Rosalind sat in the library of her family's city mansion, surrounded by stacks of books, scrolls, and notes. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air as she turned another page of "Imperial Protocols and Precedents: A Comprehensive Guide." Three days had passed since the Emperor's announcement, and she had spent nearly every waking moment preparing for the first test: Court Protocol and Diplomacy.

  Across from her, Agnes sorted through a pile of correspondence, organizing the numerous offers of assistance that had arrived since the Selection was announced.

  "Another note from Lady Montgomery," Agnes reported, holding up a scented letter. "She offers to share her personal insights into the diplomatic preferences of the Northern Kingdom representatives."

  Rosalind gnced up from her reading. "Add it to the 'political alliances' pile. I suspect her information comes with expectations of future favors."

  Agnes nodded, pcing the letter accordingly. "You've become quite adept at recognizing court maneuvers."

  "Three years away hasn't completely erased a lifetime of training," Rosalind replied with a small smile. "Though I find myself viewing it all with different eyes now."

  She stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of reading, and moved to the window. Below, the gardens of the Harrington estate bloomed with carefully cultivated roses and orchids—beautiful, fragile blossoms that required constant attention from a team of gardeners. How different from the hardy thornbushes and practical herbs she had tended herself at the cottage.

  A knock at the library door interrupted her thoughts.

  "Enter," she called.

  Her father stepped into the room, his expression thoughtful. "How goes the studying, daughter?"

  "Well enough," Rosalind answered, gesturing to her organized chaos of research materials. "Though I imagine Lady Emmeline has been preparing for this test her entire life."

  The Duke approached, examining the stacks of materials she had arranged by topic: diplomatic protocols, imperial ceremonies, foreign customs, alliance histories, and trade negotiations.

  "Perhaps," he acknowledged. "But she hasn't had your... practical education."

  Rosalind raised an eyebrow. "I doubt the Selection committee will ask me to demonstrate proper milking technique or evaluate soil conditions, Father."

  "No," he agreed with unexpected seriousness. "But they may value someone who understands that protocols exist to serve people, not the other way around." He picked up a heavy volume on imperial ceremonies. "You know, your grandmother once told me that true diplomacy is recognizing the human being beneath the title."

  Rosalind studied her father's face, surprised by this insight. "I don't recall you ever mentioning Grandmother's diplomatic wisdom before."

  The Duke's expression softened. "There are many things I failed to tell you before your... exile." He carefully repced the book. "I've received reports about your time at Thornfield—not just your agricultural innovations, but how you connected with the people there. That skill may serve you better than memorizing every imperial precedent."

  Before Rosalind could respond, another knock came at the door. This time, her mother entered, accompanied by a severe-looking woman with iron-gray hair pulled into a tight bun.

  "Rosalind, this is Lady Victoria Hamilton," the Duchess announced. "She served as Protocol Mistress to the previous Empress and has graciously agreed to assist with your preparation."

  Lady Hamilton surveyed the library with narrowed eyes, her gaze lingering disapprovingly on Rosalind's practical day dress and simply arranged hair before settling on the Duke.

  "Your Grace," she acknowledged with a precise curtsy. "If I might have some time alone with Lady Rosalind? We have much ground to cover before the first test."

  The Duke exchanged a gnce with his daughter. "Of course. I'll leave you to it." As he passed Rosalind, he added quietly, "Remember what I said."

  Once her parents had departed, Lady Hamilton wasted no time. "Your posture has suffered during your rural... adventure, Lady Rosalind. And your hands—" She took Rosalind's hands in her own, examining the calluses with barely concealed horror. "These will never do for the tea ceremony portion of the test."

  Rosalind resisted the urge to pull her hands away. "I value these calluses, Lady Hamilton. They represent knowledge gained through experience."

  "The Imperial Selection values different forms of knowledge," Lady Hamilton replied crisply. She reached into her bag and removed a jar of cream. "Apply this three times daily. It won't eliminate the damage completely, but it should soften the worst of it."

  For a moment, Rosalind considered refusing. These hands had milked cows, tended gardens, harvested wheat, and helped deliver calves. They had written agricultural school curricu with Thomas and cradled his mother through fever. They were a testament to everything she had become.

  But she also recognized the practical reality: the Selection would be judged by people who shared Lady Hamilton's values, not those she had discovered at Thornfield. Strategic compromise was not the same as surrender.

  "Thank you," she said, accepting the jar. "I appreciate your expertise."

  Lady Hamilton seemed momentarily taken aback by the ck of resistance, but quickly recovered. "Very well. Let us begin with the Imperial greeting hierarchy. I understand you were once proficient, but protocols have evolved during your absence."

  For the next three hours, Rosalind submitted to Lady Hamilton's exacting instruction—practicing curtsies of varying depths depending on rank, rehearsing formal greetings in six nguages, and reviewing the complex rules governing everything from dinner seating arrangements to processional order.

  By te afternoon, even the rigorous Protocol Mistress seemed impressed despite herself.

  "Your memory serves you well," she admitted as Rosalind fwlessly recited the correct forms of address for seventeen different ranks of nobility. "Though your execution still cks the natural grace that comes from consistent practice."

  "Then we shall continue practicing," Rosalind replied, refusing to show her exhaustion.

  Lady Hamilton nodded approvingly. "Tomorrow, we will focus on the diplomatic scenarios portion of the test. I suggest you particurly review the trade disputes with the Southern Isles and the marriage alliance protocols with the Western Mountains. Both are likely to feature prominently."

  After Lady Hamilton had departed, Rosalind sank into a chair, allowing herself a moment of genuine fatigue. Agnes immediately poured her a cup of tea from the pot that had been refreshed several times during the rigorous session.

  "She's formidable," Agnes observed, adding honey to the tea just as Rosalind preferred.

  "Yes," Rosalind agreed, accepting the cup gratefully. "And exactly what I need if I'm to have any chance in this first test."

  Agnes sat down across from her. "You truly intend to go through with this, then? To compete for the position of Imperial Consort?"

  Rosalind sipped her tea thoughtfully. "I do. Not for the title itself, but for what I might accomplish with it."

  "Like your agricultural school, but for the entire Empire," Agnes nodded. "Thomas would be proud."

  The mention of his name still brought an ache, but now it came paired with purpose rather than only pain. Rosalind touched the wooden pendant at her throat. "I hope so."

  A soft knock at the door revealed her mother, returning without Lady Hamilton. The Duchess entered hesitantly, as though unsure of her welcome.

  "How did you find Lady Hamilton's instruction?" she asked, taking in Rosalind's obvious fatigue.

  "Thorough," Rosalind answered diplomatically. "And necessary."

  The Duchess approached, surprising Rosalind by sitting directly beside her rather than across the room as had been her habit in the past. "I was worried she might be too harsh. Victoria has exacting standards."

  "Nothing harsher than my first day churning butter under Mrs. Hawthorn's supervision," Rosalind said with a small smile.

  Something flickered across her mother's face—regret, perhaps, or curiosity about the experiences they had never discussed. "Your father believes you can win this Selection. He says you've developed... qualities that the other candidates ck."

  "Father has become unexpectedly supportive," Rosalind observed.

  "He read your reports," the Duchess said simply. "We both did. Every month, Mr. Finch sent detailed accounts of your work at Thornfield." She paused, meeting Rosalind's surprised gaze. "At first, I read them only to reassure myself that you were safe and reasonably comfortable. Later... I began to look forward to them. To learning what you were accomplishing."

  Rosalind set down her teacup, genuinely startled by this revetion. "I had no idea."

  "We didn't know how to tell you," her mother admitted. "How to bridge the distance between us. It seemed easier to maintain the fiction that your exile was merely punitive rather than acknowledge that it had become... transformative."

  For a moment, Rosalind was silent, absorbing this new understanding of the past three years. Her parents had been watching, learning about her new life from a distance. The thought was both comforting and unsettling.

  "I have appointments with tutors in imperial governance tomorrow morning," she said finally. "But perhaps we could take tea together afterward? I'd like to hear more about what you learned from those reports."

  The Duchess's eyes brightened. "I'd like that very much."

  After her mother left, Rosalind turned to an unexpected stack of materials that had arrived that morning—agricultural reports and regional management assessments from across the Empire. These weren't part of the standard preparation for the Protocol test, but she had requested them specifically.

  "More reading?" Agnes asked, eyeing the stack with concern. "It's nearly dinner time, and you've barely rested all day."

  "Just one more hour," Rosalind promised, already opening the first report. "Lady Hamilton has me well-prepared for the formal aspects of diplomacy, but I want to understand the substance beneath it. If I'm to demonstrate that Thornfield's approaches can work on an imperial scale, I need to know exactly what challenges the Empire faces."

  Agnes sighed but poured her another cup of tea. "One hour. Then you rest, or you'll be too exhausted to remember any of Lady Hamilton's lessons tomorrow."

  Rosalind smiled gratefully and immersed herself in the reports. The patterns she had identified at Thornfield—inefficient resource distribution, knowledge gaps between academic theory and practical application, communication failures between decision-makers and implementers—appeared repeatedly across imperial territories. The same problems, just on a vastly rger scale.

  As she read, she began to see potential solutions—ways to adapt Thornfield's agricultural school model, the crisis response systems they had developed during the field fever outbreak, the community resource-sharing networks they had established during food shortages. She made notes in the margins, ideas forming and connecting as she worked.

  This was not the traditional preparation for an Imperial Selection candidate, but it was perhaps the most valuable preparation she could undertake—not just for the tests ahead, but for the role she hoped to fill afterward.

  The next morning found Rosalind in the formal dining room, practicing the eborate tea ceremony that would feature in the Protocol test under Lady Hamilton's critical eye. Her hands, somewhat softened by the cream but still bearing the marks of her years of bor, moved through the ritualized gestures with increasing confidence.

  "Better," Lady Hamilton acknowledged as Rosalind completed the final bow. "Though you still hesitate slightly before the third pour—the rhythm must be absolutely fluid, without thought or preparation."

  "I'll continue practicing," Rosalind promised, straightening from her bow.

  "See that you do," Lady Hamilton replied, making a note in her small book. "Now, let us review the diplomatic crisis scenarios you're most likely to encounter during the test."

  For the next hour, Lady Hamilton presented hypothetical situations involving trade disputes, territorial conflicts, and alliance negotiations. Rosalind responded to each, drawing on her memorized protocols but increasingly incorporating insights from her reading of the agricultural and regional reports.

  When presented with a scenario involving food shortages in a disputed border region, she outlined not only the proper diplomatic channels for negotiation but also practical measures to address the immediate needs of affected communities.

  Lady Hamilton paused, quill hovering over her notebook. "That's... an unusual approach."

  "But not incorrect according to protocol," Rosalind observed. "The Imperial Diplomatic Code specifically allows for humanitarian measures to proceed alongside formal negotiations in cases of imminent hardship."

  "Indeed," Lady Hamilton said slowly. "Though few candidates think to invoke that particur cuse." She studied Rosalind with new interest. "You've been supplementing your protocol studies with substantive policy research."

  "I believe effective diplomacy requires understanding of the practical realities behind the formal discussions," Rosalind replied.

  For the first time, a hint of a genuine smile touched Lady Hamilton's stern features. "A perspective that has been... cking in recent court approaches." She closed her notebook decisively. "I believe we've covered sufficient ground for today. You have your governance tutors this afternoon, I understand?"

  "Yes," Rosalind confirmed, surprised by the early conclusion of their session.

  Lady Hamilton gathered her materials with efficient movements. "A word of advice, Lady Rosalind. The Selection committee will expect perfect protocol from all three candidates. Where you might distinguish yourself is in demonstrating why such protocol matters—its purpose beyond tradition."

  As the older woman departed, Rosalind realized she had just received perhaps the most valuable counsel of her preparation.

  The days leading up to the first test passed in a blur of intensive study and practice. Rosalind worked with tutors specializing in each aspect of the Protocol and Diplomacy test—from Lord Kensington, a retired ambassador who drilled her on negotiation techniques, to Lady Winters' own secretary, who provided insights into current diplomatic retions with neighboring kingdoms.

  When not with tutors, she continued her own research, connecting imperial diplomatic challenges to the practical solutions she had developed at Thornfield. Agnes monitored her schedule, ensuring she ate regurly and rested enough to maintain her focus, while occasionally acting as a practice partner for diplomatic role-pys.

  Three days before the test, an unexpected visitor arrived at the Harrington mansion.

  "Lady Sophia is here to see you," Agnes announced, clearly surprised.

  Rosalind looked up from the diplomatic correspondence examples she had been studying. "Lady Sophia? Are you certain?"

  "Quite certain," Agnes confirmed. "She's waiting in the blue drawing room."

  Intrigued, Rosalind set aside her materials and made her way to the drawing room, where Lady Sophia Bckwood stood examining a painting near the window. She turned as Rosalind entered, a soft smile on her face.

  "Lady Rosalind," she greeted with a graceful curtsy. "Thank you for seeing me."

  Rosalind returned the curtsy, her mind fshing briefly to their st significant interaction—her attempted humiliation of Sophia that had led to her own disgrace and exile. "Lady Sophia. This is... unexpected."

  "I imagine so," Sophia acknowledged. She gestured to the sitting area. "Might we speak privately?"

  Once they were seated and a maid had brought tea, Sophia regarded Rosalind thoughtfully. "I've been following news of the Selection with great interest," she began. "Particurly your inclusion as a candidate."

  Rosalind sipped her tea, uncertain of Sophia's purpose but unwilling to reveal her confusion. "I imagine many at court find it surprising."

  "Not as many as you might think," Sophia replied. "Your work at Thornfield has not gone unnoticed, even beyond the Prince's interest."

  "I'm gd to hear it," Rosalind said carefully. "Though I doubt the agricultural innovations of a northern estate typically feature in court conversations."

  Sophia's smile deepened, revealing a hint of the quiet intelligence that Rosalind had once mistaken for dullness. "You'd be surprised at what features in court conversations when one listens rather than speaks." She set down her teacup precisely. "I've come with information that may be useful to you in the Selection."

  Rosalind raised an eyebrow. "Why would you wish to help me? Our history is hardly one of friendship."

  "No," Sophia agreed. "It isn't. But Adrian values your perspective, and I value his judgment." She leaned forward slightly. "Despite what you once believed, Adrian and I share only friendship—a genuine one, built on mutual respect rather than romantic interest. He has confided his hopes for the agricultural reforms you might help implement."

  "And you support these reforms?" Rosalind asked skeptically.

  "I support anything that might make the Empire more just and sustainable," Sophia replied simply. "My family oversees territories in the western provinces. I've seen firsthand how outdated agricultural practices and poor resource distribution harm communities."

  Rosalind studied her, seeing Sophia clearly perhaps for the first time—not as a rival or an obstacle, but as a thoughtful woman with her own concerns and convictions. "What information do you offer?"

  "The Protocol test will include a surprise component," Sophia said, lowering her voice slightly. "A simuted diplomatic reception where candidates must navigate complex social dynamics while extracting valuable information from foreign dignitaries. My father helped design the scenario."

  This was valuable intelligence indeed. Preparation for such a component would require a different approach than Rosalind had been taking.

  "Why tell me this?" she asked directly.

  Sophia met her gaze steadily. "Because the Empire needs the perspective you've gained at Thornfield. And because I believe people deserve the opportunity to become more than their past mistakes."

  The irony was not lost on Rosalind—receiving help from the very woman she had once tried to destroy socially. "Thank you," she said, with genuine gratitude. "I appreciate both the information and the sentiment behind it."

  As Sophia prepared to leave, she paused. "One more thing. Lady Cassandra has been taking private lessons with the Imperial Dance Master for weeks. I believe the reception scenario will include assessment of social graces, including dance."

  Rosalind grimaced slightly. While she had maintained basic proficiency during her time at Thornfield—the country dances at the Harvest Festival had seen to that—the intricate court dances were another matter entirely.

  "Perhaps I should add dance rehearsals to my preparation schedule," she murmured.

  "Perhaps," Sophia agreed with a small smile. "Though I would suggest focusing on the Eldonian Exchange and the Imperial Waltz. Those are my father's favorites for demonstrating both technical skill and social awareness."

  After Sophia's departure, Rosalind immediately sent for the family's dance instructor and revised her preparation pn to include practice for a diplomatic reception scenario. Agnes arranged for several household staff to py the roles of foreign dignitaries, allowing Rosalind to practice extracting information while maintaining perfect protocol.

  The night before the first test, Rosalind found herself unable to sleep despite her exhaustion. She stood at the window of her bedroom, looking out over the Imperial City spread below. Somewhere out there, Lady Emmeline and Lady Cassandra were likely also completing their final preparations, both with lifetimes of court training behind them.

  Agnes entered quietly, carrying a steaming cup. "Chamomile tea," she expined, offering it to Rosalind. "To help you sleep."

  "Thank you." Rosalind accepted the cup but continued gazing out the window. "Do you remember my first weeks at Thornfield? How completely unprepared I was for everything Mrs. Hawthorn asked of me?"

  Agnes smiled at the memory. "You couldn't even light the stove without singeing your sleeves."

  "Yet eventually I learned," Rosalind mused. "Not just to perform the tasks, but to understand their purpose." She sipped the tea, feeling its warmth spread through her. "Tomorrow will test more than memorized protocols. It will test whether I can apply Thornfield's lessons in an entirely different context."

  "You've prepared thoroughly," Agnes assured her. "Lady Hamilton herself said you've mastered the formal requirements."

  Rosalind turned from the window. "The formal requirements are what Lady Emmeline and Lady Cassandra have been practicing their entire lives. If I'm to have any chance in this Selection, I need to demonstrate something they can't—that effective governance requires both formal knowledge and practical understanding."

  Agnes studied her thoughtfully. "You truly want this position now, don't you? Not just to prove yourself or to please the Prince, but because you believe you can make a difference."

  "Yes," Rosalind admitted. "At Thornfield, I learned what's possible when theory meets practice, when resources are distributed efficiently, when people are valued for their knowledge regardless of their status." She set down her teacup decisively. "Those lessons shouldn't be confined to one northern estate. They deserve to be implemented across the Empire."

  Agnes nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Then get some rest, Lady Rosalind. Tomorrow you begin showing the Selection committee exactly what Thornfield has taught you."

  As Rosalind finally settled into bed, her mind quieted. She had done all she could to prepare. Tomorrow would reveal whether the path that had begun with her disgrace might lead to a position of genuine influence—a pce where Thomas's vision and her own hard-won knowledge might shape the future of the Empire itself.

  Her hand went to the wooden pendant at her throat, its familiar contours a reminder of everything that had brought her to this moment. Whatever the outcome of tomorrow's test, she was no longer the spoiled girl who had left court in disgrace, but a woman with purpose, knowledge, and a clear vision of what might be possible.

  With that thought, she finally drifted into sleep, ready to face the first challenge of the Imperial Selection.