The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2)

by J. Noel Clinton

  “Son,” his father interrupted, caressing his cheek until he looked up at him. “Go up to your room. I’ll be up in a couple of minutes after I see to the dismissal of our guest.”

  He hesitated, suddenly anxious of leaving his father’s side for even a moment.

  “Go on, Xavier. I’ll be there in a minute,” he reassured as he guided him toward the door.

  Xavier left the library and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Suddenly feeling very tired, he collapsed onto his bed. But, the old man’s gnarled face flashed into his mind every time he closed his eyes, and his words kept replaying in his mind. “Even you have begun to sense it…children will begin to die…the Royal Guard will be massacred…your father will die…” He fought against the fear freezing his insides, and he shivered violently.

  Nearly ten minutes later, Jeremiah entered the room, looking drained. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. He just scared me,” he replied, trying to sound unbothered, but failed. “Will I have to see him again? He gives me the creeps.”

  His father crossed the room and sat on the bed next to him. “Yes, son. You’ll be seeing him again tonight for the divination.”

  He grimaced. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, son. You do,” Jeremiah insisted gently.

  Fear clutched at his chest, and his breathing became erratic at the thought. “Father?” he squeaked. “Just promise me something. Promise me you won’t leave me alone with him again.”

  The king’s gaze jerked to the boy, and he frowned. “What did he say to you, Xavier?”

  “I…nothing. I just… he looks so…he’s scary,” he muttered.

  His father studied him a moment before responding. “All right. I promise I won’t leave you alone with him again.” He patted Xavier’s knee and stood. “You should get some rest. It’s going to be a very long night.”

  Chapter 7

  Divination

  All too soon for Xavier’s preference, his father was shaking him awake to prepare for the divination. Next to LeMasters, there weren’t many people he feared like he now did the prophet. Shortly before midnight, Jeremiah led him out of the palace with Ephraim and Loren and a very sleepy Courtney and Erica shuffling behind them. Both men had obeyed Jeremiah’s instructions without question, even though a midnight meeting was highly unorthodox.

  “Milton, we must stop at the Minnows for Dublin and Roberta,” Jeremiah informed him as they piled into the limo. Milton drove directly to the Minnows’ residence and Jeremiah, not waiting for Milton to open his door, bounded out of the car and up to the dark house. A moment later, a sleepy-eyed Dublin answered the door, and after a few brief words from Jeremiah, Dublin nodded and went back inside the house. Jeremiah returned to the car and slid into the seat next to Xavier.

  “He’s getting Robbie,” he told him before looking at the bewildered men sitting across from them. “I know all of this is quite unusual but when Dublin and Robbie arrive, I’ll explain everything. I truly appreciate your unconditional loyalty, gentlemen.”

  Several minutes later, Dublin came hurrying out of the house, nudging a yawning Robbie in front of him. Once they were all loaded in the car, Jeremiah opened the small window that separated the back compartment of the limo from the driver.

  “Milton, take us to Saint Christopher,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sire,” Milton answered dutifully.

  Jeremiah closed the window, turned, and regarded the group. “The prophet has called for Xavier’s Royal Divination to be done now, in secret.” As Jeremiah went on to explain everything the prophet had said, Xavier stared out the window at the darkened streets, avoiding the puzzled and questioning stares from his friends.

  Once the king had finished filling in the group, there was a long drawn out silence. Xavier felt every eye on him and his shoulders gave under the weight of the tension in the car.

  Finally, Dublin broke the silence, worry spiking his voice up an octave. “But, why has he asked for the children to attend, sire?”

  “I don’t know, Dub,” Jeremiah answered quietly. “I guess we’ll all find out soon enough.”

  When the group entered the church, Father O’Brien rushed toward the group looking frazzled and perplexed. His white hair stood on end, and his religious robes were disheveled and wrinkled.

  “Sire! Sire! What’s going on? Abraham Vincent tells me that he is here to do the divination now! I told you that the High Counsel wishes be present for this! I could round them up and have them here within a half hour,” he blurted.

  “No, Father. You will do nothing of the sort. The people permitted to attend the divination are present. There will be no one else,” the king ordered. “Now, just relax and prepare the altar for the ceremony.”

  “But, sire…”

  “Father O’Brien. That was an order not a request!” Jeremiah’s voice was low and authoritative, and with a begrudging nod, Father O’Brien did as he was told.

  Jeremiah turned to the others. “Xavier must change and prepare for the ceremony. If the rest of you will go the pulpit, I’m sure Abraham will explain the process and your responsibilities.”

  His father placed a hand on his shoulder and led him up the aisle to the robe chamber. The moment the door shut behind them, Xavier whispered, “Father? What do I do?”

  “Very little, son. Just try to relax,” he told him softly, setting a small black bag on a table.

  “What’s that?” he asked, noticing the bag his father had carried from the palace for the first time.

  “It’s a ceremonial robe.” He pulled a white silk robe and pants from the bag. “It was mine, my father’s, and his father’s, and…well, I think you get the idea. I wore this for my Royal Communion and Divination.”

  Once Xavier was changed, Jeremiah led him from the room and out into the pulpit where the others were gathering around an altar covered with a navy velvet cloth. A large trivet with a basin of water stood off to one side, and the King’s Key and a small black vial sat on one end of the long altar. Xavier’s pace stuttered the moment Abraham Vincent stepped into view and peered all-knowingly down at him, but his father was there to guide him forward with a gentle push. When they reached the others, Father O’Brien asked for the group to join hands and bow their heads in prayer.

  Then, Abraham spoke in his slurred, gruff voice. “Sire? Please place the boy on the altar.”

  Jeremiah lifted Xavier and placed him on the hard surface. “Lay back, son,” he instructed softly. Xavier did as he was told, his eyes wide with apprehension. Jeremiah grasped his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Relax, son. I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you. You’re safe.”

  Abraham circled around the altar to face the group and Xavier. “Would everyone gather close to the boy and touch him, please. Each of your destinies is intertwined with this boy’s. It’s unclear what exactly your role will be… only the divination can give each of you that answer. Father? Please bless the boy.”

  The overwrought priest staggered forward, muttered a prayer as he anointed Xavier with holy water, before quickly backing away.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” Abraham muttered and shakily lifted the King’s Key. He stared hungrily at the luminescent object in his hands as it glowed brighter. He closed his eyes as if in prayer, but he didn’t look calm or peaceful. He appeared to be battling with some internal struggle, but it quickly passed, and when he opened his eyes, his hands no longer shook and his eyes were calm and resolute. He met Xavier’s curious stare before looking at the group.

  “Lord, provide us with the power and might of the King’s Key so that we may have the strength to intercept and understand the messages we are about to receive. Give us courage and steadfastness to do our duty even if that duty means abandoning everything we hold dear and love. God bless the key, this boy, and his destiny.”

  Xavier’s heart felt as if it had lodged itself in his throat, and he watched as the prophet swirled the King’s Key in the basin of holy wa
ter, muttering under his breath something about purifying the key. With the dripping tip of the key, he traced the sign of the cross on Xavier’s forehead as he called out, “Reveal the truth, the knowledge, and the destiny of Prince Jeremiah Xavier Wells V.” He placed the key perpendicularly above Xavier’s head on the altar. Then, he picked up the small vial and threw it into the basin of holy water, shattering its onyx-colored casing. A rumbling echoed throughout the room. The group looked around nervously with bated breath. Finally, Abraham turned with a ladle of water that had a fascinating iridescent quality to it.

  “Open the boy’s robe,” he ordered.

  Jeremiah complied without a word. Xavier watched with dread and, oddly, excitement as the prophet approached him and slowly poured the water over his chest.

  At first, Xavier felt only the water, but within seconds, a small seed of warmth formed in the center of his chest and slowly began to creep throughout his body. Soon, his entire body felt flushed and feverish as the warmth pulsating through him like a soothing heartbeat. He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling utterly content. But when he opened his eyes again, a blinding, blue light flashed over him and wrapped around him like a blanket. Xavier stiffened as he watched the light grow in intensity. But, within moments the light and its warmth evaporated, leaving Xavier with wretched emptiness. Was that it? Surely not! He looked around at the others, who were just as puzzled by the light’s briefness. Then, suddenly, a reporting boom shook the temple as the blue light reappeared above them.

  “Oh, my God,” Jeremiah muttered softly as he watched the swirling light above them, his face cast in its blue hue.

  Father O’Brien dropped to his knees and crossed himself repeatedly, muttering prayers. The air pressure around them dropped rapidly, and the light above droned louder and louder like a jet engine until finally it split into seven streamers of light and descended upon everyone except Xavier, the prophet, and Father O’Brien.

  After the light vanished, there was complete silence, and Xavier looked around. Dublin Minnows was climbing to his feet where the light had knocked him to the floor. His face was ashen as he staggered down the aisle away from the group before collapsing in the last pew and burying his face in his hands. Xavier looked at Robbie, who blushed and quickly glanced away. Xavier sat up and peered up at his father, who simply stared at him. Ephraim’s shock wore off first, and to Xavier’s chagrin, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. One by one, the others followed suit and knelt, including his father!

  “Father! Don’t! Stand up. What’s going on?” he implored.

  Jeremiah slowly stood, still staring at Xavier with the same shocked expression.

  “What?” Xavier croaked, jumping to his feet. “What is it?”

  He looked frantically around at the wide-eyed group until his gaze fell on Abraham, who watched them with an all-knowing smile.

  “What did you do? Why did you make them afraid of me?” Xavier yelled, rushing at the old man and grabbing him.

  “Xavier! We’re not afraid of you,” Ephraim whispered. “We…we’re in awe.” He looked apprehensively at Jeremiah, who hadn’t taken his eyes from the boy.

  “Dad?” Xavier questioned, going to his father and taking his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Jeremiah shook his head slowly. “I don’t think…I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you this, son. You will be a great king, greater and more powerful than me, or my father, or any of your ancestors for the last thousand years! You will develop many, many empowerments in the next couple years…I just…wow,” he concluded softly, looking down at him with more admiration and respect than Xavier had ever experienced before!

  Xavier glanced at the rest of the group and found the same awed, stunned expression.

  The ride home was so quiet that only the hum of the engine and the crunching of gravel could be heard. Xavier realized his life had just made a giant leap forward, surpassing all those around him, and he felt enigmatic and alienated. He had never felt so alone in his life.

  After dropping off the Minnows, the car finally pulled to a stop in front of the palace. Xavier followed the group as they climbed out of the limo and entered the building.

  “Ephraim, you can take the rest of the night off. Timmins will cover your duties tonight. Good night, gentlemen,” Jeremiah announced wearily.

  Neither Court nor Erica looked at Xavier as they left and that bothered him a lot. Not waiting for his father, he trudged up the stairs, feeling drained and depressed. With the reaction he received at the divination, the prophet might as well have told everyone he was a leper. Tears stung his eyes as he opened the door to the royal residence and climbed the steps to his room. Without turning on the light, he stumbled across the blackened room, fell onto his bed, and began sobbing.

  Light spilled over his bed as his bedroom door opened, and his father was at his side in an instant. He pulled the weeping boy into his arms and held him, gently rocking him.

  Chapter 8

  Repercussions

  Father O’Brien glared down at the king with something close to a smirk, as Jeremiah, leaning on a blood-smeared, white pedestal, stared brazenly back. Xavier watched this silent confrontation with his stomach twisting and retching. Two strong, unyielding arms held him tightly, keeping him from running to his father’s aid, and he turned to peer up into Dublin Minnows’ strained face.

  “Please, Mr. Minnows! Stop them!” he pleaded, but Dublin didn’t respond. He continued to watch the tense exchange between the king and Father O’Brien. Xavier followed his gaze back to the square and the nightmare unfolding there. Loren and Ephraim looked exhausted and neither seemed capable of standing upright.

  “Continue!” O’Brien screeched. “Continue or be replaced!”

  Weightily, Loren straightened and approached his bloody, battered friend with tears pooling in his eyes. Silently he pleaded with the king to end the torture, but Jeremiah shook his head. The general closed his eyes in frustration, dropping tears heavily onto his face. Then, with a despondent groan, he swung the rod and struck the king with every ounce of strength he could muster. Jeremiah instantly dropped to the ground and cried out in pain as Father O’Brien looked on, sneering and victorious.

  Xavier struggled frantically against Dublin’s arms. “Stop! Please, stop! Please,” he bellowed. Finally, he wiggled free of Dublin’s grasp and raced to Loren, who was preparing to strike again.

  Xavier sat up in bed, his face and pillow soaked with tears and his heart thumping against his chest. There was no moonlight and his room was black. Panting, he flicked on his bedside lamp and peered around the room, working to calm himself. He looked at the clock on his nightstand; it was five in the morning. Slowly, Xavier peeled back the covers and stood. Taking one last look around, he tiptoed to his father’s room. The door opened with a soft moan, and he quietly crossed the room to his sleeping father.

  “Dad?” he whispered, shaking him. “Dad?”

  “Hop in,” he mumbled, still mostly asleep.

  Relieved, Xavier clambered over his father’s body to the opposite side of the bed and burrowed under the covers next to him. He wasn’t exactly sure when he fell asleep, but he was fairly certain it was the moment his head hit the pillow.

  The next morning, Xavier was awakened by pale daylight spilling through the windows. He turned to find his father sitting up in bed watching him. He smiled. “Morning. Sleep well?”

  Xavier struggled out of the covers to sit up. “Yes, sir.”

  “When did you become my slumbering pal last night?” Jeremiah asked, kissing his forehead.

  “Around five. What time is it now?” he asked, searching around for a clock.

  “Almost ten.” His father smiled.

  “Ten! I’m late for school!” he blurted, trying to untangle himself from the blankets.

  “It’s all right, Xavier. I called Sir Spencer and explained. Besides, I want to accompany you to your Latin class at 11 o’clock.”

  “My Lat
in class?” He was bemused. “Why?”

  Jeremiah gave him a reproachful glance before standing. “So you can apologize to Madam Stokes, of course.”

  “Oh,” Xavier remarked dryly. “I forgot about that.”

  “Well, I didn’t. Now, go get a shower and get dressed. I’ll meet you in the dining hall in twenty minutes for breakfast,” Jeremiah told him, lifting him out of the bed and sending him to the door with a light smack on his bottom.

  Xavier wanted nothing more than to shrink into the shadows of the academy’s hallways as his father and Headmaster Spencer led him to his Latin class. Then, to make matters worse, the bell rang, and the normally chattering students fell silent when they saw King Wells. Jeremiah and Spencer seemed oblivious to the attention and continued their discussion as they led Xavier down the hall, up the stairway, and onto the second floor where Madam Stokes’ Latin class was about to start. Jeremiah guided Xavier into the room where they found Catherine sitting at her desk grading papers.

  “Catherine?” Jeremiah called quietly.

  Catherine looked up and grinned at the sight of him. “Jeremy, what are you doing here?”

  Jeremiah looked down at Xavier and nudged him forward. “My son has something he needs to say to you and the class.”

  Xavier jerked his head up to his father. “I have to apologize to her in front of the class?”

  Jeremiah didn’t respond verbally. Instead, Xavier heard his father’s stern voice encroaching into his thoughts. “Yes, son. Since you embarrassed her in front of the entire class, I think she deserves an apology in front of your classmates. Don’t you?”

  Before he could protest, Headmaster Spencer’s voice crowded into his mind as well, “Your father is right, Xavier. It’s either this or a week suspension.”

  Xavier sighed heavily and muttered, “I think I’d rather take the week suspension.” Jeremiah glared down at him. The classroom was nearly full when the tardy bell rang and Court and Erica scurried into the room.