The grand halls of the duchy’s manor echoed with the soft steps of servants and the distant hum of courtly affairs, but all Caesar, the young Duke of Alderson, not yet even reaching 30 years of age, could hear was the silence of his thoughts. He carries himself with an effortless grace that hints at both his noble blood and the responsibility he has inherited. His blonde hair, bright and golden like the rays of the sun that when it catches the light as he moves, creates a halo-like effect that seems to emphasize his noble stature.

Lord Caesar’s face is handsome in a way that’s almost disarming. His features are sharp, yet not overly harsh—his strong jawline and high cheekbones giving him a regal, noble look. His most striking feature, however, is his eyes—vibrant azure blue, as clear and brilliant as the sky on a cloudless day. His eyes not only reveal his curiosity but also his promise as a leader, carrying a weight of future decisions and the legacy he will uphold.

Yet right now, his eyes seemed to show coldness as he stood in the center of his lavish study, his fingers absently tracing the rim of a silver goblet that sat untouched before him. Outside, the wind swept over the sprawling grounds, carrying with it the scent of rain, but Caesar felt nothing but an unsettling stillness. His thoughts were restless, trapped in a singular place: the face of Marianne.

Marianne. She had been a constant in his life ever since he could remember. Only a year younger than him, she had always been there, assigned to him as a maid when they were both just children. While children in other castles had their own playmates and tutors, Marianne was always the one who tended to him along with his nanny— fixing his clothes, bringing him his meals, tidying up after his tantrums, and listening to him when he spoke of things no one else would understand. To the outside world, she was simply a servant, a maid with kind eyes and a gentle manner, but to Caesar, she had always been more.

Their friendship, or whatever it had been, started before he could even comprehend the division between Duke and maid. It had been easy to see her as a companion when they were children, both in their own worlds, exploring the grounds of Alderson Castle together, sitting under the wide oak tree by the gardens, her laughter ringing out as he told her his half-formed stories and dreams of ruling. She never laughed at him, not once, and that was enough to make her different from everyone else.

But as they grew older, things changed. The years marked the distance between them. Caesar had been taught, like any young noble, the difference between himself and those beneath him. Marianne’s station was clear, and despite the fondness that had blossomed in him, he knew he was expected to keep his distance. She was a maid. His maid.

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But that had never stopped the way his heart twisted when he saw her smile. When she looked at him with her soft peridot-colored eyes, as if he were someone worth believing in. It had been the smallest moments that stuck with him—the way she would brush his hair aside when it fell in his eyes, the way her fingers would linger just a moment too long when they handed him a cup of water. There was something in the way she looked at him that stirred him, something that hinted at an understanding that went beyond what anyone else could offer him.

But now, it was not the tenderness in her gaze he remembered, nor the laughter they had shared as children. It was the absence of it all. For months, Marianne had been gone, disappeared from his life without so much as a word. One day, she had simply stopped coming to his chambers. At first, he had assumed it was just another of those odd happenings that came and went in a grand household like theirs. But then the days turned to weeks, and the silence remained. He asked the servants, but no one had an answer. His father, the Duke before him, had merely dismissed his questions with an offhand remark, one that Caesar would never forget.

"She’s gone, Caesar. It’s time you moved on."

But Caesar could not move on. No, he was not like his father. The idea of losing Marianne felt like losing a part of himself, a piece of his childhood that he could not retrieve. He refused to believe she had just left him. She wouldn’t have. Not without a reason. Something must have happened.

That gnawing emptiness was what plagued him now. It wasn’t just the loss of a maid, or even the loss of a childhood companion—it was the realization that he had never truly known her, never truly understood why she had meant so much to him. Was it simply because she was always there, tending to his needs, filling the void of affection that no one else had given him? Or was it something deeper? A connection that he had never fully grasped, until it was too late?

Caesar pushed himself away from the desk and strode toward the tall windows overlooking the courtyard. The moonlight bathed the sprawling garden in a pale, silver glow. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like if she were still there, standing beside him as she once had. He could almost hear her voice, her soft laughter, the gentle rustle of her dress as she walked beside him.

He opened his eyes again, but the reality of the empty courtyard before him brought him no comfort. Instead, it only deepened his longing.

“Where are you, Marianne?” he whispered into the quiet night. The question hung in the air, unanswered.

And in that silence, something dark began to stir in Caesar’s chest—a growing desire to find her, to understand why her absence had left such a void in him. He could not, would not, let it be. He would find Marianne. He would seek her out, no matter where she had gone or why she had left.

She had been more than a maid to him, more than a servant, more than a childhood companion. She had been his constant in a world of uncertainty.

And Caesar could not bear the thought of losing her forever.