The days of youth were now behind them. Caesar, the Duke of Alderson, stood at the threshold of his adulthood, poised on the edge of the life that awaited him. The title of Duke, which had once seemed so distant and abstract, now pressed down on him like the weight of a mountain. The responsibilities were many—political alliances, the safety of the duchy, the ever-watchful eyes of the nobility, and, most pressing of all, the necessity of securing a proper marriage to ensure the future of the house of Alderson.
It was not the life he had dreamed of as a child, running through the gardens with Marianne, discussing far-fetched plans to run away from it all. No, now it was all about duty. And the duty of a Duke was clear: to marry, to secure the line, and to uphold the family’s legacy. But as Caesar sat at the head of the long dining table, surrounded by advisors and courtiers, a cold emptiness gnawed at his insides. His mind was not on the business of ruling—his mind was on her.
Marianne.
Her name still lingered on his lips, unspoken but never forgotten. The great hall of Alderson Castle had grown quieter, the heavy echoes of laughter and light chatter now replaced by the muffled sounds of business and diplomacy. Marianne no longer appeared in the halls of the manor, not as a familiar presence. Now, she served in the background, as a maid to the other nobles, her position more formal and distant. She addressed him as “Duke Alderson” now, a title that felt like a chasm between them, cold and impersonal, and yet it was a name he had come to hate.
It had begun to hurt, that distance between them. The subtle shift in the way she looked at him—respectful, formal, but not the warmth of the girl he had once known. Her eyes, once full of quiet understanding, were now veiled with something Caesar couldn’t place. The truth was, he wasn’t sure if she still saw him as she once had, the boy who had shared his dreams with her beneath the tree.
It was the morning after a grand dinner in honor of a visiting noble family that Caesar found himself wandering the corridors in a rare moment of solitude. The stone walls felt cold against his fingertips as he paced, his thoughts tangled in confusion. He wanted to confront Marianne, to break the invisible wall between them, but he couldn’t find the right words. She had changed, yes, but so had he. The burden of leadership weighed on him, and though he was no longer the child who had once run wild through the castle, he could still feel the tug of the boy he used to be, the boy who had wanted nothing more than to be close to her.
And there she was, standing by the door of the servant's quarters, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Marianne’s light brown hair had grown longer, cascading down her back in a cascade of deep brown curls, and her posture was refined—there was no hint of the carefree girl who had once laughed with him in the gardens. She wore a simple maid’s attire she had worn in their youth, modest but never suited her in Caesar’s mind.
At the sight of her, Caesar’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat.
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“Marianne,” he said, his voice unsteady. The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. The formality of the situation felt suffocating. But it was too late.
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a fleeting moment, the distance between them seemed to vanish. But then, just as quickly, her expression hardened, and she curtsied, her gaze lowering to the ground.
“Good morning, Duke Alderson,” she said, her voice polite but distant, like a well-practiced servant offering her formal greeting.
Caesar’s chest tightened at the sound of those words. Duke Alderson. She no longer called him by his name. No longer the boy she had known. No longer the boy who had once sat beside her, sharing their hopes and dreams. He felt the chasm between them, wider now than ever before, and the realization crushed him. It was as though she was no longer the Marianne he had known, and he no longer knew how to reach her.
“You don’t have to call me that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was an edge of desperation in it. “You used to call me by my name.”
Her eyes flickered briefly to his, but she did not respond immediately. For a long moment, she was silent, her hands still folded tightly in front of her. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, but there was a finality to her words that made Caesar's stomach twist.
“It is proper, Your Grace. I must show respect for your position.”
Her words stung. Not because they weren’t true, but because they made the distance between them even clearer. She wasn’t just speaking out of duty—she was reminding him of the space they now occupied. He was the Duke, and she was his maid, no longer a companion, no longer someone who could stand beside him as an equal.
“You’re not just a maid, Marianne,” he said, stepping closer to her. His heart raced as he spoke, and for a moment, he felt like the young boy who had shared those quiet moments with her in the garden. “You’re so much more than that. You were my friend.”
She took a slow step back, and her eyes lowered again, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not the same anymore, Your Grace. You are Duke now, and I am merely a servant.”
The pain in her words cut deeper than any sword. Caesar reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her wrist, as though reaching for a thread of connection that had long since unraveled.
“Please, Marianne,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Don’t push me away.”
Her gaze met his again, this time filled with a quiet sorrow, and Caesar could see the struggle in her eyes—the conflict between her duty and the unspoken bond they still shared. For a moment, it felt as though they were on the edge of something, something that could either bring them back together or pull them further apart.
“I have never meant to push you away, Your Grace,” she said softly. “But I am not the same person I was. And neither are you.”
With that, she bowed her head and turned to walk away from him, her footsteps echoing softly down the corridor, leaving Caesar standing in the cold silence, the words she had spoken echoing in his mind. She was right. They were not the same. But as Caesar watched her disappear into the distance, he felt the weight of her absence more than ever before, and the space between them felt impossibly vast.