Mike Arram
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‘Smells a bit like an old church,’ Gilles observed. ‘Yes indeed, minheer Gilles,’ agreed Erwin Wenzel, who had materialised out of the labyrinthine passages to the rear of the old house. Felix whispered something in his boyfriend’s ear, which got them both snorting and giggling. ‘Let me guess,’ Ruprecht observed, ‘it was a comment about how kinky it would be to do it in a church.’ ‘How did you know?’ replied Felix, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s a common fantasy among
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He's a sensitive man who's had his disappointments and made bad choices, for sure, and that adds maturity to the soul. Still, Rupe's not embittered by it and can take joy in the fresh love of the two boys who're dear to him. So there's hope.
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The audience in the palace orangery rose to its feet in applause that was more than polite. Felix broke into a grin as he bowed his acknowledgment, then held out his hand to his mother and led the applause for his accompanist. But the acclaim was really for him, for his playing in the Auerbach duet for flute and keyboard had been truly exquisite. The audience returned to its seats and Felix hesitantly announced that he wished to play some variations on Francien country dances he had himself comp
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It's a chapter a day for 30 more days, Gary, and I hope you find time to follow the story through. I gotta confess I am all too fond of cliffhangers: one of my weaknesses as an author, the other is happy endings. 😏
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GA's Newest Classic Author: Mike Arram
Mike Arram commented on Graeme's blog entry in Gay Authors Archive
I appreciate it fellers. GA is a friendly place and my! Readers are responsive here. -
‘Morning, Grossmutta,’ Ruprecht looked up from his paper and greeted the princess as she arrived in the breakfast room. Outside it was another glorious early autumn day, the lawns at the rear of the palace still twinkling with a heavy dew fall. The princess kissed him on his head and took up another of the morning papers, while a footman poured a cup of the herbal tea she insisted she enjoyed. ‘Is there anything interesting happening out in the world I should know of?’ she asked.
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Ruprecht was not able to settle after the interview with his grandmother, and what was more there was no way of relieving the impact of her bad news by sharing it with a confidant. He just had to bottle up his worry and tension. For a while he paced his apartment, taking up his books to stare at them blankly, and then put them down. Finally, he rang for Gilles and instructed him to have a horse saddled. ‘Do you ride, Gillot?’ he asked. ‘Yes, monsieur.’ ‘Good, then go down t
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I hope you have sticky fingertips, Don. They'll get a lot of use in this story.😄
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The vile Kristian is my favourite character and was so easy to write. Why is it that evil characters just liven up the story whenever they appear? See how he develops for you.
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Thanks for the welcome! I need all the reassurance I can get as dawn breaks over a Brexit-bound Britain. Seriously, it's great to discover I'm Classic. Any older I'll be Vintage.
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The cocking of the pistol was preternaturally loud in the quiet parlour. Ruprecht’s mind was racing though his tongue was frozen. To be sure, he had sadly underestimated the ferocity and ruthlessness of the young king who was pointing the gun at his head, seduced as he was meant to be by his angelic looks and whimsical charm. Thank God he had kept from the king the fact that Gilles had been let in on the secret. Gilles’s distrust of his smiling, hilarious guest was now fully justified, but at le
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The Auberge aux Falaises had hosted Ruprecht during his extended stays in Chasancene over the past years. When first he arrived at the auberge Gilles Parmentier had been a doe-eyed, shy child of eleven, still in school. Ruprecht had watched him grow to be a slim, serious youth who was drawn progressively into the family business and seemed resigned to it, though several long conversations had indicated that the boy had considerable intellectual resources. What Ruprecht had not been in a p
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It was chilly in the early light as Ruprecht von Aalst clambered up on deck, stretched and looked around. The pleasant smell of breakfast reached his appreciative nostrils from the galley astern of him as he picked his way across the ropes and chains of the foredeck to the prow. Morning mist obscured the quays and bustle of the great port in which his transport was moored, but his ears picked up the muffled shouts of stevedores, the whistle and clank of a shunting engine further along the quay,
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Ruprecht von Aalst, noble dilettante, diplomat and scholar, blunders into a political minefield: but is it an accident or someone else's design? More and more he comes to believe he's a prisoner of the past he studies, and that forces from his world's own lost history are breaking through into the present to steer it into a new future, but for whose benefit?
