His father peered up at him then. “Stop whining, son. Attending mass is your duty not only as the Prince of Warwood, but as a child of God.”
“But, I’ve never been to mass, Father. I haven’t got a clue of what my duties are! It’s a Catholic Church, right? Well, when do I kneel, when do I chant prayers, what are the prayers, and when do I use holy water?” he blurted anxiously.
“Your mother never took you to mass?” Jeremiah frowned.
“No, sir. Never!” he answered, his voice squeaking.
“It’ll be all right, son. I’ll help you through it; just follow my lead, and you’ll be just fine.”
When father and son exited the royal residence an hour later, they found the Jeffersons and the Hardcastles standing in the lower foyer waiting for them. The Hardcastle boys stood behind their parents, fidgeting with their suits and ties, looking meek and miserable. Then, one by one, the group stilled and grew quiet as their eyes drifted up the grand staircase to King Wells and Xavier.
“The cars are ready, sire,” Ephraim announced, as Jeremiah and Xavier descended the stairs to join them.
Xavier walked over to Courtney, who was pulling at his tie with a grimace. “It’s choking me, Mum! Why do I have to wear the sodding thing, anyway? Can’t I wear the suit without a tie?”
“Courtney Aaron Hardcastle, watch your language! Now leave the tie alone and stop complaining,” Rebecca scolded.
“Mum!”
“Courtney!” Ephraim snapped, turning a harsh glare on the boy. “That’s enough! Mind your mother.”
Court tucked his head and sulked. “Great! Not only do I have to sit and listen to that fire and brimstone screaming priest, I get to do it while wearing a miserable, sodding tie,” he muttered softly so his parents couldn’t hear.
“I think you look absolutely handsome, Courtney,” Loren’s oldest daughter, Sarah, said with a coy smile. “And you as well, Your Highness,” she added, directing her attention to Xavier and brushing a curl away from his eyes. Xavier’s body blushed as her gaze traveled up and down his immaculately pressed double-breasted suit. Her smile widened as she smoothed out the blue royalty sash draped across his chest.
The boys smiled back and fidgeted under her approving stare. Erica rolled her eyes in disgust behind her sister. “Oh, please!” she spat, shoving Sarah aside and wedging herself between her sister and the goggling boys.
Sarah flashed them another smile and a small wave as she crossed the foyer to her mother. Still entranced, the boys waved back, grinning like fools.
“Hey, snap out of it!” Erica yelled, snapping her fingers in front of their faces. The boys jerked to attention and smiled feebly under Erica’s glare.
“Let’s go, kids,” Rebecca Hardcastle called and the children followed the adults down the hallway.
“Did you hear? Madam Crabtree retired!” Erica whispered to the boys.
“Crabby Tree retired? Now I truly have a reason to go to church and praise God!” Court exclaimed. “Did you know that old bat gave me a ‘C minus’? A ‘C minus’! Mum wasn’t happy.” Court complained. He screwed up his face and impersonated his mother, “Courtney Aaron, doing your best and earning a ‘C minus’ is one thing, but I know you can do better than that! If you don’t start applying yourself and bringing up those grades, I will lock you in your room with nothing but your books, paper, and pencils!”
“Courtney! I don’t appreciate being mocked!” his mother called from the crowd of adults, and his father turned and pinned him with an ominous stare.
Courtney’s head and shoulders cowered under his father’s silent reprimand, and Erica snickered at him.
“You did better than me. I got a ‘D’. Daddy grounded me for two weeks. How did you do, Xavier?” she chirped, not at all concerned.
“D,” he grumbled. “Father’s tutoring me, and he says I can’t play rugby for three weeks. And if my grades don’t improve, he says I can’t play in the spring league.”
Erica and Court both gave him a horrified look. “You don’t think he meant it, do you?” Court questioned, glancing at Jeremiah as if the man’s smiling face would rebuke the statement.
He nodded in response. “He definitely meant it! Have you ever known him to say something he didn’t mean?”
The church was a short drive from the palace and as the limo pulled up to the entrance of the gothic-influenced cathedral, Xavier’s stomach rolled with anxiety, and he looked up at the enormous building that dwarfed everything around it. The cathedral’s turrets jabbed up into the sky like holy swords, and weather-stained angels peered all-knowingly down at him from the flying buttresses. The stone walls had darkened from age and weather, giving it an ominous feeling, and the dreary morning did little to improve its initial impression. The church was quite simply spooky. Xavier’s eyes dropped from the building to the stream of well-dressed citizens migrating toward the grand vestibule where a priest stood greeting his parishioners with zealous.
“Ready?” his father whispered, squeezing his hand.
No. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want people staring and ogling at him. But, he was the Prince of Warwood, and he had better get used to the stares and whispers. Sighing, he nodded at his father, and they climbed from the vehicle.
Then, Jeremiah turned, stooped in front of him, and smoothed out his tie and jacket. “Nervous?” he asked softly.
Xavier shrugged, painfully aware that the crowd filing past was staring at them. “Yeah, a little.” No, he was a lot nervous.
“Don’t worry. Just watch me and do what I do. You’ll be fine.” His father gave him a reassuring smile, took him by the hand, and led him up the walkway to the church. Xavier looked around at the staring crowd who were now whispering excitedly and pointing at them, and he tucked his head bashfully.
“Sire Wells!” a voice boomed from the doorway. “It’s so good to finally see you back at church, and I see that you brought young Xavier as well.”
Xavier looked up at the priest standing in the entrance, and his heart stuttered in his chest. The man from his dream, the fat man who had directed Loren and Ephraim to beat his father, was standing right in front of him. He was a priest! His gray hair was combed neatly to one side on his forehead, and although his voice was friendly and he smiled at them, his pale blue eyes were cold and disapproving.
“Yes, it’s good to be back, Father O’Brien,” Jeremiah replied, shaking the older man’s hand heartily.
“Father O’Brien?” Xavier blurted in disbelief. “Headmaster O’Brien?”
“Why, yes. I was the headmaster of the academy when your father was about your age,” the priest noted.
Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably and quickly changed the subject, “Although, I imagine being Bishop of the North American Empowered Societies is a more fulfilling job for a priest of your standing.”
Father O’Brien smiled and lifted his head and shoulders importantly. “Yes. Yes, it is, and it keeps me quite busy.”
The king nodded in agreement. “I image it does. Well if you’ll excuse us, we won’t keep you any longer. It’s good to see you again, Father O’Brien.”
He shook the priest’s pudgy hand and nudged a smirking prince into the church.
“Emma and her big mouth. No more stories for you, blabbermouth,” he hissed teasingly. Xavier giggled, finally feeling relaxed.
When they entered the sanctuary, his father immediately dipped his fingers in a basin of water and looked at his son to follow his actions. Then, he prayed while slowly producing the sign of the cross.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
He copied his father’s actions and words before following him slowly up the aisle toward the pulpit. They paused next to the first row pew, knelt, and again crossed themselves before moving to sit next to Dublin and Tamarah Minnows and their two daughters. Xavier eyed Robbie anxiously before nudging her.
“Robbie? Are we okay?” he whispered.
The king
elbowed him, shook his head, and slowly raised his index finger to his lips. Sighing, Xavier slouched, and after another prod from his father, he straightened and muttered, “Jeez!”
Robbie snickered and bumped into him with her shoulder, smiling broadly. With that simple gesture and smile, his bad mood lifted, and he grinned back.
Since Xavier had never been to church before, he hadn’t quite understood what Court had meant when he described Father O’Brien as a fire and brimstone priest, but the moment he began his sermon, Xavier was left with little doubt of its meaning. The sermon focused on the burdens of a Christian with an emphasis on church attendance. Although the priest never said it outright, the undertones of the sermon made it clear that King Wells had been its inspiration. The rustling and uncomfortable coughs scattered among the congregation made it painfully clear that Xavier wasn’t the only person who realized this. He peered up at his father expecting to see anger kindling in his eyes, but he saw nothing. If Jeremiah had any inkling that Father O’Brien was desecrating him in front of most of the population of Warwood, it wasn’t apparent in his proud, unreadable face.
After church services, Jeremiah and Xavier were permitted to leave before the rest of the congregation, and they followed Father O’Brien outside the church.
“Have you contacted Abraham about the boy’s return?” Father O’Brien asked.
“No, Father, I haven’t,” Jeremiah answered with a slight edge to his voice.
His father’s response resembled the answer he had given just two days ago when asked why his room hadn’t been cleaned like he had promised. Xavier would have smiled at the irony, but the air between the men was extremely hostile and tense. It was obvious that neither man liked the other.
“You really should, Jeremiah. The boy’s divination may have altered or he could still be…”
“I appreciate your concern, Father, but I really don’t find this to be the best of places to discuss it,” he ordered firmly.
The priest wasn’t used to taking orders and contempt flickered briefly in his eyes. “Yes, sire,” he forced out, his face strained and red. “You’re right. We’ll discuss this at another time. Just keep in mind that the High Counsel of Warwood is extremely interested in the future divinations performed on the boy, and we demand that the counsel be present when you call on the prophet.”
The conversation ended as the congregation emerged from the chapel and stood eagerly in line to shake hands with Father O’Brien, King Wells, and their prince. Governor Yaman was one of the first to emerge from the building. He approached the trio with an enormous fake smile plastered on his face. A pretty young woman followed him, looking anxiously at the king.
“Governor! It’s so good to see you. How’s the family? Grandchildren still growing like weeds?” Jeremiah asked and shook the man’s hand, eager to have a distraction from his uncomfortable conversation with the priest.
“Yes, sire. Thank you for asking,” Governor Yaman replied, turning to the young woman behind him. “I’d like to introduce you to my niece.”
The young woman stepped forward. “How do you do, sire? We’ve met once before in Nottingham’s,” she announced sweetly, as she curtsied and extended her hand.
For a moment, the king simply stared at the voluptuous, golden-haired woman. “Ah, yes,” he replied finally as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I remember. Catherine Stokes, right?”
She beamed up at him. “Yes, that’s right.” A long awkward silence filled the air between them as they stared at one another, still holding hands. Xavier looked from his father’s goofy smile to Miss Stokes’ blushing cheeks, and suddenly, he felt uncomfortable and annoyed. He didn’t want this woman making moves on his dad!
Frustrated and angry, he stomped on his father’s toes.
“Ouch! Xavier, what are you doing?” he hissed, pushing the boy at arm’s length.
“Ah…I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to! C…can we go now? I’m hungry.” Xavier was very aware that he sounded whiny, but he didn’t care. He wanted to leave and get his father as far away from this woman as possible.
Jeremiah looked down at the boy, looking a bit annoyed himself, but after a moment, he nodded. “All right.” He turned back to Miss Stokes and shrugged. “Kids! Everything is a dire emergency especially when it involves their stomachs. It was nice to see you again, Miss Stokes. Please excuse me?”
“Oh, yes, I understand. It was nice to see you, King Wells.” She bowed.
Taking Xavier by the hand, King Wells turned to leave but then stopped and addressed the woman once again. “Miss Stokes? Would you and your uncle like to have dinner with my son and me at the palace this evening?”
Catherine seemed flustered by the question and didn’t answer immediately. It was her uncle who finally spoke, “We would love to, my king.”
“Wonderful! I’ll have Milton contact you later this afternoon with the details. Have a good day.”
During the ride home, Xavier sat with his arms folded across his chest scowling out the window. As soon as the car came to a stop in front of the palace, he bolted from the car and into the building without waiting for an escort. He heard his father’s voice calling after him, but he didn’t stop. He raced into the royal residence, up the stairs, and into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Then, he jumped onto the bed with a bitter groan and punched at his pillows until his arms ached. Finally, he collapsed on to the bed, burying his face in his pillows and trying to calm his raging emotions.
“Feeling better?” his father asked softly from the doorway.
Xavier hadn’t heard him enter. He jolted upright, sitting on the edge of the bed, but didn’t look at his father nor did he answer the question.
“What’s going on, Xavier?” he asked simply.
“Nothing. Just tired I guess,” he grumbled.
“Why the anger?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m mad that I can’t play rugby with the guys today,” he lied.
If his father knew he was lying, he didn’t call him on it. Instead, Jeremiah nodded as he spoke. “Well, take a nap and see if that doesn’t cure your moodiness. Lunch is in an hour, and then we’ll work on some Latin before our dinner guests arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
Chapter 4
Dinner
The Latin lesson went as well as could be expected considering he was weeks behind. Jeremiah was fluent in Latin and was a very patient teacher, which helped considerably. Madam Crabtree got her nickname of Crabby Tree honestly. Aside from Dr. Angelo, she was possibly the most impatient, ill-tempered woman Xavier ever had the displeasure of meeting. She often snapped at the students whenever they tried new words and mispronounced them, unlike his father.
“Courage, v…eye…ert…us,” Xavier stammered.
Jeremiah smiled. “No, son. Vir-toos,” he pronounced slowly.
When he mimicked the word successfully, his father beamed. “Excellent!”
Father and son had been struggling through the first year Latin book for nearly an hour in the king’s study. He had never been in this room before and had been surprised to find it a bit chaotic. Numerous books on law, economics, and government were strewn over two large bookcases, and papers, folders, and mail littered his desk and conference table. It had taken Jeremiah a couple of minutes to clear an area at the table for their tutoring session.
“Good, son. Now translate the next words.”
“Dad? Who’s Abraham that Father O’Brien was talking about at church?” he asked.
The king looked down at him, uncertain. “Abraham Vincent is the prophet.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “So, he thinks you should contact him and tell him I’m back?”
“Yes,” he stated simply.
“Why? And, why does he want to counsel me?”
“Counsel you?” he asked, bemused.
“Yeah, he said he wanted the High Council of Warwood to be there.”
“Oh,” Jeremiah snickere
d. “He doesn’t want to counsel you; he wants the high council to be in attendance for the divination ceremonies. The High Council of Warwood is an elected panel of citizens who gives the king advice when he needs it, and they oversee that the king doesn’t infringe on any of the codes.”
“Codes?” Xavier asked.
“Yes, son. The codes are laws found in The Chronicles that everyone must abide by and follow. You’ll study them at the academy in your citizenship class when you get a little older.”
“A king has laws he has to follow? I thought you could do whatever you wanted,” he questioned.
“No, son. No one is above the law, especially the king. Otherwise, how would the people stand a chance against a king who’s a tyrant?” his father inquired.
“What happens to a king if he breaks the codes? Does he go to jail or something?” he asked.
“Well, he can. It depends on the level of the infraction. A king could face a suspension of his duties, a prison sentence, a royal caning, banishment, removal of his royal title, or even death for a serious crime,” he told him before looking back at the Latin book. “Well, I think we’ve had enough Latin for one afternoon; let’s pick up here tomorrow, shall we? I have a lot of paper work I need to do before dinner.”
Xavier bit back the swarm of questions buzzing inside him and nodded. He scooped up his belongings and walked toward the door, but his father’s voice stopped him.
“Mrs. Sommers will be up in an hour or so to help you find something appropriate to wear to dinner this evening.”
Xavier made a face but didn’t argue.
When Xavier begrudgingly trudged down the steps for dinner a couple of hours later, he felt the sudden urge to lock himself in his room and hide. He didn’t want to have dinner with Governor Yaman and his flirtatious niece. Robert Yaman made him extremely uneasy and suspicious. He didn’t like the way the governor looked at his father. Whenever the king had his back turned, the older man would glower at him, but as soon as Jeremiah would turn, his expression would lighten, and he presented a fake, cheesy smile. As for Miss Stokes, she ogled and gawked at the king. It was obvious that she liked him and would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. No, Xavier didn’t like Governor Yaman or his niece one iota.
The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2) Page 3