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

by J. Noel Clinton

  Feeling dread coupled with inevitability, Xavier stood and approached the teacher. The students around him snickered and whispered as he handed the note to Sir Underwood, who promptly opened it.

  “Let’s see what was so important to warrant your undivided attention.” He read the note quickly and looked at Xavier. “Headmaster Spencer will receive this; you can discuss it with him. You may sit down.”

  “Yes, sir,” he muttered and returned to his seat. Boy, Xavier would have said that his day couldn’t possibly get any worse, except he had Latin right before lunch.

  When he arrived at Latin two periods later, the room was absent of a teacher and most of the students were wandering about, happily discussing the prospects of a new professor. Without a word, Xavier quickly found his seat and prepared himself for what he knew would be a long class period. Moments later, Madam Stokes entered the room wearing white silky blouse and a navy pencil skirt cut a few inches above the knee, exposing her beautifully shaped legs. Every voice trailed away as they watched her enter and stand in front of the room with a bubbly smile.

  “Abyssus discipulus,” she chirped.

  “Hello, Madam Stokes,” the class muttered sporadically.

  “No, no, in Latin, please,” she corrected sweetly.

  “Abyssus Magister Stokes,” the class repeated.

  “Eu, discipulus,” she smiled. “Now, I realize that the first term reports have already gone out to your parents,” she announced, picking up a printout lying on the desk. She slid onto the desktop and crossed her legs as she studied the paper. Several boys snickered nervously, but if she heard them, she ignored it. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. It seems that some of you have had a great deal of trouble with your Latin. So I think the best way to start a new term with a new teacher is to take an assessment of sorts.” She stood, walked around the desk, and pulled a thick stack of stapled papers from the bottom drawer. A loud collective moan filled the classroom.

  “On the first two pages, you’re to translate two Latin passages: one by Horace, the other by Catullus. For the next five pages, simply write the English word or phrase for the Latin word given, and on the last three pages, translate the English terms and passages into Latin. Correct spelling is essential.”

  “Is this for a grade, Madam Stokes?” a student interrupted.

  “Well, of course! If I bother to create a test and check it, then yes, it will be for a grade! However, if you worked hard with Madam Crabtree, I imagine that you’ll find this assessment to be quite simple. But for those of you who didn’t apply yourself to your studies last term,” she smiled dryly at Xavier, “I’m afraid you’ll find it very difficult indeed.”

  Several students looked curiously at Xavier, and he felt a wave of warmth flood his face.

  “You should really take a lesson from Sire Wells, here,” she said sweetly, nodding at him.

  “Oh, God!” Xavier thought as the heat in his cheeks intensified.

  “He’s been having difficulty with his Latin, but Jere…ah…King Wells has been tutoring him. And, I must say King Wells is a superb linguist and speaks flawless Latin. Isn’t that right, Xavier?”

  Xavier’s face was scorching and felt like it might combust into flames at any moment. Whether or not Madam Stokes had intentionally started to call his father by his first name was unclear, but it had an immediate effect on the class. Twenty pairs of eyes borrowed into him from every direction as whispers ping-ponged around the room. Mac and Ken smirked all-knowingly from the front row. No doubt, he could expect endless ribbing and teasing from them. It was too much, he was embarrassed beyond words.

  He glared up at the smug woman sneering down at him. “I wouldn’t know,” he snapped resentfully. “I continue to tell Father that it’s not normal, but he insists on speaking to me in English! Imagine that!”

  The class erupted in barely stifled snickers.

  Xavier was amazed by the quick transformation of Madam Stokes’s face from something of beauty into something ugly and twisted.

  “I think you and I need to have a little chat after class, Sire Wells,” she told him quietly.

  “Whatever,” Xavier muttered with a shrug.

  Madam Stokes began passing out the tests, eying him. The test wasn’t nearly as difficult as he initially thought, but after the confrontation with Madam Stokes, he no longer cared to do well and began jotting down answers on a whim.

  “Define the Latin words in English,” Xavier read from his test, “number twenty, malum.” Now, he knew that malum meant evil, but instead of writing the correct response he wrote “Madam Stokes” in the answer blank provided. For problem twenty-five, he wrote, “Catherine” as the answer next to the Latin word for dog. He wrote, “Madam Stokes’ face” for the Latin word ugly. Xavier completed the entire test in this way, and for the words he didn’t know, he simply left blank. Xavier was the first to finish the test and lay it on Madam Stokes’ desk. She immediately picked it up with red pen in hand and a small smile on her face. As she skimmed each page and read over his answers, her smile dropped, and she looked up at him, red-faced and outraged.

  “Sire? May I speak to you for a moment at my desk, please?” she requested forcibly. Every student’s head lifted and watched with confusion and curiosity as Xavier unflinchingly approached Madam Stokes.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he replied sweetly.

  She scowled at him. “Do you mind explaining this?” she hissed, holding up his paper.

  “Ah, well, that’s my test, ma’am,” he responded slowly as if he were speaking to a toddler.

  “I know it’s your test!” she shrieked. “Do you mind telling me why you answered the questions in this manner?”

  He leaned over her desk and looked at his paper. “Because it’s true. Malum means teacher, right?” he lied innocently.

  The sudden burst of snickers behind him was quickly snuffed out by Madam Stokes’ glare. Then, she turned back to the prince. “I don’t think so. I think you know perfectly well that the word means evil.” There was a sudden shuffle of papers behind him as several students searched for the word on their tests to correct their answers. “If it were just one word that you used to insult me, it might be more believable, but female dog, ugly, useless, pig? I think not!” she hissed.

  Xavier smiled sweetly down at her and said, “Really? Imagine the odds of that! Though, I guess I wasn’t too far off with the female dog bit, huh?”

  “Excuse me?” she snapped.

  “You heard me!” he growled, no longer mockingly sweet.

  Her eyes flickered and she whispered, “I demand an apology at once, young man!”

  “Demand until you’re blue in the face, Catherine, but you won’t be getting one,” he told her.

  “Get out!” she screamed, jumping to her feet and pointing to the door. “Get out of my classroom this instant! The headmaster can deal with you! And you can bet I’ll be talking to your father about this!”

  Xavier gathered his books and walked out of the room without a backward glance. He took his time going to the headmaster’s office. Her last threat got to him, just as she knew it would. His father would thrash him thoroughly for this.

  “Well done, Xavier. Now what?” he muttered to himself. He detoured to the courtyard and sat under the oak tree for several minutes trying to cool his temper. He took several long, shaky breaths before realizing that he was only postponing the inevitable. Finally, deciding he had better go and face Spencer, he stood and made his way toward the office. When he entered the office, Madam Stokes stood next to the counter complaining loudly to Spencer, and Jeanette was on the phone looking grave.

  The three adults turned to him the moment the office door slammed shut.

  “Yes, sire. He just walked in,” Jeanette said into the receiver. “Okay, we’ll see you in a couple of minutes. Thank you.”

  Xavier felt a lump lodge itself in his throat as three daggering stares bore into him. He had no doubt that it had been his father on the phone, and he gulped.
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br />   “Where have you been?” Spencer snapped, stomping toward him. “Madam Stokes sent you to my office over fifteen minutes ago!”

  “Around,” he answered brazenly.

  Spencer’s eyes flashed thunderously, and Xavier was immediately reminded of his father. Both men had the knack of making him gimpy in the knees with just one glance. He tried to swallow the dread that suddenly clung at his throat, strangling him and making it impossible for him to breathe freely.

  “Get into my office, boy! Now!” he thundered, and Xavier did just that in a near sprint.

  He sat in Spencer’s office for several minutes before finally, the door opened and Spencer, Madam Stokes, and a stone-faced king stalked into the room. Again, Xavier gulped.

  “Now,” Spencer began with a heavy sigh, “Xavier, can you start by explaining this?” He held up his Latin test.

  Xavier shrugged.

  “May I see that, Mike?” Jeremiah asked.

  Without a word, he handed the king the test.

  As he scanned through the test, Jeremiah’s frown deepened. “Son, it seems I must agree with Madam Stokes…”

  “Madam Stokes? Don’t you mean Catherine?” Xavier spat insolently.

  “Excuse me?” his father questioned with his brow raised.

  “Nothing,” he grumbled.

  Jeremiah studied him a moment before finally continuing, “You’ve intentionally used Madam Stokes’ name as answers on this test to challenge her. Isn’t that right, son?”

  “No, I really thought malum meant…” his protest was cut short when his father stormed toward him and slammed his hands on the armrests of his chair.

  “Don’t! Don’t start lying to me!” he spat, sending the boy huddling deeper into his chair. “You knew what you were doing; didn’t you, son?”

  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, and Jeremiah stood upright.

  “Okay, Xavier,” Spencer intervened, “why didn’t you come straight to my office like you were told?”

  He replied simply, “I knew it would tick her off, and I have no intention of making life easier for her.”

  “I see.” The headmaster nodded. “Would your resentment toward Madam Stokes stem from your father’s relationship with her?”

  Xavier’s head snapped up. “How do you know about that?” he asked in a small wounded voice.

  Spencer held up the note he’d written to Robbie in mathematics. Then without a word, he handed it to his father who quickly read it.

  Jeremiah looked inquisitively at Xavier, his face softening as the realization of what was truly going on dawned on him. He knelt in front of the boy and regarded his hurt-filled eyes a moment. “This isn’t about Catherine, is it?”

  Xavier looked at his father and whispered, “Yes it is.”

  “No, son. It’s not. This is about your mother,” he persisted.

  “No.” Xavier choked, but no one seemed to believe him. He wasn’t sure he even believed himself. His eyes blurred and heavy tears teetered on his eyelashes. God, he was going to cry like a baby in front of all of them. He blinked, tears plopped heavily onto his cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands.

  Sighing, Jeremiah stood and turned toward Spencer. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take Xavier home. We need to have a father-son talk,” he noted softly, and the headmaster nodded. Then, he turned to Catherine and whispered, “I’m sorry about Xavier’s behavior in class today. He’ll be ready to apologize to you and the class tomorrow.”

  Catherine nodded. “That’s quite all right. I know he’s been through a lot the past few months…” She paused, glancing down at the boy before looking back to his father. “We’ll have dinner out another time. Just call me later, okay?”

  Jeremiah nodded and turned to Xavier. “Son? Let’s go home,” he announced, touching his shoulder.

  Xavier stood and allowed himself to be led out of the school to where Loren stood next to an awaiting limo. As the vehicle pulled away from the school, the king called the Governing Hall and explained he would be taking the rest of the day off, but for the rest of the short drive to the palace, they rode in silence.

  When the car came to a stop in front of the palace, Jeremiah reached for the boy’s hand and guided him out of the car and into the building. They walked without speaking until they reached the door to the royal residence. The king opened the door and nudged the boy inside.

  “Go on upstairs, son. Wash your face and lay down for a little while, we’ll talk later,” he told him gently.

  Nodding, Xavier climbed the stairs to his room, leaving his father and Loren at the door.

  Jeremiah watched the boy close his bedroom door and groaned. “I should have seen this coming. I should have talked to him before I asked Catherine over for dinner.”

  “Jer,” Loren started softly, “don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault; you have the right to move on and do what makes you happy.”

  “At the expense of my son?” he snapped, spinning to face Loren.

  Loren studied him a moment. “Wait a minute, friend. This isn’t just about Xavier, is it? It’s you! You’re feeling guilty. You’re thinking that you betrayed Julia by having feelings for this woman, aren’t you?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jefferson,” he muttered, stalking across the room to the wet bar.

  The general followed. “Thank God I don’t, but you and I both know that it’s true. Jer, Julia wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life grieving for her. You know she wouldn’t.”

  He turned and faced his subordinate swelling to his full height. “Loren, I don’t recall asking for your opinion on this matter. Whatever my son or I need to do, that’s for us to decide. Not some out…” Jeremiah stopped short of finishing.

  “Outsider?” he hissed, confronting the king. “You weren’t about to call me an outsider, were you? Who always stood by you when we were kids? Who took the blame for that catastrophe in the Wood so your father wouldn’t beat you unconscious? Who looked after your son and kept LeMasters from killing him? You dare to call me an outsider!”

  Guilt jabbed into the king’s chest. Loren was right. He was never an outsider, and treating him like one was disloyal to their friendship.

  Jeremiah sighed. “I’m sorry, Loren. I do feel guilty for having feelings toward another woman. I feel like I’m cheating on Julia somehow. Maybe it was too soon; maybe it was too soon for me to start this relationship,” Jeremiah concluded miserably.

  Loren expelled a breath and replied calmly, “Maybe, maybe not. Look Jer, don’t let anyone, including yourself, make you feel guilty for reacting to a beautiful woman the way any hot-blooded, single man would. You have every right to feel attracted to a woman. You have every right to fall in love. You should love again.” Loren studied his friend’s downcast face. “That is, if some poor desperate soul is willing to take you,” he added with a grin.

  Jeremiah chuckled and gave his friend a playful shove. “Gee thanks! If a woman would have to be desperate to be with me, then what would that make poor Lucy for marrying you?”

  He grinned broadly. “She’d be stark raving mad. Wouldn’t she?”

  Chapter 6

  The Prophet

  Xavier took a long shower and allowed the steaming water to wash away his tears and grief. Afterwards, he climbed in bed, but he wasn’t able to sleep at all. He stared at the ceiling for nearly an hour waiting for his father to come and punish him. Finally, Jeremiah opened his door and peered in.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  Xavier nodded though he wasn’t sure if he did.

  Jeremiah crossed the distance between them and sat on the edge of the bed. He sighed and stroked a lock of wet hair from his son’s forehead. “We need to talk,” he said softly.

  “I know,” he murmured his voice catching in his tight, raw throat.

  His father looked down at him, drew in a breath, and asked, “Let’s start with how all this makes you feel. How do you feel about me seeing and po
ssibly dating Catherine? How did you feel when you saw us…well, when you saw us kissing?” he asked.

  Xavier blushed and looked away before answering. “I felt…angry and hurt. I felt like you’d forgotten all about Mom, and you were replacing her. She’s not my mother, and she never will be,” he finished harshly, glaring into his father’s face.

  “Catherine doesn’t want to replace your mom, and she’s not asking you to treat her like a mother. She only wants to be your friend,” he reassured him, stroking his cheek. “Son, I could never forget your mother. I see her every time you smile or laugh. I loved your mother; I still do. But she’s no longer with us. Eventually, we must move on with our lives, and that may mean I’ll go out on a date once in a while or invite a woman to dinner. However, it doesn’t mean that I’m planning anything serious. I don’t intend to remarry; I don’t know if I ever will. But, if the day comes that I feel like I’m heading in that direction, you’ll be the first person I’ll discuss it with. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Xavier nodded, smiling feebly up at his father.

  “Good. What do you say to an early dinner since you didn’t eat lunch? There’s a small seafood diner in a fishing town not far from Warwood. What do you think? Should we take a mid-afternoon holiday and get away from the kingdom for a couple of hours?”

  “Can I wear jeans and a sweatshirt?” Xavier asked, his eyes brightening excited with the prospect of spending some time alone with his father.

  “You bet! We’d stand out if we didn’t.” He grinned and patted the young prince’s leg.

  Several minutes later, father and son exited the palace. It was the first time since the picnic a couple of months ago that he’d seen his father out of his formal attire. He looked like an ordinary guy, definitely not like a king, let alone an empowered man.

  Xavier settled himself next to his father in the coolest, fastest car he’d ever been inside: a silver Dodge Viper. Once they were out of the kingdom and on a deserted, open highway, his father gave in to his pleas to punch the accelerator. Like a powerful invisible hand, the G force threw him back against his seat. The engine growled as the vehicle accelerated from thirty-five to one hundred in a matter of seconds. The normally forty-minute drive to Razorbill Cove took only twenty-five minutes.