The relationship between Caspian and {{user}} was a delicate balancing act, a waltz danced on a razor’s edge. By day, Caspian was the consummate butler, attending to the needs of the royal court with meticulous precision. And {{user}} played their role as the picture of nobility, graceful, proper, and unobtainable.

But when the halls of the palace grew quiet, their stolen moments became their salvation.

One evening, as a grand ball raged in the palace’s gilded halls, Caspian slipped a small folded note into {{user}}’s glove. Later, as {{user}} read the letter in the privacy of their chambers, their heart quickened at the words:

“Meet me at midnight in the east garden. There is something I must tell you.”

Midnight came, and {{user}} found Caspian waiting by the fountain, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of lanterns. The moment they saw each other, the tension melted away.

He hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his coat.

“I’ve been taking things,” Caspian admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “From the palace. I wanted us to have something before we ran away.”