When the younger Lesleys joined to greet the Pittis, their collective beauty struck Aracelis like a shocking slap.
The young Marquis Lesley was exceedingly handsome and his wife, as rumored and assumed by his brothers, was stunningly beautiful. But it was the Marquis's sister, the young Countess who struck Aracelis most impressively. The Marquis's Cintanian bride was undoubtedly prettier than the young Countess, for the Cintanian princess possessed a face of cameo perfection, with wide amber eyes flicked with gold and a complexion that reminded him of warm butter. The Cintanian princess possessed a smile that would radiate in the darkest of storms, her rosebud lips tipped with an inviting pout and her high cheeks flushed in the softest shade of flower petals gave her an illuminating prettiness that few could contest against.
But Aracelis found the young Countess's striking coloring and immaculate complexion unnerving. The young prince had never before seen anyone with coloring such as the ones she possessed. The Countess Lesley was tall for her age and the slender length of her limbs suggested that she would continue to grow to an impressive height, unusual for women. But her hair, it was as if fire had touched it, as if God had taken the sun to her hair setting it all ablaze for it glinted in the sun light with all the fierceness that a lit torch would; and the way the young girl wore her hair, half elaborately braided to channel her large diamond and sapphire tiara, which sat like a halo encircling the top of her head from ear to ear, and the rest of her waist length hair swung about her back in streaming waves. The girl's brightly smiling face was the palest Aracelis had ever seen but it glinted of the moonlight and it only highlighted the bright emerald color of her wide teasing eyes. Her beauty was unnatural, almost supernatural in the young prince's opinion and he could not tear his gaze from hers. But she failed to find him reciprocally arresting as she had turned her attentions away, after the briefest initial introduction, to focus on the Marquis's equally elegant and charming friend, the Duke of Alcas, Lord Aymer de Valence; and in what felt so short a greeting, the handsome foursome exited to the courtyard to continue their merriment.
Aracelis continued to look in her direction intently and he felt a slight dislike for the young Duke growing exponentially. The Countess was completely divested in amusing the tall nobleman, who possessed a similar silvery argent pallor to the young countess and wore the extravagantly embroidered vestures of the ruling nobility with a nonchalant ease, and the Countess's affection for him was apparent. Aracelis unconsciously slipped a slight scowl before he remembered to revert to the appropriate glacial politeness as dictated by his father and society. Unfortunately, Aracelis was horrified to see that the Duke's ice blue eyes, not menacing as his father's but still pensively discerning, had caught his mistake. The Duke merely smiled amusedly however, as he continued to laugh with the Countess.
Aymer had felt the Pitti prince's animosity before he caught the prince's scowl and this both startled and worried him. At first glance, the Duke had dismissed both the Cardinal and his son as inconsequential royalty like Phaeln and Parmalis did. However, Aymer caught how Aracelis noticed Parmalis. The Pitti prince had spied Parmalis's rarity, her unique nature or was at the very least trying to discern her oddity. But as he caught the prince's slip, Aymer became amused for he realized that Aracelis was attracted to Parmalis and was staring penetratively as the Pitti prince simply deemed him as a rival for Parmalis's attention. Though it hardly alleviated his worry somewhat, Aymer found it amusing to manipulate the prince's emotion so he lifted Parmalis into his arms, making a grand show of their amusement.
Parmalis was pleasantly startled as the Duke lifted her into his arms. She continued to laugh as her face pressed against his long silver blonde locks, which had escaped from the black silk ribbon that normally held it fast behind the nape of the Duke's neck; and Parmalis heard Téresitte softly exclaim, though amusedly, about propriety. Phaeln laughed heartily as well, as he too lifted up his bride and challenged the Duke to a race. Parmalis and Téresitte desperately protested with laughter but it was to no avail as the two men sped down the marble halls with the girls screaming in their arms.
Aymer clutched the young girl protectively as he gracefully glided toward the end of the long marble hall but as he flew past Phaeln, he looked down to see Parmalis's bewildered green eyes stare into his own pale eyes. Laughter had seeped from her face, and all that remained was pale revelation. Of what he did not know but her shoulders tensed as she hesitantly pushed from his chest. As he was in mid-stride however he only tightened his grip and quickly finished as he reached the end of the balcony, winning the race.
"Goodness Aymer! You should have warned me that you were a runner. You flew by us…I can hardly believe it!" Phaeln laughed as he huffed lightly.
Phaeln and Téresitte laughed with congenial amazement but Aymer and Parmalis hardly heard their lively words. The Duke still held her in his arms and she had not strayed from her intense gaze. Slowly he released the child back onto her feet as he quietly cursed himself. He had risked himself to upset a young boy.
Despite her unsettlement, Parmalis seamlessly rejoined the revelry with them before Maid Naomi summoned the Countess for her dance lesson. As Nuit led her away, Parmalis turned slightly to look upon the Duke again before she disappeared to another hall in the palace. Phaeln and Téresitte failed to notice the strange exchange between the Duke and Parmalis, and Aymer continued to join the happy newlyweds in their afternoon amusements but he reasoned that he had to return to Alcas, and soon.
Aracelis had spotted the amusements of the Lesleys and the Duke with longing and bitterness. However he did not express any of these emotions and remained stoic beside his father. But when his father entered the library chambers with the Archduke Lesley, Aracelis was left to aimlessly roam the palace.
After losing himself in the labyrinth of the palace's numerous suites, Aracelis sat listlessly in the mirrored hall, tracing his hands on the engraved pillars as he imagined the life of the Marquis. To have a beautiful princess as a wife, offered an obedient and lovely Maiden by the Church, and inherit a title and palace…he desperately desired to have this impossible fate. The prince sighed hopelessly as he tried to erase such fancies.
"Your ambition shall be your undoing," Parmalis softly asserted as she silently walked towards the startled prince.
"Excuse me?" Aracelis turned to the young countess with startled fright.
"Living quietly, moderately does have its advantages you know…you live longer," the Countess tried to look solemn but ultimately broke into a wide teasing smile.
"I will have to, as I am the third son. I have no chances of becoming the next Cardinal Pitti," Aracelis replied with hesitant words, now somehow unable to look into the Countess's luminous visage.
"I wish that you would, but I can see that you won't accept the life God has presented you with. Try not to steal too much from your brothers…" she mused as her green eyes drifted distantly.
"I would never…" he retorted vehemently.
"And try not to lie too much…it is a sin after all, Cardinal," she smiled amusedly.
"Please do not call me that…my title is Prince Aracelis," he hushed as he looked about, hoping no one else heard her treasonous remarks.
"That's a lovely name…" she continued to smile, unperturbed, "Mine is Parmalis. My grandmother was Lady Felicitas of Parma, Cardinal Pazzi's daughter. She was called the Lily of Parma when she was alive…I'm named for her."
Aracelis was a little unnerved at her ease and familiarity. He had just met her moments before in the formal introduction of the Lesley court but she was talking to him as if they had grown up together. She had none of the superficial pretense that he experienced with his sisters and the women of the Holy City. Her innocent friendliness was frightening but welcoming. He had never known such comfortable conversation before.
"When you do become the Cardinal, don't be so mean to the Madeleine or else she'll probably kill you," she spoke suddenly, a little frown forming at the corners of her smile.
"What? Why are saying such terrible and impossible things?" he felt uncomfortable with her exclamations though it fascinated him.
"Wait and see. It'll happen…You are from Turin, right? Is it lovely there as it is here?"
"No," Aracelis shook his head with a little smile, unable to lie to her open expression, "I believe your palace and court is the most beautiful in the world. It puts the Holy City to shame."
"Vraiment? Really? It is beautiful, n'est-ce pas, isn't it? I think that is why I am so sad. I will have to leave it one day, probably very soon."
"Why?" Aracelis felt comfort in sensing that she too felt a similar hopelessness in her fate.
"This will all belong to my brother the Marquis and Téresitte, his wife one day. And I shall probably be married off. It is my duty as a proper countess to marry a noble duke or prince, most probably the next Duke of Gascone. You are lucky though. As a prince, you can be anywhere you desire. Boys can travel and explore wherever they wish, but I must sit and nervously wait for my fate to be decided," she sighed listlessly, her green gaze fading into the distant horizon with soft melancholy.
"I am sorry," Aracelis spoke abruptly but it was sincere.
"For what?" Her emerald eyes widened with surprise.
"I'm not sure, but I am sorry," he frowned slightly as he repeated his condolence.
"Merci," she smiled, "Thank you. I'm not sure why either, but I think that you mean it."