[Lesley Castle in Aquitian~]
Maid Naomi smoothed her dark brown hair before she fastened her pearl encrusted brocaded habit, exposing just three inches of her hair. As she gazed upon her reflection, she sighed deeply as she desperately wished that she was allowed to wear some rouge to accentuate her lovely cheek. Alas, as the Lesley men failed to look upon their Handmaidens as their concubines or mistresses, she was not gifted some as most others in her position were. She sighed with frustration again as she bit her lip and pinched her cheeks to bring about some color on her uniformly pale face. After allowing the blood to rush to her face, Maid Naomi clasped her bejeweled cross to her thin waist before encircling her neck with another gold cross on a string of pearls.
"Maid Naomi, are you ready?" Maid Graciana's kind voice filtered through the door.
"Yes, Maid Graciana, I am coming out now," Naomi replied quickly as she opened her door.
Graciana smiled as she gazed at the perfectly preened Naomi. The elder Maid had long accepted the Lesley tradition and had actually welcomed it. As she was not the Archduchess's rival, Agaline had been exceedingly kind towards her and even conversed with her with deep respect. As they raised Phaeln and Parmalis together, they had become great friends and Agaline often relied on her. As for the Archduke, he had treated her as his sister, caring to give her amusing gifts as he did for his true sisters. And the children, they respected her and loved her as a dear aunt, carefully deferring to her though they were not expected to. All in all, Graciana welcomed this kind family wholeheartedly however she suspected that Naomi still foolishly held amorous sentiments towards the Marquis. As she was exceedingly kind, Graciana overlooked Naomi's fantastical illusions, hoping that the younger Maid would soon realize the beauty of just being accepted as family member.
Naomi knew that Graciana thought her silly for still hoping that the Marquis would look in her direction, but she found Graciana pathetic. Naomi could not understand how Graciana found her life fulfilling, being merely a nanny and governess of sorts, when they were trained to rear future rulers. She could never resort to living like Graciana, destined to be forgotten in history as an aged old spinster. No, for herself, Naomi felt she was destined for something better.
The Marquise, Téresitte, was on bed rest with a slight cold so she was confined solitarily in her chambers. Phaeln was discouraged from seeing her so he was left to fret about his bride's weak constitution in the solitude of his study. The Duke Aymer had rather abruptly left the week earlier to return to Alcas, as he felt that he had abandoned his post too long and without the Duke to distract him, Phaeln was ever more restless. Parmalis could not entertain him solely as the Cardinal Pitti of Turin and his son were still visiting Lesley Castle and she had somehow become the young prince's tour guide. So alone in his library, Phaeln restlessly skimmed through a random book he had grabbed from the bookshelf to keep his hands busy. The Marquis was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts, he failed to hear Maid Naomi enter the room until she stood right next to him. Startled, he scraped his long, tapered fingers across the edge of a gilded page. Phaeln winced as he realized blood was seeping through his skin.
"Oh, je suis désolée. I am so sorry, your Lordship. I did not mean to startle you," Naomi gasped.
"Oh, no. It wasn't your fault. It was entirely mine. Vraiment, really, it is quite alright," Phaeln smiled easily in between his winces of pain.
"Here, s'il vous plait, please let me," Naomi took his elegant fingers and placed it in her mouth, sucking away the metallic tasting bitter blood, before she wiped it with her immaculately white handkerchief, which she had fished out from her voluminous sleeve.
"Uh…merci, thank you Maid Naomi," Phaeln dampened his alarm instantaneously as he thanked her quickly before taking back his hand and rising from the chair with the swiftness of a cat.
Phaeln was at the moment overwhelmed with a sensation that felt uncomfortable but as a gentleman, he did not wish to presume anything and alarm the young woman. Naomi saw her chance however. The Marquise was sequestered in her chambers and the rest of the Lesleys were all busy with other matters, so there would be no interruptions.
"Marquis…" Naomi started as she walked towards his side.
He looked tiredly towards her direction and stepped back in confusion. Naomi pressed her lips against his and shuddered as she felt his soft skin against hers. Her chest pressed up against his, she bade him to kiss her more deeply. Overcome, Phaeln responded and pressed her against the bookshelf. He sensed that she was more experienced than his Téresitte as Naomi manipulated his tongue with great dexterity. However as she guided his hands to the exposed tops of her chest—she had earlier ripped off the modest neck coverings—he recoiled back.
"Je suis désolé…please forgive me, Maid Naomi, I have no idea what came over me…" he whispered with horror.
"Non, Monsieur…no, do not be sorry," she breathed as she pressed on. Her habit fell off, letting her dark hair fall loosely about her and her fingers flew to unlace his pants.
"Non. Please, Maid Naomi…stop, I beg of you," Phaeln implored with hushed tones as he struggled to stop her.
She was an expert however, she had learned a lot from her trainings in the Vatican. His clothes were soon unlaced as were hers and she quickly exposed him.
Startled and horrified, Phaeln tried to stop her as gently as he could, for she was still a lady and he a gentleman but she had already gathered him in her warm embrace and he could not resist her advances. Naomi had long learned during her years of training in the Holy City that men appreciated this from her more than any other service and was quite confident that the Marquis would agree to her talents. However as she proceeded to descend upon his exposed flesh, he firmly pushed her away. His handsome visage was contorted with a mixture of revulsion and shame.
"Assez, Look Mademoiselle! I have put up with this long enough…I have tried to discourage you, but you have persisted therefore I have resorted to such violence. Please forgive me, Maid Naomi, but I cannot…I will never feel such affections for you. You are as much my sister as Parmalis is. C'est tout…that is all."
"Mais je ne suis pas votre sœur, Monsieur Marquis! I am not your sister. I am your Handmaiden! It is I who should have the honor of residing in your chamber when your wife is ill! Embrassez-moi puisque je suis vôtre…Take me for I am yours! Why can't you see that?" Naomi tearfully pleaded as she looked up into Phaeln's grimace.
"S'il te plait, mademoiselle. Please cover yourself, I suspect that Parmalis shall be asking for you soon," he ignored her monotonously as he resumed his polite demeanor.
"I am not a servant!" she vehemently answered as she glared at him.
"Non, bien sûr…no, of course not. But I feel that you do not fully understand your true nature. You are not a servant, Mademoiselle, but a Handmaiden. You were one of many pretty girls plucked from obscurity, squalor, and ignorance by those in the Holy City. They preyed on your impoverished weakness and gave you pretty clothes to disguise your origins, taught you basic etiquette and expected the aristocracy to blindly join the charade and pledge undying loyalty to the Church because of our base affection for your kind. You are not a servant, my lady, but someone far more desolate. You and your kind are pawns of the Vatican, costumed harlots pretending devotion…you are no better than the ludicrous Seers. Servants at the very least have their dignity, they live purposefully and goodly in service, proud of their physical labors. You and your kind, how can you bear to carry those ridiculous crosses? Are you not even the tiniest bit ashamed to masquerade like that in front of your blessed Father gazing down on you from heaven?" Phaeln caught his breath as he finished his tirade with both pleasure and regret.
He had finally spoken his true thoughts on the hypocrisy of the Handmaiden tradition, but at the same time he regretted releasing all his anger upon the poor Handmaiden sitting before him.
"Forgive me, your Lordship. I did not know that you felt that way about Handmaidens. This desolate soul shall never again darken your path," Naomi muttered with shame before she rose and left the remorseful Marquis.