[NOBLE] Scaramouche

Moonlight Winery stood at the edge of the valley like a relic untouched by time, its silver-veined stone gleaming beneath the pale wash of the evening moon. Beyond the sprawling vineyards, where rows of dark grapes swayed beneath the cold autumn wind, Orchid Manor rested atop the hill overlooking the estate — elegant, distant, and impossibly quiet.

The winery itself had belonged to the Raiden bloodline for generations. Long before Scaramouche inherited it, the estate had flourished under the rule of his mother, a woman remembered with almost mythic reverence among merchants and nobility alike. She had transformed Moonlight Winery from a respected vineyard into the most coveted name in the nation, cultivating rare grapes beneath experimental lunar harvest methods known only to the family.

When she died, the estate passed solely to her son.

Many expected the young heir to ruin it within a year.

Instead, Moonlight Winery became even more unattainable.

Under Scaramouche’s ownership, production lessened drastically, but demand only grew more feverish. His wines were infamous for their rarity — bottles auctioned at prices high enough to purchase estates, reserved almost exclusively for nobility, foreign diplomats, and the wealthiest merchant families. Collectors travelled across entire regions merely for the chance to taste a vintage touched by the Moonlight seal, while rumours spread endlessly about private reserves hidden somewhere beneath Orchid Manor itself.

The people of the nearby villages often spoke of the manor in hushed voices.

Some claimed its master never slept. Others whispered that the candles in the western wing burned long after midnight, even when every servant had already retired behind locked doors. Yet despite the rumours, the winery flourished beneath his rule with cold, unwavering efficiency.

At the centre of it all was Scaramouche.

Young for a nobleman, yet carrying himself with the detached poise of someone far older, he ruled the estate with unnerving precision. The maids feared disappointing him more than they feared storms or famine, though none could deny his strange sense of fairness. Every servant within Orchid Manor was well-fed, well-paid, and expected perfection in return.

Each morning, the halls awoke before dawn.

Attendants swept through marble corridors scented faintly of lavender and wine oak, preparing the manor for another endless day of guests, merchants, and aristocrats seeking favour from its elusive owner. Silk curtains were drawn open to reveal sprawling vineyards drowned in silver mist, while somewhere high above them all, in the eastern balcony overlooking the valley, Scaramouche stood alone with a porcelain teacup cooling untouched in his hand.

Watching.

Always watching.

And this time, his gaze fell on you.

A young woman dressed in simple travelling clothes, clutching a small suitcase tightly in your hand as though it were the only thing grounding you amidst the intimidating grandeur of Orchid Manor.

---

The servant dormitories were far less lavish than the upper halls of the estate, yet even they felt overwhelmingly refined. Dark wooden beams stretched across the ceilings, polished to a mirror sheen, while soft lanternlight bathed the corridors in amber gold. Everything smelled faintly of lavender, old parchment, and the rich sweetness of aged wine lingering from the cellar floors below.

You sat stiffly across from the head butler, your posture painfully straight as he reviewed a stack of documents with meticulous scrutiny.

“The previous maid assigned to the eastern wing,” he explained calmly, adjusting his spectacles, “served the Raiden family for nearly thirty years before age finally rendered her incapable of continuing her duties. Lord Scaramouche does not tolerate incompetence, but he does reward loyalty.”

You swallowed nervously and nodded.

The journey to Moonlight Winery had taken nearly a week. By the time you arrived at the estate gates, your shoes were worn thin with dust and exhaustion clung heavily to your bones. Even so, the opportunity had seemed worth any hardship. A position within Orchid Manor promised stability few could ever dream of obtaining.

The butler continued speaking, though his measured voice suddenly faltered.

The room had gone quiet.

Not ordinary quiet, it was the kind that arrived when every servant instinctively straightened in the presence of someone important.

You turned instinctively toward the doorway.

Scaramouche stood there.

He had entered without announcement, dressed in dark formal attire embroidered with silver thread so intricate it almost resembled moonlight woven into fabric. His expression remained unreadable, sharp indigo eyes resting upon you with unsettling stillness.

The servants lowered their heads immediately.

You hurried to do the same.

Scaramouche said nothing at first. His gaze travelled slowly over your worn clothes, the frayed ribbon tied loosely around your hair, the trembling hand still wrapped around your suitcase handle.

Then, unexpectedly, he stepped further into the room.

The butler looked visibly alarmed. “My lord, I was simply conducting interviews for the replacement maid position—”

“She will do.”

The interruption was immediate.

You blinked in confusion.

The butler hesitated. “For… the eastern wing, sir?”

Scaramouche’s eyes never left yours.

“No,” he answered coolly. “Assign her to me.”

Silence consumed the room.

Every servant present looked stunned.

Personal attendants assigned directly to Scaramouche were chosen with ruthless selectiveness. Most lasted only months before being transferred elsewhere, unable to endure his impossible standards and unpredictable temperament.

Yet now he stood before you as though the decision required no further explanation.

In truth, Scaramouche had always possessed a fascination with beautiful things.

Rare porcelain imported from distant nations. Handcrafted music boxes with mechanisms too delicate for ordinary handling. Silver ornaments shaped like blooming orchids. Vintage wines aged longer than some lifetimes. He collected them all with obsessive care, preserving them behind locked glass cabinets and dimly lit chambers within Orchid Manor.

And now, as he looked at you standing beneath the dormitory lanternlight, visibly nervous yet strikingly beautiful despite your plain attire—

He found himself wanting to keep you too.