When Aiden arrived within the busy quarters of the maids and butlers, dressed in his new butler uniform, the shift in atmosphere was almost imdiate.
The fabric was crisp against his skin, still slling faintly of pressed linen and the faint trace of the laundry’s lavender starch.
His slick white hair caught the light as he stepped inside, and his eyes—those dreamy, heavy-lidded eyes—drew glances as if they had been waiting for him all morning.
It was different here. So much different than the servant quarters he had passed through before.
Those had been filled with weary bodies, the sll of wet earth, soap water, and quiet conversations about coin and aching backs. Here, it was discipline wrapped in elegance.
Movents were sharper, voices steadier, posture immaculate even in the hidden hallways where the nobles would never glance. These were not just servants—they were facilitators of perfection.
They made the impossible seem effortless: arranging a new dish to satisfy a noble’s sudden craving, procuring dicine tailored to the peculiar constitution of each family mber, chasing down fashion trends before they reached the capital’s gossip rings.
They didn’t know everything, but they had learned to make it look as though they did—and the illusion was all that mattered.
Half the staff were already scattered through the mansion, serving Lord Augustus and his guests. The rest gathered now for a eting, their murmurs taut with the urgency of an "un inford guest" arriving—dukes, no less. A visit from such company ant the House Leonidus na was under a magnifying glass. Two hundred percent effort wasn’t a suggestion; it was the bare minimum.
"Aiden, I know you’re not ready....."
Gerald’s voice cut through the low bustle. The old man’s hands adjusted Aiden’s collar with the precision of a jeweler setting a gem. There was no softness in the touch, only the weight of a man who had done this for decades.
"I can’t protect you, teach you, and guide you all at the sa ti..." His breath slled faintly of black tea and mint, the kind of scent that never left him.
Aiden’s notifications still flickered in the corner of his mind, irritating interruptions he kept shoving aside. He wanted to focus on the old man, but the little chis kept crawling back into his attention like insects.
"From this point," Gerald continued, stepping back and straightening, "I will hold your hand no longer."
He turned to address the others, the room’s disciplined silence sharpening. "Let introduce—"
"They already know who I am, old man." Aiden’s voice slid between Gerald’s words like a blade through silk. His gaze swept the faces before him, golden irises catching the lamplight, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Don’t you?"
There was a pause—then the reaction ca like a ripple.
"Yeah, of course, we know you, Aiden."
"You’ve been quite the topic here lately."
"We’ve been waiting for you to join."
"Yes... yes, welco, you finally made it."
Gerald’s brow twitched. He knew the boy had a charm, a way of bending attention without even speaking—but this level of familiarity was... unnatural. Admiration glead in their eyes, so subtle, so not.
Clap! Clap!
"Alright, if you’re all friends already, back to work." Gerald’s tone snapped the mont back into order. "The morning shift’s nearly done. Guests are waiting. Our lord is counting on us."
"Yes, Master Gerald."
"Yes, Master Gerald."
"Yes, Master Gerald."
"Yes, Mas—"
"Yes..."
The voices fell into unison before breaking apart, bodies moving with the grace of trained currents. So vanished toward the kitchens, others to the gardens, the largest portion flowing toward the noble family’s living quarters.
Aiden turned toward the kitchen, only to feel Gerald’s hand catch his wrist.
"Oh... you’re coming with ."
"Huh? Where?" Aiden’s brows lifted.
Gerald’s sneer was small but sharp. "To the middle of the storm."
The pull was firm, and though Aiden resisted slightly, the old man didn’t break stride. The air shifted as they neared the heart of the mansion—a faint hum in the air, the mingling scents of perfus, rare wines, and sothing richer beneath.
Soon, Aiden stood behind Gerald, who moved with an elegance that was both practiced and effortless, pouring wine for their lord and the gathered guests.
The living area opened before him like a stage, its grandeur frad by heavy drapes and polished marble.
The frontline maids and butlers stood poised: Gerald, Akidna, Sansa, Lisa... and himself, tucked to the side. Behind them, a reserve team waited in shadow, ready to step in at a heartbeat’s notice.
At first, Aiden had felt out of place here. Not anymore.
He could sll it now—the thick, intoxicating scent of ember, radiating from the nobles lounging on their ornate sofas. Mana rich and unspent, life force ripe and simring under skin and silk.
’I could recharge just breathing here,’ he thought, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Gerald’s hand brushed his lightly, passing the empty bottle. His nod was precise: fetch another from the cellar, vintage for the guests.
Aiden moved, not to go fetch down below but to just, grab by the side, iced. it was with the very bottle Gerald had ant—two hundred years old, its glass clouded faintly from age, its cork dark and fragrant.
The old man’s eyes widened a fraction. Surprise. Approval. And perhaps, an unspoken question.
"Ohhh... you’ve brought the vintage wine, Gerald. And ever so quick." Lord Augustus’s voice bood, warm with indulgence. "I can always count on you. Reliable as ever."
Aiden caught a flash of movent—a glance from Flora, seated with another young noblewoman of House rlin. The two whispered, heads tilted close like old friends.
Lord Augustus, anwhile, leaned into his wife, his hands low on her waist. Not the casual intimacy of a long marriage—this was hungered contact, the kind that made Akidna already signal for the bedchamber to be readied with romantic care.
The wine never ran dry. Aiden made sure of it, gliding forward with refills, matching Gerald’s timing perfectly. Sotis he even laughed softly at the lord’s less-than-funny jokes, the sound smooth enough to pass as genuine.
But his attention snagged on another figure: Lady Sabrina, cousin to Lord Augustus. Her red hair caught the light like garnet, her features mature, elegant—though not as luminous as the viscountess. She sat quietly, speaking little. Gerald had already murmured to him that she wasn’t much of a talker.
Aiden’s golden gaze flickered, reading her.
[Sabrina D rlin]
[Personality: Uncomfortable / in period / tainted.]
’Tainted... like the lord,’ he mused. ’Interesting....but, her uncomfortableness needs to be taken care of first.’
He beckoned a maid from the back. She was small in height, with shy eyes that nevertheless t his with steady recognition. He whispered, her nod quick, and in monts she returned with what he requested.
He passed it to Akidna.
"...What’s this, Aiden?" she murmured.
"Just give it to Lady Sabrina. Tell her she can change comfortably in a separate room."
Akidna peeked under the towel, her eyes widening slightly. "...Oh. Okay. I’ll handle it."
Gerald’s voice ca quietly, as if affirming what Aiden already knew. "A butler’s duty is to et a noble’s need before they voice it."
Aiden stepped forward, taking the wine from Gerald’s hands. "Rest, old man," he murmured. The ease in his movents was deliberate, like sliding a knife from its sheath.
Gerald had seen it all—from the way Aiden handled the bottle to the subtle redirection of attention. He patted the boy’s back, voice low. "You’re doing good."
Now in the front line, Aiden moved toward the lord. Augustus’s hand was no longer just on his wife’s waist—it road more boldly now, fingers grazing thigh and hip with possessive familiarity.
"My lord," Aiden said, his tone a weave of softness and depth, carrying a resonance ant to settle in the man’s chest. He tilted the bottle slightly, as though offering not just wine but a private indulgence.
The lord’s head turned quickly, more sharply than he seed to intend. His eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in the way prey sotis studied sothing that felt like a predator but slled like a gift. "Oh... young blood." His breath was warm with drink.
"Yes, my lord," Aiden replied, confidence unshaken. "Just waiting for your arrival to showcase my skill."
The pour was flawless: smooth wrist, perfect angle, no drip.
"Oh, you’re that servant..." The viscountess’s flushed voice slid in. "How are your wounds?"
"They’re healing well, my lady," Aiden said, bowing his head just enough. "Thanks for taking care of soone like ."
"Huh... what happened to you?" Augustus asked, a faint crease forming between his brows.
The viscountess leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered the details. Aiden caught the subtle flicker in the man’s gaze as he processed each word.
[Augustus D Leonidus]
[Personality: Drunk / horny → angry / tainted]
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