“Yes, sire,” the boys chanted together.
“Good. Let’s go,” he ordered, leading the boys into the stairwell and down one flight of stairs to the children’s level.
Girls were scattered about at the foot of the stairs in pajamas, and at the sight of the boys, many squealed and raced into a room on the right.
“The lavatories are here on the right. The first door is the girls’ lavatory; the second is the boys’. Across the hall is a small library and study area.
The room next to the library is a small clothes closet. There are a few clothing items stored in the closet for emergencies. So if you need an extra shirt, underclothes, or socks, you can check there. It’s also equipped with a dumbwaiter to lower laundry directly into the laundry facility on the sixth level. Back to your right and next to the boys’ lavatory is a broom closet. Toilet paper, extra towels, soap, and other cleaning supplies can be found there if you should have the need for them.”
Halfway down the corridor, the walls ballooned out in the center and several squashy chairs and sofas cluttered around a great hearth containing a roaring fire.
“This is the commons area for both dormitories. If you need anything in the night, the guardians can be found here. The girls’ chambers are across the hall on the left, and your chambers are here on the right. You will find two chests at the foot of each bunk. Inside, you will find toiletries and other items you might need. After you pick your bunk, see Madam Applegate or me to register your bunk number and obtain clean pajamas and underclothes. Go on in and get settled, gentlemen.”
Immediately, the boys shoved their way into the dorm, each eager to choose the best bunk.
“Xavier?” his father called, beckoning him with a finger and an arched brow.
Xavier’s face turned red. The other boys jostled and bumped into him as he made his way toward the king. He knew his father wanted to finish the discussion on his attitude over his chore assignment, and judging by his expression, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Jeremiah took him by the arm and led him to the commons area next to the fire before speaking. “Son, Ephraim informed me that the only reason he pulled you from the Grand Hall was because your disgruntlement with me grew so obnoxiously apparent that you gained the attention of the citizens around you.”
He slumped under his father’s relentless stare. A hard lump wedged itself in his throat and he nodded.
The king knelt so that the boy was forced to meet his hard stare. “If you, ever, and I mean ever, embarrass me in public again, you’ll find yourself over my knee with an audience looking on. Do you understand?”
He gulped before muttering, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Dad, really I am.”
With a slow exhale, the king stood. “I appreciate that, son. Thank you. You can go and find a bed now.”
Xavier turned and nearly ran into Lana.
“Oh! Sorry, Mrs. Applegate.”
“It’s all right, sweetie. Here’s a pajama set for you,” she told him softly, handing him a small pile of flannel.
“Thanks,” he muttered before hurrying around her and slipping into the boys’ chambers.
“Hey, X! Back here!” Court called, waving at him.
Xavier sauntered toward the back corner of the room where his friends were already settled. Court had saved him the lower bed of his bunk, and he plopped his things down and sank onto the mattress.
“What’s up?” Court asked.
“Nothing,” he grumbled just as his father entered the room.
“Okay, boys, if you’ve got your beds picked out, register your bunk number with me, and then I suggest that you visit the lavatory. You’ve got fifteen minutes before lights out.”
Most of the boys left for the bathroom, leaving Xavier to make his bed and unpack his things into his assigned chest. The room reminded him of boot camp, or at least, the images of boot camps he had seen on TV. Idly, he wondered if there would be weekly inspections.
“Did you get in trouble or something?” Mac asked quietly.
Xavier looked up with a start at the other boy; he hadn’t realized Mac was still there. “What makes you ask that?” he questioned stiffly.
He shrugged passively. “I dunno. Just a guess,” he replied softly.
Suddenly, the act of smoothing out linens on the bed became intensely interesting for both boys.
“Ah, well, it’s not that big of a deal. He’s not too happy with me right now is all. I kinda messed up,” Xavier muttered as he continued to straighten his top sheet until not a single crease remained.
Mac shifted uncomfortably from behind him. “Oh, well, I just thought…well, if there’s anything I can do to help… I mean…oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged awkwardly and turned to leave.
Xavier stared after him. It was weird to see Mackenzie Clarke acting…nice.
“Hey, Mac?”
The other boy turned but didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Ah, thanks. But, Dad will get over it; he always does.” Xavier stood and grabbed his toiletry bag and pajamas. “Come on. I want to wash off and brush my teeth. After three weeks without a toothbrush, I wouldn’t be surprised if a new species of fungus was found growing on them.”
Mac snickered, and feeling more relaxed in each other’s company, the two boys headed to the lavatory.
Chapter 4
Nightmares Continue
Xavier jerked upright and slammed his head on Court’s bed above him. Court moaned nonsense but didn’t wake. The dorm was shrouded in darkness except for the soft glow flickering into the room from the corridor. Although his entire body was drenched in sweat, he shivered deeper into his covers as the dream came crashing into his thoughts like a tidal wave.
Dublin Minnows had been kneeling at the foot of the royal staircase like he had moments before William LeMasters had beheaded him. But it wasn’t LeMasters who held the sword in the dream; it was him.
“Please, Xavier. You’re the only one who can stop this. Please don’t let me die. Don’t let my girls grow up without a father. I beg you! Please, Xavier, please!” he implored.
Xavier felt a strange sense of euphoria at hearing the man’s sobs, and he chuckled wickedly. What was wrong with him? He didn’t want Mr. Minnows to die! But these thoughts didn’t seem to matter in the dream; the feelings of excitement and bloodlust ruled his actions. In horror, he raised his sword, swung it in a full, wide arc, and watched as it sliced through the kneeling man. As Dublin’s head hit the stone floor with a soft thud, he felt like throwing up. He had killed Mr. Minnows! The man who had been like a father to him was dead, and it was all his fault!
Overwhelmed by the lingering images of the dream, Xavier buried his face into his pillow, desperately trying to muffle his sobs, but like waves during a hurricane, the sobs continued to roll through him, gaining in strength and intensity. He couldn’t stop. Fearful of waking one of the other boys, he stumbled out of bed and into the hall. His father and Lana sat on a couch next to the fire, facing one another.
“Believe me, it took everything I had not to burst out laughing at the sight of his egged face and robe…” Jeremiah’s words dropped off as he caught sight of his son.
Lana followed his gaze, her smile fading.
“Xavier? What is it, son? What’s wrong?” his father asked, getting to his feet.
His valiant battle against the racking sobs was lost, and he simply broke down. Jeremiah swept to him, lifted him into his arms, and hugged him close.
“Was it another dream?” he asked softly.
Xavier nodded, and his father carried him back to the sofa and held him. With his father’s arms around him, he felt a surge of strength and was finally able to stop crying. Feeling a bit embarrassed for having bawled in front of Lana, he peered up at her shyly.
“Feeling better?” she asked, smiling and stroking his head.
He nodded.
“Do you feel like talking about it?” his father asked quietly.
He shook his head fa
natically.
“Okay. Do you think you could return to bed now?” his father asked.
“C…can I stay up with you?” he implored, looking up at his father with large, pitiful eyes.
“Xavier, you need your rest,” he told him.
“Please, Dad! I couldn’t fall asleep right now even if I wanted to. I… please…please, let me stay,” he begged.
“All right. You can stay, but I want you to lie down. Okay?” his father compromised, stroking the boy’s cheek.
Xavier smiled gratefully. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”
He stretched out on the couch between Lana and his father. With Lana’s gentle hand stroking his hair and his father rubbing his feet, Xavier felt his entire body go limp. His racing, busy mind relaxed instantly, and soon he drifted into a deep slumber.
“He looks like an angel,” Lana noted, smiling and stroking Xavier’s soft jaw.
Jeremiah chuckled. “Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving. You haven’t seen his mischievous side, not to mention that temper of his.”
“Well, I wonder where on Earth he got those qualities,” she teased with a grin.
The king laughed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this before, and you’re right. He’s definitely his father’s son. Poor kid.”
The couple sat for several minutes in silence watching and listening to the boy’s even breathing as he slept calmly.
“Does he have nightmares often?” Lana whispered.
Jeremiah nodded, staring at his sleeping son and rubbing his legs soothingly.
“What are they about, Jeremiah?” she asked.
He gave her a haunted look before answering. “Lately, they’ve been about Dublin’s death,” he muttered.
“Dublin’s death?” she hissed. “You mean he saw Dublin Minnows die?”
Jeremiah’s face turned to stone. He stood abruptly and scooped the sleeping prince into his arms as though he weighed nothing at all. He carried the boy back into the dormitory and gently laid him on his bed. He stepped back and watched as Lana covered his son with a blanket and brushed a lock of hair from his face. Then, he turned and treaded heavily from the room.
After a final stroke to Xavier’s cheek, Lana left the dormitory and found Jeremiah leaning against the hearth, poking at the blazing logs. His broodiness sent the friendly, relaxed atmosphere they had created just moments before retreating into the cold, dark shadows of the corridor. Staring at his tall, large frame, Lana felt his authority, his supremacy vibrating across the space between them.
“Sire Wells?” she whispered, resorting back to his formal title.
Jeremiah didn’t respond, but she saw his shoulders hunch forward slightly. Timidly, Lana moved toward him, studying his tense body language.
But, before she could offer any words of solace, he whispered hoarsely, “You must think that I’m a horrible father. He’s been through Hell: the kidnapping, his mother’s death, watching Dublin die.” He turned to face her, the shadows playing hauntingly on his strong features. “And Maggie’s death. All of it happened because of me, because he is my son, and I couldn’t even protect him from it. What kind of father does that make me?” The anguish in his voice was raw and harsh.
“Jeremiah! You’re a wonderful father! You are! Anyone who questions that would only need to see you with Xavier to know it to be true,” Lana whispered as she touched his arm consolingly, and he visibly slouched at her touch. “As for everything he’s been through, how exactly could you have prevented it? How could you possibly protect him from death? No one can be protected from that! It’s unfortunate that some people must face that fact of life earlier than others. Xavier is the wonderful, sweet boy he is because of your guidance and love. You are a terrific father, Jeremiah Wells.”
He stared at her for a long moment as her words sank into his soul. Then, blinking heavily, he took her hand and whispered, “Thank you, Lana. I really needed to hear that.”
Chapter 5
Rejected
The first week at King’s Mountain was marked with a lot of hard, muscle-aching work. The entire community worked together to tend to and harvest crops from the gardens, unload and store the supplies Henrick’s group brought back from Bern, and prepare the facility for long-term habitation.
Xavier and his friends had been assigned to help with the harvesting in the gardens. Though he was happy that he had his friends with him to help break up the monotony of the mundane task assigned to them, he had hoped that he could be with his father. As it was, he hardly saw him, and his absence made him unsteady and a bit angry. But, he did his best not to think about it. His father had a lot to worry about without worrying about him. He’d just have to man-up and focus on the back breaking job of picking crops.
He had never known such hard work before, and when he went to bed at night, he was so exhausted that he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, with the facility ready and running smoothly, King Wells surprised the community with a special treat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced grandly after the breakfast dishes had been cleared away. “I am so very proud to call myself your king. You have worked hard to get the mountain prepared, and you have done everything I’ve asked of you and then some! Thank you. So, as a special treat for all your hard work, tonight we shall have a brilliant celebration with food and dancing.”
The crowd murmured excitedly.
“But, of course,” he continued with a grin, “it will need to be casual since I don’t seem to have my tux with me.” The crowd chuckled. “Tomorrow the school will open and we will begin our assigned jobs and chores. So, all school-aged children are asked to remain behind for a few minutes so that your class schedules can be distributed. That is all for now. Everyone have a pleasant and relaxing day.”
The crowd began to disperse, leaving children in its wake. A group of adults lingered at the back of the hall, sorting through a stack of index cards. Once the hall was cleared, Jeremiah spoke again. “Okay, boys and girls. I need you to separate yourselves by your year. All children under the age of twelve who attended Warwood Grammar School please move to the first row of tables where you see Madam Jefferson and Governor Bracus.” The king paused long enough to allow the younger children to move toward their assigned adults.
“All year one students move to Sir Spencer standing at the second row, please,” Jeremiah announced.
Xavier stood and, falling into step with Beck and Court, made his way toward his uncle.
“You know, the only good thing about fleeing Warwood is that we don’t have formal clothes to wear to the celebration tonight. I swear, I thought my bow tie had a mission to strangle me at the Old Christmas Dance.” The boys around Beck snickered. “I’m serious,” he protested. “Those things should be outlawed!”
“Mr. Wilcox! I could do without your usual commentary right now. Sit down and be quiet!” Sir Spencer reprimanded.
“Yes, sir,” Beck replied, sinking into the seat next to Xavier.
Once all the children had been sorted into their years, Spencer cleared his throat and addressed the year one group. “Boys and girls, I have your class schedules, but before I hand them out, you should be aware of some changes. History has been cancelled until further notice. In its place, you will learn defense strategies and techniques. Your physical education class will be modified into calisthenics to help you build stamina and strength, and you’ll begin fencing lessons.”
“Cool!” Beck exclaimed. “Who teaches that?”
An ambush of comments and questions bombarded Spencer. He raised his hand against the sudden chaos of voices. “That’s enough. All the information you need is printed on your schedule. Now, you still have empowerment classes, however, the classes will now focus on using your abilities offensively not just defensively.”
Another outburst of excited chatter resulted in a warning glare from Spencer, and the chatter was cut humorously short as tho
ugh he had used a mute button.
“Usually,” he continued testily, “offensive techniques are not taught until year three, but King Wells believes it’s necessary in the present circumstances. I want to remind all of you that learning offensive techniques is a huge responsibility. It is NOT to be done outside of classes. Any students found doing so will be caned by the king.”
The children grew still and silent.
Spencer paused a moment longer, letting his threat sink in. “Attacking someone through the use of empowerments is not only dangerous, it can be deadly. Does everyone understand?”
The group nodded.
“Sir?” Court piped up timidly. “What if we need to practice? How are we going to practice things if we can only do it in classes?”
“Luckily, Mr. Hardcastle, every teacher has a time in their schedule each evening where students can practice skills under supervision. So if you need to practice a technique, you’ll need to make arrangements with that teacher during their allotted time. Any other questions?”
The children were silent.
“All right then, I’ll pass out your schedules.”
As Spencer hobbled up and down the tables distributing the schedule cards, Beck leaned in and snickered, “Caned by the king? Been there, done that.”
“Ditto.” Garrett laughed nervously. “And I sure don’t want seconds of that! That’s for damn sure!”
The other boys nodded in agreement.
“I feel for you, Xavier,” Frankie observed and then whistled. “Man, I bet you’ve been whipped a lot!”
The Prince of Warwood and The Sword of the Chosen (Book 3) Page 3
