooner than pnned, driven by his imprisonment and Augustus's escating tyranny. Now everything depended on timing, coordination, and Augustus's predictable response to threats against his authority.

  The following day brought pace-wide preparations for Augustus's departure. From his restricted vantage point, Julian observed the marshaling of troops in the main courtyard—a significant force, though noticeably smaller than would be expected for confronting a major rebellion.

  "He divides his strength," Julian mused to himself. "Unwilling to leave the capital undefended, yet unable to ignore the Western challenge."

  Through his partially open door, left ajar as guards changed shifts, Julian overheard fragments of conversation confirming his assessment. Augustus would lead approximately two thousand men to relieve Highpoint, leaving another thousand to maintain control of the capital under General Raventhorn's command.

  By evening, the pace pulsed with activity as Augustus made final preparations. Julian was surprised when his brother appeared at his door shortly before departure, resplendent in ceremonial battle armor.

  "Brother," Augustus greeted him, entering without waiting for acknowledgment. "I trust you're recovering well."

  Julian inclined his head slightly. "As well as circumstances permit."

  Augustus studied him with calcuted assessment. "I'm pleased to see adversity has finally taught you wisdom. Perhaps there is yet a pce for you in my new Empire."

  "You're most generous," Julian replied, careful to maintain his facade of broken submission.

  "Indeed." Augustus moved to the window, looking out toward the Western road his troops would soon travel. "I ride to crush a minor uprising—nothing that should concern you directly. But it occurs to me that these rebels might foolishly believe they act in your name."

  "I have no contact with the outside world," Julian pointed out mildly.

  Augustus turned, his smile cold. "Precisely why a public statement from you might prove beneficial—for the Empire's stability and for your continued well-being."

  So that was it. Not content with imprisoning him, Augustus wanted Julian to publicly denounce the rebellion.

  "What sort of statement?" Julian asked, feigning resignation.

  "A simple procmation decring your unwavering loyalty to me as rightful Emperor, condemning these Western traitors, and calling for all subjects to y down arms." Augustus's eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. "I've taken the liberty of having it drafted already."

  He snapped his fingers, and an aide entered carrying a scroll bearing the Imperial seal. Augustus unrolled it before Julian.

  "You need only sign. I'll have it procimed throughout the capital tomorrow, and dispatched to provincial capitals thereafter."

  Julian scanned the document, his schor's mind quickly assessing its implications. The statement not only condemned the rebellion but explicitly renounced any cim Julian might have to governance based on "our father's true final wishes." It was, effectively, a complete surrender of legitimacy.

  "This seems... comprehensive," Julian remarked carefully.

  "Crity prevents misunderstanding," Augustus replied. "Sign it."

  Julian hesitated, calcuting rapidly. Refusing would alert Augustus that his submission was merely performance. Signing would undermine the rebellion's legitimacy. But perhaps there was a third option.

  "Of course, brother," Julian agreed, reaching for the quill. "Though I wonder if my signature alone carries sufficient weight for such an important decration. Perhaps I should recite this before the court scribes as well? The spoken word often carries greater impact than mere writing."

  Augustus considered this, visibly pleased by Julian's apparent eagerness to comply. "A thoughtful suggestion. Unfortunately, time constraints make that impossible before my departure. Sign now, and we'll arrange a formal decration upon my return."

  Julian nodded and signed the document with deliberate care. The procmation would buy Augustus confidence and give Julian the precious days needed for escape. By the time Augustus discovered the rebellion had not lost heart from Julian's apparent denunciation, Julian pnned to be free and publicly refuting the forced statement.

  "You've made a wise choice," Augustus said, taking the scroll. "Continue this path of cooperation, and your circumstances may improve considerably."

  After Augustus departed, Julian returned to the window, watching as torches illuminated the assembling army in the courtyard below. Within hours, Augustus rode out with his forces, leaving the capital under General Raventhorn's command and Julian still imprisoned but with renewed hope.

  As pnned, nothing unusual occurred the following day. Julian maintained his routine of quiet schorly activities, careful not to alert his guards to any change in demeanor. Natalie visited briefly, ostensibly to deliver books from the pace library, their coded exchange confirming that preparations proceeded as scheduled.

  On the third day, news reached the pace that Augustus's forces had engaged rebel units near Highpoint. The pace buzzed with carefully controlled information, but servants whispered that casualties were unexpectedly high on the Imperial side.

  That evening, as sunset painted the pace gold and crimson, Julian prepared himself mentally for what was to come. He had no weapons, no clear knowledge of the escape route, only Natalie's instruction to be ready when opportunity presented itself.

  The night bells had just tolled nine when distant explosions shattered the capital's evening calm. From his window, Julian saw fmes erupting from the Southern gate guardhouse, followed by the csh of steel and shouts of fighting.

  Within moments, confusion spread through the pace. Guards ran along corridors, contradictory orders echoed through hallways, and the disciplined response Augustus would have enforced dissolved into uncertainty under General Raventhorn's less decisive command.

  Julian stood ready, positioned near the door but not obviously so. When it finally burst open, he was startled to see not Natalie but Captain Laurent, blood spshed across his Imperial Guard uniform.

  "Your Highness," Laurent said urgently, "we must move now."

  Two more guardsmen entered behind him—both wearing the insignia of the Imperial Guard rather than Augustus's personal troops.

  "Your guards have been... reassigned," Laurent expined grimly, handing Julian a short sword. "Can you fight?"

  "If necessary," Julian replied, taking the weapon. His schorly reputation belied years of training with Sir Rond. "Where is Natalie?"

  "Meeting us at the rendezvous point. This way."

  Laurent led them not down the main staircase but through a servant's door hidden behind a tapestry—an entrance Julian hadn't even known existed. They descended through narrow passages clearly designed for staff to move unseen through the pace.

  "The Southern Gate uprising is a diversion," Laurent expined as they hurried through the passages. "A smaller force breached the Western postern gate while Raventhorn committed reserves to the south."

  "Our forces inside the pace?"

  "Perhaps fifty Imperial Guardsmen who remained loyal to your father's memory, plus a dozen of Lady Emmeline's household staff who infiltrated as servants. Enough to control key sections of the pace temporarily, not enough for a prolonged hold."

  They emerged into a kitchen area bustling with activity, though not food preparation. Men and women in servant's clothing were distributing weapons and receiving quick instructions from a commanding figure Julian recognized as Sir Rond's senior lieutenant.

  "Prince Julian," the lieutenant acknowledged with a quick bow. "The eastern courtyard is secured for the next fifteen minutes. Horses wait there."

  "Casualties?" Julian asked, thinking of the pace staff caught in this conflict.

  "Minimal by design," Laurent assured him. "This is an extraction, not an occupation. Most fighting is confined to guard positions. Civilian staff were warned to remain in quarters."

  They moved swiftly through service corridors, encountering two brief skirmishes where Laurent and his men efficiently dispatched Augustus's guards. Julian fought alongside them in the second engagement, his swordsmanship surprising the lieutenant.

  "Schorly pursuits need not preclude practical skills," Julian remarked dryly as they continued toward the eastern courtyard.

  When they finally reached their destination, Julian was relieved to see Natalie already present, dressed practically in a riding outfit rather than her usual attendant's dress. Six horses stood ready, held by rebels disguised as stable hands.

  "Your Highness," Natalie greeted him with visible relief. "Are you injured?"

  "Nothing significant," Julian assured her, noticing a cut on her own cheek. "You're bleeding."

  "A minor disagreement with one of Augustus's men," she replied with uncharacteristic grimness. "He lost the argument."

  Before Julian could respond, shouts and cshing weapons sounded from the corridor they had just exited. Laurent tensed, assessing their position.

  "We've been followed. Mount up now! We ride for the Eastern Gate."

  As they swung into saddles, a group of pace guards burst into the courtyard, led by a captain in Augustus's personal guard. Seeing Julian, he shouted orders to his men to form a blockade.

  "Forward!" Laurent commanded, spurring his horse directly toward the guards. The rebels followed, creating a wedge formation with Julian protected in their center.

  The csh was brief but violent. Two rebels fell, but momentum carried their group through the guard line and onto the pace's eastern carriageway. They thundered across the grounds toward the servants' gate, where more fighting was visible as rebel forces held the passage against Augustus's men.

  As they approached, Julian saw the gate ahead begin to close—General Raventhorn had apparently realized what was happening and ordered the pace sealed. They would be trapped inside.

  "Faster!" Laurent shouted, though their horses were already at full gallop.

  Julian watched the narrowing gap with growing concern. The heavy ironbound gates moved with ponderous certainty, the space between them shrinking with each heartbeat. Too slow, and they would be trapped against Augustus's reinforcements now visible racing toward them from the barracks.

  Then, inexplicably, the gates stopped closing. They even seemed to reverse direction slightly, widening rather than narrowing the gap. As they drew closer, Julian saw why—figures on the gatehouse had engaged the guards operating the mechanism. Among them, a familiar form in pace livery fought with unexpected ferocity.

  "Martha," Natalie identified the elderly head maid with astonishment as they galloped past.

  They burst through the gate with barely room to spare, the thunder of hooves momentarily drowning out the sounds of fighting. Beyond the pace walls, they found more mounted rebels waiting to escort them.

  "This way, Your Highness," a rebel captain directed them toward a side street rather than the main avenue. "Imperial troops are engaging our forces on the main roads. We have a clear path through the eastern quarter."

  They rode hard through progressively narrower streets, distant sounds of conflict fading behind them. The pnned route took them through working-css neighborhoods where windows remained tightly shuttered—residents wise enough to stay clear of the night's events.

  Only when they reached the city's eastern edge did they slow to a more sustainable pace. Beyond the final checkpoint—held by disguised rebels who had repced the regur guards hours earlier—open countryside beckoned with the promise of distance from Augustus's immediate reach.

  "Where do we go?" Julian asked Laurent as they paused to rest the horses briefly in a sheltered grove two miles beyond the city.

  "Westward eventually, but not directly," the captain replied. "Augustus will expect that. We head north first, then cut west through the mountain passes. Lord Marcus has forces waiting at Falcon's Ridge."

  As their escort prepared to resume the journey, Julian sought out Natalie, finding her checking her horse's girth straps with practiced hands.

  "You surprise me yet again," he said quietly. "I didn't realize equestrian skills were part of your training as a library assistant."

  Natalie's smile was strained but genuine. "There's much about me you might find surprising, Your Highness."

  "So it seems." Julian studied her face in the moonlight, noting how the practical riding clothes and the night's events had transformed his usually demure attendant. Something about her posture, her movements—they seemed different, more... assured.

  "In the pace," he said carefully, "you mentioned a 'disagreement' with one of Augustus's men. I've never known you to engage in physical confrontation."

  For a moment, something like arm fshed in Natalie's eyes before she composed herself. "Desperate circumstances require adaptation," she replied simply.

  Before Julian could press further, Laurent called for them to mount up. The moment passed, but Julian filed away his observations for future consideration. Tonight had revealed new dimensions to many he thought he knew well—perhaps most significantly, his loyal attendant.

  As they rode into the moonlit countryside, fires still visible in the distant capital behind them, Julian contempted what y ahead. The rebellion had officially begun, with his escape serving as both symbolic victory and practical necessity. There would be no turning back now—not for him, not for his supporters, and not for the Empire itself.