That Voice, That deliciously velvet voice with undertones of a rich port and melted chocolate, crisp with its perfect annunciation. Chevalier shivered as Philippe’s tone ranged from dramatic to soft.
“The wind swirled in forceful gusts; the heady fragrance of burning heather grew stronger as the fierce storm let vent to its anger, great whips of lightening cracking the sky before scorching the shrubs. The Dark Prince had been betrayed. All of his tears, aggression and frustration embodied in the midnight storm. “Despair, despair! What use is my pathetic life if all I feel is despair?” He cried into the black skies; the purple lightening rested a moment as if to contemplate the question before pounding more blows upon the mortal earth. He reached for his dagger which he had cast aside in his rage, it lay cradled in his hands as innocent and beautiful as a virgin bride – the intricate carvings on the handle tapering into the merciless blade which reflected the slicing spears of electricity being thrust into the earth by some angry god.”
Goosebumps crawled over his skin as he forced himself to not move, he swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. He would have done anything and everything that voice asked of him as long as he could listen to its rich timbre. The words rolled over him like the waves of the warm Mediterranean Sea he had bathed in during his travels. He gripped his fingers into the bed linen to avoid touching himself. Philippe’s mouth hitched into a smirk as he continued to read, his voice pulled Chevalier this way and that, sending pathways of electricity across his skin and causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand to attention.
“Oh, the peace he would find once his body was drained of this boiling blood that burned him to the very core. It would be hours before anyone found him there, up all alone on the heath. He did not believe anyone had noted his absence and who would care anyway? He was just another cuckold who had lost his mind and his position at court. “The court” he mused. He was more popular than his dictator brother, well apart from his wayward wife it would seem.”
‘Really? Henriette owned this book? The irony’ Chevalier scoffed. Philippe paused, raising both eyebrows in disbelief.
‘Do you want me to read to you or not, I can stop if you like since you have killed the mood’. His mouth settled in an impatient pout.
‘No please, I’m a fool. The story just caught me by surprise. I’m sorry please continue’ begged Chevalier.
Philippe shook his head and smiled before taking up the story once more.
“It was then that he realised if he carried on living, he could seek his revenge upon the makers of his downfall. Revenge is sweet and best served cold. He needed to find shelter and form a plan. The storm began to die away with his anger. Strangely there remained a mist, not only upon the heath but also in the young man’s mind. He was surrounded by confusion, his judgement clouded, where would he begin?”
“His fine robes had drunk up every last drop that fell upon them, he was soaked to the skin and the cold was beginning to bite hard. He could not move; an icy hand was clutched about his heart, squeezing out the last of his warmth. As he lost consciousness, he heard the sound of an approaching horse and then nothing.”
Philippe looked across at Chevalier – eyes closed and a look of contentment on his face – the sound of his voice had wrapped around Chevalier’s mind like a lover’s caress and was bringing him a pleasure he had not expected.
‘Don’t stop! What happens now?’ demanded Chevalier.
‘The prince’s lover jumps off his horse, builds a fire to thaw out his Highness and then they ravish each other in the undergrowth like wild animals’ Philippe said with a disinterested tone and cast the book aside.
‘Really? That’s really what happens next?’ Philippe smirked and shrugged his shoulders, enjoying Chevalier’s disappointment.
‘You’re seriously abandoning the story there?’ Persisted Chevalier.
‘Yes, its all rather dull English nonsense and I think we could do better than whatever drivel follows that last passage. If you’d just rode across a heath to find me after a storm what would you do?’ Philippe edged closer, raising an eyebrow quizzically.
‘Well I’d start by getting you out of those wet clothes and try to warm you up the best way I could’.
‘Hmmm. I like the sound of that’ Philippe purred as he leant in to kiss his lover.
‘You know we should re enact this outside sometime’ suggested Chevalier.
‘Hmmm, too comfortable and warm here’ Philippe objected lazily. ‘I’m cold so warm me up’.
‘Your wish is my command Mignonette’ laughed Chevalier as he pulled the blankets up over them both and sank into his lover’s eager embrace.