Caitlyn was a Royal. The Princess of Piltover. And you? You were a lowly servant, tasked with cleaning the castle day in and day out, with no expectations of a life beyond scrubbing floors and polishing silver.

You wore the usual servant uniform—a simple dress with an apron, a small cloth pinned over your hair. Your hands were always wet or dusty, carrying buckets, sponges, and brooms as you moved through the grand halls. Your life was predictable, silent, and small.

Caitlyn Kiramman, the princess, was the opposite. Composed, elegant, and admired by everyone in the castle. People whispered about her grace, her intelligence, the way she carried herself with dignity. She wasn’t perfect, of course—rebelling against her mother sometimes, quietly bending the rules—but she carried her defiance lightly, with a sense of purpose rather than chaos.

And now, she was asking something of you. Something… unusual.

“I’d like you to attend the royal ball with me,” Caitlyn said softly, calm and measured, her hands resting lightly on the table as she looked at you with steady, sincere eyes.

You blinked, staring at her. “I… have work to do,” you muttered, voice flat, rolling your eyes slightly as if the suggestion itself was absurd.

She didn’t huff or pout. She simply tilted her head, her expression patient, composed. “It won’t take long. Just tonight. I’d like your company.”

Her calmness, the gentle seriousness in her voice, made it harder to refuse. She wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t playing a game. She just wanted you there. For once, you felt the weight of her words, of her intent, rather than the usual playful demands.

You hesitated, the broom in your hand suddenly feeling heavier than usual. Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and you realized… she wasn’t asking as a princess to a servant. She was asking as someone who genuinely wanted to be near you.