A year had passed since Marianne had left, and the castle had never felt so cold, so distant. The once vibrant halls of Alderson Castle now seemed more like a mausoleum, silent and empty. Caesar stood by his father’s grave, the wind tugging at his cloak as the weight of the past year pressed down on him. The funeral had been quiet—his father’s death a formality, a culmination of age and time that he had long anticipated. But even in the absence of his father’s domineering presence, the burden of the Duke’s title had finally fallen heavily upon him. And it was a burden Caesar had never been prepared for.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting a pale light on the family mausoleum, the somber tombs of his ancestors. Caesar had always been expected to inherit his father’s role—one day. But now, the title was truly his. And with it, the endless demands of running a duchy, the endless politics, and the ever-watchful eyes of nobles seeking to exploit his position.

His father's death had opened a door he wasn’t ready to walk through. But now that it had been thrust open, he had no choice but to step into the world of alliances and rivalries. There was no time for self-reflection. No time to grieve. There was only the endless paperwork, the negotiations with neighboring duchies, the constant pressure to maintain the status of the house of Alderson.

He had hoped that, with time, the ache in his chest—the one that had been there ever since Marianne’s departure—would fade. But it hadn’t. The memories of her, of her laughter and her comforting presence, lingered like shadows that refused to leave. Every meeting with a noble, every political discussion, only reminded him of the one person he could never have again. Every time he sat down at the long table in the council hall, her absence gnawed at him. She had been his rock, his steady anchor, and now that anchor was gone.

The loneliness was unbearable. He tried to fill the empty spaces with the duties of his position, but nothing seemed to fill the void she had left behind. The courtiers and noblewomen who once fluttered around him, vying for his attention, no longer interested him. None of them were Marianne. None of them could ever compare. And deep down, he knew that he had never truly seen them—he had only seen what he had lost.

But it was more than that. It was the endless questions. Why had she left? Why hadn’t she told him? They had spent so many years together, had shared so many secrets, and yet, in the end, she had simply walked away.

Caesar clenched his fists at his sides, the wind tugging at his hair as he stared down at his father’s tombstone. I never wanted this. I never wanted any of it.

The Duke of Alderson. A title that had meant nothing to him when he was a child, but now it was a weight he could not escape. There were no moments of respite, no quiet corners in which to lose himself in thought. And with every passing day, he found himself sinking deeper into the role, further away from the life he had once dreamed of.

—

Marianne had never been far from his thoughts, but after the passing of his father, Caesar had thrown himself into his work with a fervor that bordered on obsession. He had heard whispers, rumors that she had gone to the city of Eddington, a bustling metropolis where many from noble families sent their children to be educated or to find employment. But whenever he ventured into the city, she was never there. No one had seen her. No one had heard from her.

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It was as though she had vanished completely, and the more Caesar searched, the more elusive she became.

The year had passed, and Caesar had been unable to shake the guilt that gnawed at him. He had not protected her. He had let her go without a word, without a chance to ask why, and now he was left with nothing but questions and an empty ache that threatened to consume him.

At night, when the castle was quiet and the world outside was still, he would find himself walking the halls alone, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. He had become a ghost in his own home, haunted by memories he couldn’t escape. Every corner reminded him of Marianne—of the times they had spent together, of the moments when it had just been the two of them, free from the expectations of the world. But those moments seemed so far away now. He could hardly remember what it felt like to laugh with her, to speak without the weight of formality and duty pressing down on every word.

There had been no word from her. No letter, no message. It was as if she had completely erased herself from his life. And Caesar had no idea where she had gone or why she had left, and that lack of closure was the thing that held him in a constant state of unrest.

It was late one evening, while he was pouring over documents in his study, that the letter arrived.

It was sealed with a plain wax stamp—no family crest, no insignia to mark its origin. Caesar’s hand trembled as he broke the seal, his heart already racing with the anticipation of reading the words.

The letter was short. Simple. To the point.

___________

Your Grace, Caesar,

I apologize for suddenly writing to you. How have you been? I heard that your father had passed away. Please accept my condolences.

I hope one day we’ll meet with smiles on our faces, like during those times of our youth. Bold as it seems, I pray for your happiness.

Please know I carry no ill will to the duchy, I cannot return anymore. Please do not look for me.

May you find peace in your duties.

-Marianne

___________

Caesar read the letter again, his eyes scanning the words over and over. There was no mention of why. No explanation for why she had left him so abruptly, so completely. He had no answers. No closure. She had made a new life for herself, far from him, and that was all.

He held the letter on his chest, feeling the burn of frustration blooming in his heart. Why couldn’t she just tell me?

His mind swirled with anger, regret, and sorrow. He wanted to throw the letter away, to forget about it, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not when the last piece of her had slipped through his fingers, as elusive as the wind.

And so, as the sun set behind the castle walls and the darkness of the night began to creep in, Caesar stood alone in his study, holding the crumpled letter in his hand. The silence of the room was deafening, the weight of the letter in his palm a reminder that some things could never be fixed. Some wounds could never be healed.

Marianne was gone.

And now, the only thing he could do was carry on—because as much as it tore at him, the duty of the Duke had no room for weakness, no room for longing. He had no choice but to move forward. But in the silence of the castle, with only the ghosts of the past to keep him company, he felt more lost than ever before.

— End Flashback —