The air was thick with the scent of fresh spring blooms as the young Duke Caesar wandered the castle grounds, his small hands grasping the rough bark of the old oak tree. Marianne was beside him, as she had always been, their footsteps soft in the damp earth beneath them. He was only ten years old then, but the world already felt too large, the weight of his lineage pressing on his small shoulders. The heavy mantle of duty, expectations, and the looming shadow of his father’s legacy were constant reminders of the future that awaited him.

But in this moment, beneath the sprawling canopy of the oak tree, there were no duties, no titles. There was only Caesar and Marianne.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to run away?” Caesar asked, his eyes wide with youthful innocence. He had always wondered what life would be like beyond the high castle walls, where no one cared about his bloodline or his destiny.

Marianne looked at him with a knowing smile, though her eyes were more cautious. “Run away? What would we do out there, my lord? You can’t escape who you are.”

He frowned, clearly dissatisfied with her practicality. “You always say that,” he muttered, kicking at a stone with his foot. “But why does it always have to be about who we are? Why can’t it be about what we want?”

She chuckled softly, her voice melodic in the quiet of the gardens. “Because, that’s not how the world works. You’ll see one day, young Duke. It’s not all about what you want—it’s about what you have to do.”

Her words, though gentle, always seemed to settle heavy on him. It was true—she had a way of being both wise and practical, a quality that always kept him grounded, even when his mind would wander into dreams of freedom. Marianne was just a year younger, but it felt as though she understood the world in ways he could never fully grasp. And yet, she never treated him like a child. She listened to him, really listened, in a way that no one else did.

As they grew older, Caesar found that Marianne’s presence in his life was more than just that of a servant. She was the one person he could trust, the one who would never look down on him for his youthful rebellion or the rare outbursts of frustration that occasionally broke through his usually composed demeanor.

Their friendship had evolved over the years. The innocent games of childhood had given way to deeper conversations—long talks in the quiet of his own study room at night, where Marianne would sit on the other side of his chaise lounge, holding a book in her hands. Those nights were his refuge from the suffocating expectations of court, the days filled with tedious lessons and lessons on diplomacy. She would talk about simple things—her life before becoming a maid, her dreams of seeing the world, her hopes for something beyond the confines of the Alderson castle.

But it was in those tender moments that Caesar began to feel something shift inside him. Her proximity, her laughter, her gaze—sometimes it felt like she was far more than just a companion. She was something essential. Something that made his heart beat faster whenever she was near.

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By the time they both reached their teenage years, it was impossible to deny that the dynamic between them had changed. Marianne, no longer the young girl who tended to his needs with a shy smile, was blossoming into a beautiful young woman. Her movements had become graceful, her hair long and dark, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Her laughter, once light and playful, was now full of warmth, echoing through the halls of the castle, and her eyes—those unusual peridot-colored eyes—held a wisdom and knowing that only grew with age.

It was during those years that Caesar began to notice the subtle shifts in his feelings. No longer was she simply the girl who brought him his meals or helped him with his studies. To him she was his equal, a person who saw him in ways that others did not. He could no longer simply push aside the feeling that had begun to grow in his chest—a feeling that he would later understand to be something more than just childhood affection.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony of his chambers, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, Caesar turned to her, his mind racing with emotions he couldn’t quite put into words.

“Marianne,” he said softly, his voice low, “Do you ever think about… the future? About what we’ll do when we’re older?”

Marianne, who had been gazing out over the grounds, didn’t immediately respond. She looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “I think about it,” she said finally, “...but I don’t know what it holds for me. You’ll become Duke one day, my lord. Your future is already set.”

His heart clenched at her words, though he didn’t show it. “But what about you? What will you do?”

She turned away from him, her gaze distant. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I’ll stay here, where I’m needed.”

Caesar felt an ache in his chest at her words. He didn’t want her to stay as a maid, confined to the walls of Alderson Castle. He didn’t want to imagine a life without her beside him, not just as someone who served him, but as someone who truly belonged at his side.

“You deserve more than this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Marianne glanced at him, her eyes soft but filled with an unspoken sadness. “My lord,” She softly laughed. “I think you always forgot but I’m just a maid. I don’t deserve more.”

The words stung him, more than he was willing to admit. He had known for a long time that there was a divide between them, but hearing her speak so plainly of it made it real. It was a truth that neither of them could ignore. She was bound by her station, and he— he was destined to rule, to marry a noblewoman, to live a life that would never allow for the kind of closeness he desired.

It was on that night, under the fading light of the sun, that Caesar realized something he hadn’t been able to admit to himself before: he could no longer think of Marianne as just a maid. She had been more to him for years, and the ache in his chest told him that he wanted her beside him, not just as a childhood friend, but as something else entirely.

But as they both drifted into the years of their teens, the invisible walls of their world seemed to grow higher. The expectations on him grew heavier, and Marianne’s presence in his life—once a source of comfort—began to feel like something forbidden.

He tried to push the feelings away, to suppress the budding emotions that would not be allowed in the world they both occupied. But deep down, he knew the truth: he was beginning to feel something that shouldn't even exist.