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

by J. Noel Clinton

  With his stomach twisting itself into knots, Xavier descended the stairway to the reception room where his father, Governor Yaman, and Catherine Stokes stood talking. Jeremiah looked exquisitely imposing dressed in a navy pinstripe suit while leaning casually against the fireplace mantel. The moment Xavier stepped from the stairwell his father looked at him and smiled broadly.

  “Ah, here he is!” he announced jovially, waving him over to the group. “Xavier, Miss Stokes was just telling me that Madam Crabtree retired. She…”

  “Yeah, I’ve known about that for ages,” Xavier interrupted haughtily but stopped short from rolling his eyes when the king arched his brow. Clearing his throat, he added quickly, “I mean, yes, sir. I heard about it this morning.”

  With a small nod of approval with the change in the boy’s attitude, his father continued, “Well, she also told me that she applied for the position. The headmaster called her today and told her that she was the best candidate for the job. She starts teaching at Wells Academy tomorrow! Isn’t that terrific?”

  Catherine tucked her head in contrived modesty and giggled. “Please, sire. You’re making me blush.”

  “Congratulations, ma’am,” Xavier responded with a grimace.

  “Thank you, Master Wells,” she replied in a sticky, sweet voice.

  At that moment, Milton announced that dinner was ready to be served, and the group moved into the dining hall. Jeremiah sat in his customary chair at the head of the table with Xavier to his right. Catherine found a seat to the king’s left, and her uncle sat next to her. Dinner was extravagant to say the least, and the kitchen staff left no luxury out.

  As Milton served the third course to the meal, Xavier grew disgruntled. He just wanted this torturous dinner over. “Milton? Why are we eating…like this? Can’t you just bring out the food so we can eat and be done with it?”

  Milton chuckled. “King Wells requested that a seven-course meal be served this evening, young sire,” he answered, continuing to serve the meal.

  Xavier looked at his father, who was smiling at a story Governor Yaman was telling, and he couldn’t help but notice how often his father’s eyes trailed toward Yaman’s niece. A dark, deep-seeded emotion began to swell inside him, and each time Catherine laughed, coyly batted her eyes, or caressed his father’s arm, the feeling grew.

  The king relished in this beautiful young woman’s attention, and his conversations and corny jokes grew bolder and more animated as dinner progressed. Xavier rolled his eyes. It was nauseating to witness, and he tried not to watch the couple. But, when Jeremiah caught Catherine’s eye and held it for an uncomfortable length of time, the darkness inside him began pulsating through his body. Lord! He hated this woman! He hated the way she looked at his father. He hated the way she kept touching him. He hated the way she laughed and the way she smiled. Her voice even grated on his nerves. He hated everything about this woman. His hatred and anger became so ferocious that if Governor Yaman hadn’t stood and announced his departure Xavier wasn’t sure what he would have done.

  “Well, I’m afraid that I must say goodnight, Your Highness. I appreciate your hospitality, but I have an early day tomorrow. There are several issues coming up for discussion on public relations and building camaraderie between the Wellington and Merchant Areas,” Yaman told his host.

  “Thank you for coming, Governor.” Jeremiah stood and shook the older man’s hand.

  Catherine got to her feet and dejectedly looked for her belongings.

  “Oh, no, my dear,” her uncle told her, patting her shoulder. “Just because your old, tired uncle must go doesn’t mean you should. Stay. I’m sure King Wells will see to it that you get home safely.”

  “Of course,” Jeremiah reassured him.

  “I don’t want to outstay my welcome,” she protested.

  “Too late,” Xavier thought bitterly.

  Jeremiah’s head whipped in his direction. Though Xavier was fairly certain he hadn’t said the words aloud, his father’s frosty glare made him question it. Aloud or not, it didn’t prevent the telepathic reprimands bombarding his mind, and Xavier tucked his head submissively.

  “Are you sure, Your Highness? I would like to stay for tea and dessert. I’d really like to try the Crème Brûlee your chef has prepared,” she noted softly.

  “Yes, by all means, stay. I’d like for you to stay, Miss Stokes,” Jeremiah insisted, turning his attention back to Catherine.

  She smiled. “Well, okay, if you insist, Your Highness.”

  “I do,” he replied, flashing a devilish grin to her before turning to the governor. “Your niece is in good hands. I’ll see to it that she gets home safely.”

  “There’s no doubt that she’s in good hands, my king. Well, good night sweetheart,” he said, kissing her cheek.

  “Goodnight, uncle.”

  Sometime later, the three of them sat around the hearth in the reception room sipping tea, their deserts long gone. Catherine was giggling like a child over a stupid joke Jeremiah was telling her. Xavier eyes shot heavenward, and he groaned flippantly. The king was eating up the attention. At the punch line of the joke, Catherine burst into wild laughter, grasped his father’s arm, and buried her face against his shoulder, causing Xavier’s irritation to escalate into full-blown fury. So when Catherine turned to him, he had little control over what came out of his mouth.

  “So, Xavier, your father tells me that you’re having trouble with your Latin. If you’d like, I can tutor you after school for the next few weeks until you catch up. He thinks it’s a good idea. What do you say?”

  He glared incredulously at his father and growled, “I think it’s a terrible idea! Father is tutoring me. I don’t need your help.”

  “Xavier! Don’t be rude!” Jeremiah told him severely. “Apologize to her at once.”

  His weak grip on his temper shattered. “No! She’s known me for barely two hours, and now she thinks she can tell me what to do! She should apologize to me!” he roared. “She shouldn’t be here! I don’t want her here!”

  “Maybe I should go,” Catherine interjected timidly.

  “Yes!” Xavier blurted just as his father gave a firm no.

  “No,” Jeremiah repeated. “Please stay, and forgive my son’s insolence. Please stay, I want you to stay.” When Catherine finally nodded and agreed, Jeremiah turned on Xavier. “I think it’s your bedtime, son,” he announced harshly, standing and waiting for him to do the same. Then, grasping him by the arm, he led him up the stairs and into his room, shutting the door behind them.

  “That was intolerable!” the king hissed, spinning the boy to face him.

  “What? That I spoke the truth? That I spoke what was on my mind?” he spat out.

  “She is our guest! You should…”

  “No, she’s not! She’s not our guest! She’s YOUR guest!” Seeing his father’s bewildered look, he pressed on. “Don’t you think I have eyes? I see how she looks at you and how you look at her!”

  “What are you talking about?” his father spat.

  “Oh come on, Father! Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I may be only twelve years old, but I’m not a complete idiot!”

  “Obviously, you’ve planned for this to be a long, drawn-out discussion; unfortunately, you will not be getting it. There is a guest in our home, and I will not keep her waiting any longer. Now, change into your pajamas and go to bed. We’ll finish this discussion in the morning.” Jeremiah turned and left the room.

  Xavier paced around the room, fuming. He punched at a model airplane he had been meticulously working on for nearly a month, propelling it across the room and shattering it against the wall. He spat a string of curses, threw himself onto his bed, and worked to suppress his raging anger.

  He lay on his bed for some time until his father’s bellowing laughter drifted up the stairs, drawing him out the door and onto the landing. When he peered over the banister, he found his father standing in front of Catherine with his hands stuffed into his front po
ckets, his jacket long gone. He chuckled softly at a comment from Catherine as he pulled and loosened the tie at his neck. Xavier could see why Loren had called his father a lady’s man. His movements were smooth and suave. His voice was steady and silky. He had the woman utterly enchanted. Finally, he extended his hand and helped her to her feet, but she stumbled and fell against him. As she clutched his biceps to keep from crumpling to his feet, the king’s hands swiftly grasped her hips, steadying her.

  “Excuse, me, Your Highness,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering up at him.

  “It’s quite all right, Catherine. Come. Let me walk you to the door. Milton has the limo out front. He’ll drive you home.”

  Hand in hand, Jeremiah led Catherine to the door and turned to face her. “Good night, Catherine. Your company this evening has been very refreshing.”

  “Thank you, sire,” she said shyly, looking at her feet.

  A long pregnant pause extended between them, and Catherine stood fidgeting before the king. She was waiting for something. Then, it happened. His father pulled her closer, gently lifted her chin so that her eyes met his, and kissed her. It was exactly what Xavier had been dreading would happen since he first saw Catherine Stokes, and his stomach dropped like a cold lead weight.

  Xavier had never felt so enraged in his life. Seeing this woman in his father’s arms, kissing him, was more than he could bear. Xavier’s control snapped and he shouted, jutting his hands out toward the couple. Instantly, the front door swung open, smacking the king and his harlot to the floor. Then, with a flick of his hands, he began pelting the couple with books, paintings, vases, pottery, and anything else in the room that wasn’t securely fastened down. Jeremiah quickly grabbed Catherine and drew her toward him, shielding her from the missiles of household items. Catherine’s blood-curling squeal and his father’s angry shout sent Xavier racing into his room. He dove into bed, switched off the light, and pulled the covers over his head.

  It was several minutes before Xavier heard the door to his room open. His entire body went rigid with dread as he listened to his father stomp across the room and flick on his bedside lamp. Abruptly, his covers were torn away from his body and tossed to the floor. He stared into his father’s unbridled, stormy eyes.

  “Get up,” he growled.

  “Father, I…I didn’t mean for that to happen. I just thought…I…”

  “Get up.”

  “Father…”

  “Xavier, if I have to say it again, so help me, I’ll haul you out of that bed myself and give you a spanking you won’t soon forget.”

  The young prince climbed from the bed and found Catherine standing apprehensively by the door looking disheveled. His father yanked him toward the woman.

  “That was a dangerous stunt you pulled. What if you had hurt her? How would you have felt if we had to rush Miss Stokes to the hospital?” he spat.

  Xavier shrugged, avoiding his father’s cold eyes, choosing instead to stare at his highly polished wing-tipped shoes.

  “A shrug? That’s all you can come up with? You have nothing to say about your behavior?” Jeremiah drilled gruffly. When the boy continued to silently stare at his feet, the king added sharply, “You owe Miss Stokes an apology, boy!”

  Xavier grimaced and looked up at the woman with dread. His gaze dropped, and he sang condescendingly, “Sorry.”

  No sooner had he uttered the word than his father grabbed his arm, jerked him around, and swatted his backside with three sharp smacks. Xavier flinched, tears springing to his eyes. Then, spinning him to face the woman again, the king growled, “You’ll apologize properly, and if I hear even a hint of disrespect in your tone again, boy, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

  When Xavier glanced up at Catherine’s face, he saw a glimmer of triumph flash across her features, and she smiled at him. He narrowed his eyes at the woman trying to read her thoughts, but for some reason, he couldn’t. He was blocked from her mind.

  “Xavier Wells!” Jeremiah barked.

  Xavier dropped his gaze and stared at the floor as he muttered, “I’m sorry, Miss Stokes. I lost control of myself, and… I’m sorry.”

  Catherine stepped forward with an air of superiority and knelt to eye level with him. “I appreciate the apology, young sire. I don’t think it’s a good idea to begin our academic relationship on the wrong foot, do you?” she said evenly. “After all, we’re going to be seeing quite a lot of each other,” she finished with a note of disdain so subtle that Xavier wasn’t sure he even heard it. He glanced up at his father’s agreeing stare and knew that he was alone in his distrust of this woman.

  Chapter 5

  Madam Stokes

  The next morning, Xavier, Courtney, and Erica slipped through the secret passage in the palace’s wall and trudged across the field toward the enormous school. Like most old buildings in the kingdom, its limestone walls had blackened over the years, giving it an archaic look. Xavier followed Courtney and Erica as they approached the school, chattering excitedly about the prospects of a new Latin teacher.

  “I heard the new Latin professor is a woman,” Court noted gleefully, “a fairly young and pretty woman. Boy, it’ll be nice to learn Latin from something other than a raisin-faced, crabby, Ben-Gay-smelling old bat!”

  “Well, yeah,” Erica agreed. “Anyone would be better than old Crabby Tree!”

  “I wouldn’t say anyone,” Xavier muttered spitefully.

  But, Court and Erica didn’t hear him and continued their babbling as they climbed the stairs to the main entrance. Xavier followed his friends in silence stewing over his father’s budding relationship with Catherine Stokes. She had her claws in him, and she had no intention of letting go. What if they got serious? What if they got married? Oh, God! She’d be his step-mother! Well, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t let that happen!

  “All right there, Xavier? You’re a bit quiet,” Court asked.

  Xavier nodded as Robbie joined them, waving at her father as he drove away to take her little sister, Brittany, to grammar school.

  “Hey,” she gasped. “Did you hear who the new Latin instructor is?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s Catherine Stokes, Governor Yaman’s niece.”

  “Seriously?” Court gasped. “Oi! It’s better than I thought! She’s beautiful! Seriously, I believe Latin has just become my favorite subject.”

  The girls rolled their eyes at him. “Figures! Boys are all alike! They’d rather have a pretty face than someone who actually knows the subject they teach,” Erica groaned.

  “She knows what she teaches. Why else would Headmaster Spencer have hired her?” he urged.

  “Because he’s a man! Men are worse than boys when it comes to a pretty face,” Erica retorted unscathed.

  “Do you realize how sexist that sounds?” he asked irritably.

  “Maybe.” she shrugged. “But can I help it if it’s true?”

  “You’re impossible, Jefferson!” he said, rolling his eyes. “X, my mate, back me up here!”

  “Sorry, you’re on your own,” Xavier muttered and sauntered past them toward the enormous archway where Headmaster Spencer stood greeting students.

  “Mills! Take that hat off! If I see it again, I’m confiscating it!” Spencer called over to a boy wearing a ridiculous pink bunny-eared cap. “Morning, Your Highness. Did you practice your telepathy this weekend?” he asked as Xavier approached him. Xavier was the only student who had the ability to read minds. It was a rare ability that could only be found in royalty, and Headmaster Spencer was the only teacher who could teach it. This was because Michael Spencer was his father’s half-brother.

  “Uh, no, sir. I didn’t have time,” he muttered.

  “You need to make time! I thought after the incident in the ruins, you would have realized how dangerous it is to be open to the telepathic abilities of others. Maybe detention during your lunch break for a week practicing impediments will make you more responsible,” Spencer told him.

  “Uh, no, sir. I’m
sorry. I’ll practice tonight. I promise I’ll do better.”

  “It wasn’t a request, Your Highness. You will be there!” Spencer snapped.

  Xavier stormed away, muttering under his breath. He stomped down the hall and into his mathematics class. He threw his book bag onto his seat with a loud bang, pulled out his textbook and notebook, and slammed them on top of his desk.

  “Sire Wells! Please don’t slam your things around,” Sir Underwood scolded.

  “Sorry, sir,” Xavier replied, placing his bag on the floor by his desk and sinking into the seat.

  “Hey, X. Why did ya’ run off in such a hurry?” Robbie asked.

  He studied Robbie for a moment. He had to tell someone! He had to find someone who agreed with him and his feelings, to validate them. “Okay look, Robbie, you can’t tell a soul. Promise me! Promise me you won’t tell anyone, not even Erica.”

  “Okay, okay, I promise! Now what’s got you all worked up?”

  “It’s Madam Stokes,” he muttered with disgust. “Father and…”

  “Okay class, let’s get started,” Sir Underwood called above the idle conversations and clowning around. “We will be starting a new unit on multiple operations and multi-step problems. Everyone open your textbooks to page 120.”

  As Sir Underwood continued, Robbie pointed to his notebook and mouthed the words, “Write me a note.”

  Against his better judgment, Xavier wrote down everything that happened last night, from how his father kissed Catherine Stokes, to how he bombarded them with vases, books, and paintings.

  But, when he held the note out to Robbie, Sir Underwood demanded, “Sire Wells, bring me that note, please.”

  “What note, sir?” he asked, sweeping the slip of paper into his pocket.

  Sir Underwood beckoned him to the front of the room with a stern glare. “Don’t play games with me, young man.”