Grinning, Mrs. Sommers pulled up a chair beside him. “Let’s see. Oh, he was suspended from school when he was about your age. You see, back then, the church had more of a hand in running the academy, and the church isn’t known for sparing the rod. Children were often struck for simple misdemeanors such as daydreaming, forgetting homework, or passing notes. Your father had a huge crush on Lucy Michaels at the time.”
“Lucy Michaels?” he asked, taking a bite of roast.
“Well, you know her as Lucy Jefferson,” she said, winking at him.
“Loren’s wife?” he gasped and Mrs. Sommers nodded.
Loren was a general in the Premier Royal Guard, and the king’s childhood friend. A few months ago, Loren had helped rescue him from the clutches of his father’s arch-nemesis, William LeMasters. For reasons unknown to him, LeMasters had a sick fascination, an obsession really, with inflicting pain and suffering on his father through any means necessary. William had kidnapped him from the woods behind his grandparents’ home. Then, when he discovered Xavier true identity, he found great joy in torturing him. He was held captive and tortured for nearly three months, and he began longing for death. He was certain LeMasters would have accomplished that if his father and Loren hadn’t rescued him. This failure had infuriated LeMasters, and he set his sights on his next vulnerable target: Xavier’s mother. Unfortunately, Julia Wells hadn’t survived her encounter with William LeMasters. The raw grief of his mother’s death still tugged at him, and now, with his thoughts back in his room, he sighed.
“Are you all right, young sire?” Mrs. Sommers asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, trying to smile. Feeling her eyes burrow into him, Xavier quickly resumed the subject of his father’s mischief. “So, Dad had a thing for Lucy when they were kids?”
“Ah, yes, Lucy. Anyway, he was caught passing her a note in history and was sent to Headmaster O’Brien, who took a switch to his hands and then called your grandfather. Poor boy had marks on his hands for weeks. Anyways, your father, being the perpetual hot head, vowed to get even with Headmaster O’Brien.” Mrs. Sommers chuckled. “And, boy, did he ever! Your father…”
“Is quite certain that he doesn’t want his son to hear any more of that story,” Jeremiah’s voice interrupted from the door.
“Now, Jeremiah,” she chastised, “are you going to try and tell this boy that you’ve never stepped out of line?”
“No, but I don’t want to encourage his knack for trouble either,” he noted ruefully.
“What did Father do?” Xavier asked, hoping Mrs. Sommers would continue despite his father’s protests.
“He filled the headmaster’s desk with manure,” she whispered melodramatically.
“Ewww! He didn’t!” Xavier exclaimed, his eyes darting to his father, who seemed to be squirming uncomfortably in the doorway.
“Emma…” Jeremiah began but she cut him off.
“Yes, he did. Your grandfather was furious beyond words, and I must say I truly felt sorry for him. You may think your father is tough with you, but believe me, King Wells Senior was an even more severe disciplinarian. I always thought he was way too harsh,” Emma concluded, looking at Jeremiah with empathy. “I’m not sure how many times he struck him, but I do know I had to run him an oatmeal bath to ease the pain afterwards.”
“All right, Emma. That’s enough. No more stories for tonight. Thank you,” Jeremiah sighed, stepping into the room.
“Yes, sire.” She smiled at Xavier and kissed him on the forehead. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Sommers. And, thanks for the story.”
She smiled conspiratorially. “Oh, I have plenty more, but they’ll have to wait for another day.” Then she stood and left the room.
Silence hung heavily in the air as Jeremiah surveyed the room and Xavier continued to pick at his meal.
“Well, it’s looking much better,” his father finally noted. “If you hang up your clean clothes and put the dirty ones in the hamper, the rest can wait until the morning. I’ll have Milton install a new monitor tomorrow,” he added, inspecting the computer.
“Yes, sir,” Xavier muttered. He pushed the mostly full plate away from him and looked up at his father’s studying eyes. Without a word, Jeremiah pulled out the chair next to him and sat.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he began. “For the next three weeks, you and I will work for one hour every night after dinner to get you caught up in Latin. Then it will be up to you to keep practicing and studying.”
“Yes, sir,” Xavier replied.
“But, next time you start falling behind in your studies ask for help. I don’t ever want to find out that you’re struggling with a class like this again. Got it?”
Xavier nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 2
Dreams
Following the brutal murder of Julia Wells, William LeMasters began working on another plan to bring King Wells to his knees and ultimately gain control over Warwood. This time LeMasters’ goal was to use the King’s Key, a small, magical staff, to obtain additional powers so that he and his army could sweep through Warwood invincible. However, only the king or his heir could wield the key. So, he kidnapped the prince and held him captive in the ruins, an underground system of passages and chambers, where he attempted to coerce the boy into using the key and endowing him with every power known to empowered-kind.
But, LeMasters had miscalculated the power of the key in the hands of the boy. If it hadn’t been for the key, Xavier wouldn’t have obtained the ability to expose Dr. Angelo who had transfigured into his mother’s image in attempt to manipulate him. If it hadn’t been for the key, the king wouldn’t have materialized in the ruins and rescued him. If it hadn’t been for the key, they would have all been blown to smithereens. The key had saved his life.
The night following the telekinetic tornado in his room, Xavier dreamt of his mother for the first time since after his father had rescued him from the ruins. The dreams he had back then had been nightmares that depicted his mother’s torturous death at the hands of William LeMasters. But, on this night, the dream was different, peaceful, and a longing for happier times.
In the dream, he found himself on a familiar beach with a small bungalow behind him. The surf rumbled onto the shore, and the sun began to slip behind the trees, casting a warm golden hue over the area. Xavier heard a chuckle to his right and turned to see a couple strolling up the shore. The woman was carrying a blanketed bundle and the man, peering at it, chuckled again, louder this time.
“Look! Look! He smiled. He smiled, Julia. Do you think he knows that I’m his Daddy?”
He instantly recognized his father’s voice and timidly moved toward the pair for a closer look. His parents stopped and sank onto a blanket spread over the sand. His mother looked beautiful and young, not beaten and tired like she had been in the last memory he had of her. His father’s face was clean-shaven, and he too looked young and handsome.
“He’s perfect,” his mother choked, fighting back tears as she looked down at the gurgling baby.
Jeremiah stroked her cheek, whisking away her tears. “Yes,” he murmured. “He’s perfect, just like his mama.” He kissed her tenderly and pulled her to him.
They snuggled against one another, reclining on the blanket. Julia lifted the infant and nestled him against her, kissing the crown of wispy white curls. Jeremiah lay next to them, stroking the baby’s back, and soon both mother and child were fast asleep. As he watched his sleeping family, his father’s face contorted with an emotion Xavier didn’t understand. He looked…grief-stricken.
When he woke, Xavier opened his eyes to moonlight spilling across his bed in a pale, mournful glow. The sounds, smells, and sights of the dream quickly slipped away, but the loneliness it stirred in him did not. He thought of his mother and what his life would have been like if she had lived. She would’ve been asleep beside his father in the next room. He could have gotten up and gone to her after a bad dream. He would have been able to f
eel her warm arms around him and heard her soft, soothing voice again. He would even welcome the impatient sigh and sharp tone she’d use whenever she was cross with him. Oh, and her laughter. What he wouldn’t give to hear her laugh again. Whenever she was really tickled, her laughter would hiccup with the occasional snort. He smiled wistfully at the memory. Lord, he missed her! He would do anything to be in her arms at that very moment, inhaling her perfumed skin. Suddenly, the room felt too big and empty, and he longed to be near his father. Without any effort at all, he telepathically reached out to his father and was surprised to find him awake.
“I need to remember to meet with Yaman and Bracus come Monday. We’ve got to stop that legislation before it gets organized. And, I should call Michael too. I can’t believe Xavier has…what is it now? Four or five abilities? I’m sure using the key last month is what gave him the telekinesis and summoning abilities.” Jeremiah chuckled. “The boy sure surprised the hell out of me by teleporting me into the ruins. I’m still not sure how he did it. Every chambers and passage in that place is lined with lead… Xavier? Why are you in my thoughts?”
“Uh…I… had a dream about Mom, and now I can’t get back to sleep. I just…I was wondering… do you think… can I sleep with you?” he stammered.
After a moment of silence, Xavier heard his father’s voice answering in his mind, “Sure. Come on.”
With a grin, Xavier jumped from his bed and tumbled to the floor with a thud, his legs tangled in his sheets. After a brief wrestling match with the covers, he scrambled to his feet and hurried to his father’s room. He entered the room quietly as though he were entering a sacred temple and found Jeremiah sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He was rubbing his hand through his hair and looked up as Xavier approached.
“Well?” Jeremiah stated with a brief smile, patting the mattress next to him. “Hop in.”
Grinning, Xavier sprinted to him and bounded to the other side of the bed. Jeremiah tucked him in, turned out the light, and settled into bed, pulling the boy close. Xavier burrowed under the covers and snuggled against his father’s warmth. He sighed heavily, feeling utterly content.
After a moment, Jeremiah spoke. “Son? What was the dream about? Was it another nightmare?”
Xavier yawned. “No, sir. I dreamt of Mom and you on the beach with me when I was a baby.” He felt his father’s body grow tense beside him.
“Go on,” Jeremiah muttered.
“It was nothing really. We were having a picnic or something on the beach. We were at that little beach house where we stayed after you busted me out of the Institute. It was kind of a nice dream actually. It just made me miss her. Why? Did that really happen? Did you and Mom go to the beach house after I was born?”
“Yeah, we did,” he replied.
They lay in silence for several moments until Xavier asked, “Dad?”
“Hmm?” he mumbled lazily.
“Why didn’t Mom and I stay with you? I mean, why were we sent away to live with Grandma and Grandpa?” he questioned.
Jeremiah didn’t answer straight away, but when he did, he spoke so softly that Xavier had to hold his breath to hear him. “It was because of LeMasters.”
“William LeMasters?”
“Yes. He was a citizen of our kingdom at one time. In fact, his mother raised him here. My father had always believed that any empowered person who sought citizenship should be granted it. William was a bad seed; everyone saw it except his mother, of course. She was a sweet lady, Daphne LeMasters. Growing up, I often butted heads with William. I’d bet that most of the trouble I got into as a kid was in some way connected to him. After we grew up, our childhood petty differences grew into something more sinister. Then, on the day of your christening, the prophet came to perform his part in the ceremony…”
“The prophet?” Xavier interrupted.
“The prophet is an old hermit who lives…well, no one is quite sure where he lives, but he always manages to show up whenever he’s needed or has a duty to perform. The prophet is the most powerful oracle in the world. His visions are extremely accurate and nothing to trifle with. Whatever he says is going to happen will happen unless something is done to actively interfere with it.” He sighed before continuing. “Anyway, the prophet came and performed the divination during your christening. The reading was going along normally until suddenly the prophet went rigid and began speaking in a monotonous, bizarre voice.”
Xavier wasn’t sure what a divination was, but he held his breath and waited for his father to continue. When he didn’t immediately, his impatience got the better of him, and he whispered, “What did he say, Father?”
“He repeated one phrase over and over. He said that you would be killed before the end of your first year.”
“He said that…I would…die. Someone would kill me?” he asked, feeling cold and uneasy.
His father, sensing his fear, pulled him closer. “William wanted the throne so badly that he would have killed anybody to get to it. So, after a close call with your lives, I took you and your mother out of Warwood. Your dream was a post-monition, a vision of a true event that has already occurred. It was a vision of that day. The day I took you both to the beach house to protect you. The day I had to tell your mother to leave Warwood with you.”
There was another long pause, and Xavier snuggled closer to his father, feeling his regret and despair. Now, he understood the expression on his father’s face during the dream. He had been preparing to send his family away, and for the first time, he realized how hard that must have been for him.
“Dad?” he muttered.
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you when you tried to tell me this at the beach house. I’m sorry I ever blamed you for any of it.”
“Oh, son. It’s not your fault. You had every right to be angry. You weren’t brought up in the most loving of homes. It ate away at me to read your thoughts when your grandparents were mistreating you. I begged your mother to come home to me after William and his followers were disbanded, but she refused. She was still fearful something would happen to you. I wish now that I had insisted.” He patted the boy affectionately and sighed. “It’s getting late, son. You better get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir. Goodnight, Father,” he muttered, though it was some time before sleep would come.
Xavier stood next to his father in Center Square, facing a pudgy man who was in a heated discussion with a panel of four high-ranking officials. He recognized two men from the group at once as Governor Bracus, of the Merchant District, and Governor Yaman, of the Wellington Area. The Square had been cleared of all its shops and booths, and all that remained was a small, marble altar. A large crowd gathered behind them, and a thick air of apprehension lingered like a fog. The man turned his gaze to Jeremiah, and nothing short of contempt contorted his round, ruddy face. After the long glare, he turned and nodded briskly at Loren and Ephraim. Without a word, Loren drew Jeremiah toward the altar in the center of the Square. The crowd around them began to chant and shout viciously. Xavier spun around staring bewilderedly at the mob’s sudden change in demeanor.
Loren spoke to Jeremiah, but Xavier couldn’t hear what he said over the ranting crowd. As he watched, Loren grasped the king by the shoulders and drove him to his knees. He knelt without resistance, and Loren peeled back the white cloak draped over his shoulders. The king rose and grasped the edges of the altar, his face unreadable and rock hard. The hair on Xavier’s body stood on end, and he suddenly felt very afraid. Then, begrudgingly, Loren stepped forward, pulled a whip back and over his head, swung it, and struck him across the back. With the briefest of hesitations, Ephraim stepped forward and followed with a blow of his own. Repeatedly, Loren and Ephraim pelted the king with lash after lash.
Xavier was stunned. Why? Why were his father’s closest companions beating him to a pulp?
“NO! Stop! Loren, Ephraim, stop! You’re hurting him! Please, stop! Dad! Daddy!
No!”
Xavier bolted upright in bed, sweating and gulping for air.
Jeremiah barged out of the bathroom, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. “Xavier?” he called. He crossed the space between them in four long strides. “Are you okay?”
Xavier surveyed his father’s dripping wet face and hair and nodded. “Yeah, I had …a nightmare,” he answered meekly.
“About me?” Jeremiah asked.
“Yeah. We were in Center Square, but all the little shops were gone. There was only a white table-like thing. Loren made you kneel and then… he and Ephraim started beating you with whips in front of everybody,” he explained miserably.
“What?” Jeremiah guffawed.
“It’s not funny, Dad!” he blurted indignantly. “I’m telling you it…”
“Was just a dream. It was only a dream, Xavier,” he soothed, stroking the boy’s cheek.
He blinked heavily, staring up at his father’s gentle face.
“Loren and Ephraim would never betray me. There’s nothing to worry about. It was only a dream,” he insisted, giving him a reassuring smile.
Xavier nodded and tried to smile back. It hadn’t felt like a dream. It had felt real, concrete, and inevitable, but he didn’t say a word as his father patted and kissed his head, before returning to his shower.
Chapter 3
Rivals
After spending the entire day Saturday cleaning his room, Xavier had plans to sleep in on Sunday morning, but his father had other plans.
“Church? You go to church?” Xavier asked, astounded, at the breakfast table.
The king nodded without looking up from his newspaper, The Empowered Press.
“How come we’ve never gone since I’ve been here?” he asked.
“I wanted to give you time to adjust to your new life before I exposed you to the entire kingdom’s population every Sunday,” Jeremiah answered.
“Do I have to go? I mean, why do I have to go?” he beseeched.
The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2) Page 2
