His fingers traced down my body, from sternum to navel leaving a travel of goosebumps in their wake. “I really do need to leave.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting this moment to remain, to stretch on forever as it was. He laughed, tilting my chin upwards for a soft kiss before he finally disentangled his limbs from my own and stood. For a moment, I simply drank in the sight of him; long, blonde curls, strong, graceful cheekbones; powerfully built arms, currently trying to extract his shirt from where it had somehow ended up flung atop the curtain rod.

Rolling over to prop myself up on an elbow, not bothering to conceal myself with a sheet, I ask, “When can I see you again?”

He laughed, shooting me a grin over his shoulder. “That good, was I?”

I launch a pillow at him, rolling me eyes. He catches it with ease and strides back to the bed, capturing my face in his long, slender fingers. “I’ll try to get away tomorrow night; the baron is supposed to be taking a trip to see Lady Margaret in North Hampton.” His eyes soften as he adds, “I’ll miss you every moment.”

I pull him down for one last kiss, trying to savor the feel of his lips on mine, inhaling his scent of cotton and clementines. One day apart was more than I could ask for; recently, we’d had trouble arranging rendez-vous’s more than twice a month.

Sidling over to the window, he peers out, checking to make sure the coast is clear before pulling it open. One last fleeting look at me, and he’s gone, scaling down to the lane below.

I rush over to the window, watching him land lightly on the ground, nonchalantly adjust his clothing, and take off down the street without a backward glance. Even from a distance, half hidden by shadows, the sight of him is breathtaking.

Demetrius and I meeting, let alone falling in love, was an accident, a marvel of fate. The baron enforced a very strict caste rule over his domain - as his father had before him, and his father before him, as far back as Cetrulion’s beginnings as a newly formed land.

Demetrius was a genteel, landing somewhere in the mid to upper fourth caste. Not quite at the royal level of level five, but a highly respected caste that controlled most of the trade and commerce of Cetrulion.

I was a first caste.

The bottom of the barrel, the prostitutes, the thief’s, the bastards - the category I had been unlucky enough to find myself upon birth.

My mother had been a lower second caste, working as a scullery maid in a nearby estate when a high third caste took a liking to her that was not returned. Rather than punishing her rapist, both she and I had been rejected to first caste.

First caste was hell.

Housing was a collection of derelict, leaking buildings on the outskirts of the city, at least a fifteen minute walk from anything of import. Rooms were often entire families in one; although in the winter, this could be considered a blessing, as the ample body heat somewhat offset the frigid winds that blew through the inefficient windows.

Food, clothing, education - everything was decided on by caste. There was no movement up, unless by explicit decree of the baron.

Sighing, I got up and began to dress. I had recently been given a shift at the seamstress’s, a good position for a first caste, even if the shifts were midnight to noon.

The door flew open. For one wild, hopeful second, I thought it was Demetrius, come back to my arms.

But it was not.

Two of the city’s guards filled the doorway, their hulking frames dwarfing me, their faces twisted into leering smiles.

“Fraternizing between castes is a Section 2 violation, missy,” the larger of the two grunted as they advanced towards me.

“And now we’ve caught young Demetrius sneaking out of here red handed,” the other cackled, reaching out towards me with a gnarled hand. I leapt back, putting the bed between myself and them.

My mind raced, trying to sort out my paths forward. “I think you boys must be mistaken. I’ve been here by myself enjoying a book all evening.”

“Like hell you ‘ave,” the cackler said. “We been watching you for weeks, and we finally caught you in the act.”

My stomach sank. Was it true? Did they have proof of what had happened?

Demetrius would be fine, a slap on the wrist, maybe a week or two on reduced food. But a first caste?

The punishment was death.

My shoulders slump, the fight draining out of me. Tears welled in my eyes, and my voice wobbled as I said, “Can I just have one minute? To say…goodbye?”

“Thirty seconds dearie,” said the first, who was now fingering my only belongings, clearly ready to pilfer them.

The second their focus was diverted, I ran. Through the halls, down the hidden servants quarter door, out the back alley. The guards were large, weighed down by heavy armor, and I could hear their clamoring and swearing falling further and further behind as I ran. If they caught me, they’d kill me immediately now.

But. I had to try.