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"I don't recognize you anymore." The Chevalier spoke, his eyes glossy with tears as he looked at his former lover, sitting small and defeated on the foot of his bed.
It broke him, to see the pain in Philippe's teary eyes, the way he tried holding it together at all cost before whispering, "Neither do I." A quiet sob escaped his lips, his head lowering to hide the tears behind the curtain of hair. He looked so small, so broken as he curled into himself, the cries spilling.
A sudden urge to reach out and touch the Prince came over Lorraine, but he refrained when Liselotte sat next to him on the bed instead. She rubbed his back and comforted him. As Lorraine watched it, he was once again reminded of his place. He was nothing more than a past lover. He did not belong between the two of them.
"Louis' done this to you, hasn't he?" Liselotte asked.
"He's doing it to all of us. One way or another." The Chevalier answered, his eyes not leaving Philippe who seemed to be entirely out of it.
"You have to talk to him, Philippe. He doesn't listen to anyone else. You can't just give up." She gently spoke, trying not to scare away the Prince that barely seemed to be listening, too wrapped up in the darkness that held him.
"He's gone too far. I can't reach him anymore." He looked up at his wife.
The Chevalier stepped forward, unable to resist his urge to touch him. Hold him. Do something. He could not refrain.
With the gentlest touch, he lifted Philippe's face by leading his chin, his heart shattering when the Prince looked at him with large, pleading eyes. He was begging. Begging to be saved, to be salvaged from the chaos around him.
"Whatever your brother's done to you is a damned shame." Lorraine managed to speak, afraid that if he attempted to say more, he would crumble with him.
He made to walk away and flee the pain he'd have left behind and he was about to when Philippe's hand on his stopped him. "Don't. Stay." He rasped, the same pleading eyes, except now they were filled with tears. "Please." The plea was merely a squeak, his voice cracking.
"I don't think that's the best idea-"
"Please. I realize… you and Delphine- I know. I just-" His hand tightened around the Chevalier's. "Please."
Every ounce of his body was begging the Chevalier to give in. Do as he pleases, stay. And yet, "Philippe-"
"You're right, Philippe. I do not know who I have become. I no longer know what I am." His breaths grew heavy as he tried to ground his pain, the floor slipping from underneath him.
"Lorraine," Liselotte whispered as she held on tight to her husband. She did not have to say much, yet the Chevalier understood. She was asking the same as Philippe. Asking out of concern.
The debate in the Chevalier's head was readable, the constant push and pull. Yet the pull he had to Philippe was much stronger than anything his mind could conjure up. So he gave in. He squeezed the Prince's hand back and stepped closer, only for Philippe to wrap his arms around his waist and pull him in. His face was buried in Lorraine's coat as sobs tumbled, the flow of tears turning him into a trembling mess.
Getting the message, Liselotte stood from Philippe's side to allow Lorraine the spot but when he made to take it, Philippe gripped harder onto him.
"Don't go!" He looked up, cheeks blotched with tears.
"I'm not." The Chevalier assured as he took a seat next to Philippe on the bed and allowed him to bury himself into Lorraine's safe arms.
"I'll give you a moment," Liselotte whispered before reaching down to press a kiss to Philippe's hair. The silence between that and the door shutting behind her was cushioned by the Prince's cries, growing louder when they were now alone.
"He killed him. He killed him, now he is buried and forgotten. He's nothing but soil and bones." Philippe sobbed, his broken voice muffled by the Chevalier's attire.
"Who?" He inquired, slightly alarmed.
"Our father. Louis- Louis k-killed him." Philippe hiccuped. "I thought he wouldn't. I didn't think he had it in him, I swear I didn't."
"Shh, shh, shh… It's alright." The Chevalier wrapped him closer and could not resist burrowing his nose in the Prince's hair, no matter how much he smelt of alcohol and debauchery.
"It's not." He broke down, his cries growing louder and his hands wrapping around Lorraine's coat to desperately grip onto, as if afraid of him leaving. "It's not okay, it'll never be okay again."
"Philippe, what are you talking about?" The Chevalier felt his own tears brimming his eyes.
"I did not think he was capable of all that he's doing, truly. I wasn't." Philippe wept, making himself even smaller. "What happened to him? What… what happened to me?" The pain was almost too much to bear. It got so bad, he wanted to scream, simply in an attempt to banish it from viciously gripping at his heart so. "I let go of the one man that's ever dared to love me, t-the one person I need. I threw my daughter to the wolves, and my son is gone. My father has met his maker and now I am nothing. Not even sleep will bring me release, Philippe, not even sleep." The Prince cried.
"Philippe…" The Chevalier sniffled, trying to hold back tears while his fingers thread in Philippe's hair.
"I'm sorry." He squeezed him tighter against his own body. "I'm sorry for how I have treated you, you deserve none of it. I just- m-my head… it happened again. The death, the chaos around me. It still comes to me at night." Philippe quivered.
It pained the Chevalier, a surge of pity and need to protect washing over him as he kissed his hair and combed his fingers through them.
And then it came to him. Like a spark of an idea lighting. Philippe needed the safety and stability he once had, now taken from under him to leave him so shattered. Luckily, Lorraine knew just how to provide that.
"And what do we do when such thoughts plague us?" He tried to stern his voice up, ensure it held the authority he once possessed over the Prince. One beyond titles and ranks.
"I-I don't know-" Philippe was too jarred by his own pain to notice, not until the Chevalier brought his fingers underneath Philippe's chin to lift his face.
"Yes, you do know. What do we do when such thoughts plague us?" He asked again, more stern and unwavering.
"W-we… we relax, recite, and read." It came to him as if he were rehearsing a poem or song, the words etched until he knew them by heart.
"That's right." The Chevalier smiled.
They had set up the rules after the first time Philippe had returned from war and nightmares would not escape him. By doing it enough, Philippe had begun to drive away the nightly recurrence until it became spare. And even then, they knew how to handle it when a particularly bad night would find them.
Relax. This included deep breaths, affirmations, understanding his surroundings and becoming aware of what just happened. It helped ground the Prince and get him off the initial panic of being woken up so abruptly.
Recite. This would require the Chevalier. Philippe would speak the dream back to him, sometimes even would go on tangents about memories not related to the dream. Whatever he needed to speak, he could. He was free to speak of all that held him down and brought him pain, whatever that may be.
And finally, read. Sometimes, the Prince would simply fall asleep recounting the dream and talking to Lorraine, but when that did not prove sufficient, the Chevalier found that it helped Philippe to read a book, whether out loud or to himself. Tossing and turning in bed proved fruitless, so getting his mind working away from the nightmares brought him solace, and he would read until his eyes were heavy and his mind was shutting off.
And now the Chevalier reminded him of it, the simple system that proved foolproof every time.
"Relax, recite and read… relax, recite and read," Philippe mumbled to himself, registering the step by step procedure.
"That's right." The Chevalier nodded. "Deep breaths. What's going on? Speak to me." He encouraged, wiping Philippe's tears away with his thumbs. "Where are we?"
"M-my rooms." He brokenly said.
"Why are we here?"
"I… I was playing cards. I got in a fight."
"That's right. Who was just here?"
"Liselotte? Naked men?" He made the Chevalier smile.
"Mhm, and why are we upset?"
"B-bec-because of Louis." He hiccuped.
"Are we physically hurt? How's our body?"
"My nose hurts." Philippe lifted the fingers to his nose but no blood transferred. "I'm no longer bleeding. I'm…. I'm so drunk."
Just the first step and Philippe was no longer sobbing, too occupied with the Chevalier's voice and answering his questions. His eyes had begun to focus, no longer wandering aimlessly without registering anything.
"Good. Now, would you like to tell me what's wrong? Or would you rather tell Liselotte? Someone else, perhaps?" It pained Lorraine to suggest anyone other than himself but he knew that whatever was going on, Philippe might not want him to know.
But the Prince shook his head.
"I'm so empty." He whispered.
"My dear, no. What have I told you? Deattatch yourself. Concrete happenings. What's the issue?" Lorraine asked, his voice a mere whisper.
"Louis killed our father."
"Louis was four when your father died. How could he have killed him?" The Chevalier's confusion made Philippe realize he truly had no idea what was going on.
"H-he… it's a long story. Not that father." He decided he should change the subject. "My children have been taken from me."
"What else?" The Chevalier soothed Philippe's hair as he rest his head on Lorraine's shoulder.
"So much. I don't know. I just feel so broken and I do not know why." He buried his face in his ex-lover's soft, golden hair, the scent calming him. "I sometimes… I feel as if I am but an observer. The world goes on without me, court life flourishing without me, and I am merely looking from the outside. It's so lonely. Perhaps this is what ghosts feel like. Yes, that is what it is. I feel like a ghost. Inconsequential. But a name and a grave and nothing more."
He hiccuped and attempted to remain calm as he spoke but tears were welling in his eyes once again. But the Chevalier chose not to stop him. The Prince had to get it out, to speak to someone and Lorraine knew it would not be anyone else but him.
"Following a man in an iron mask, having a job a-a purpose. It saved me. I finally was doing something. And no one asked for it but it was alright because it was mine and I controlled it. And now… Louis-" He broke down again, sobbing in the Chevalier's arms.
"Shh, I'm here. Shh," Lorraine soothed, holding him as the Prince wept.
"But for how long? You're in love. You belong to someone else and you're in love."
"I am…" The Chevalier whispered, murmuring to himself but he was not sure what he meant by it. Not when he looked at Philippe. He was. He was so deeply in love, and not with the person he thought.
"I just want peace. I just don't want to hurt anymore." Philippe squeezed his eyes shut.
"When do you feel most at peace then?" Lorraine asked, running his finger through Philippe's hair. But Philippe remained quiet. The Chevalier knew, though, that he was not thinking. Far from it. He was drawing blanks. "Philippe. You need rest. Are you tired?"
"I'm tired." He whispered.
"Let us get you to bed. I will not come in with you since you do not want it but you require the rest. Come on." He helped the Prince to his feet, arms wrapped around him in a half-carry. Philippe did not protest, he did not try to fight. He just went alone, mouldable and soft in Lorraine's arms.
The Chevalier brought him over to the head of the bed and pulled the covers back before laying Philippe down on the pillows. He knelt down beside him and brought the covers over his smaller body until Philippe looked drowned by the sheets.
"Tomorrow will be a new day. A beautiful day. And you will awaken, and you will take control of every misfortune that's ever happened to you. Even if it means fleeing far away from here." He kissed his forehead and brushed back his hair.
Philippe simply stared ahead, emotion and tears drained out of him until he felt nothing anymore.
"You did a great job tonight," Lorraine whispered just as he would when they were together, affirming him. "I am quite pleased." The words felt off without the force of their power dynamic, but despite not being in control of the Prince, the Chevalier knew that those desires were still deep-rooted in Philippe and he required that affirmation above all. "Thank you for doing as I asked."
Philippe shut his eyes and relaxed against the pillows, listening to the sound of Lorraine's voice rock him to sleep.
"You have been so good. I am so happy with you." He smiled, watching the Prince drift off and he thought he'd completely faded when he heard him.
"He still took an extra card." He mumbled, referring to the noble he was playing cards with, the reason he got in a fight. It made the Chevalier smile a sad smile before he leaned in to kiss his hair.
"He didn't," Lorraine whispered to himself and sure enough, the sleepy Prince heard nothing. He was falling into a slumber, his body having exhausted itself with adrenaline and crying.
He stayed a little longer, running his fingers through Philippe's hair and following his constant breathing pattern. How the Chevalier missed it, the small details of the Prince that he'd memorized with time. He missed the pattern in which his eyelashes would flutter when he slept, and the way he would grip onto the pillow for security. He missed watching him awaken, when his face swelled with rest and his cheeks would glow with morning sunlight. He missed it all, yet he had to muster the courage to walk away.
The Prince was not his to love any longer, he did not belong to Lorraine, and his earlier comment about slipping into his breeches was enough for the blonde to know there was no way for them to return to each other if Philippe did not initiate it. He'd put walls around himself and the Chevalier would not try and crush them down. But he would try and lure him out so the walls would be brought down on their own.
With a last kiss on his forehead, Lorraine stood and forced himself to walk out and leave the Prince peacefully asleep in his own bed.
He would go tell Liselotte he was resting and not to wake him, and she would only sigh and nod before thanking the Chevalier.
"I will see you in the morning." He placed a peck on her cheek and made his way out.
Rest barely came to him that night and no matter how much tossing and turning he did, every time he held a pillow, his only thought was Philippe. What it was like to hold him in his sleep, to be held by him. The rhythm of his breaths and the slight movements to get comfortable.
But it was all gone now, it was no longer his. And the Chevalier spoke himself into forgetting.
Yet no amount of speaking could ever erase the Prince that was carved into his heart. It was useless to try.