Dennis eyed his younger brother while he stomped to where his father and Mr. Nottingham stood waiting.
“Look, Prince Wells, I know Court doesn’t want me to go with you guys tonight. We don’t have a lot in common. I think he sees me as swot, a nerd because I enjoy reading and learning about things. I don’t like confrontation, and he knows that. Well, all my brothers know that. They either ignore me or order me around because I’m acquiescent and would rather do what they say than fight. I want my brothers to like me. Dad says I have to learn to stick up for myself. I guess I would if it were something I really cared about or that was really important. You know? But I’d like to be more than just a bookworm. I guess after all that’s happened in the last couple of years, I want to do more than just read about other people’s bravery and adventures. I want to live it. Crickey, I’m fifteen years old! I should be living my life to the fullest, not just reading about other peoples’ lives. Does any of this make any sense?”
Xavier nodded. “Yeah, it does. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you to come,” he replied, reading the boy’s insecure thoughts. “And forget about Court. He has a hot head sometimes, but when he cools off, he always comes around.”
Dennis smiled. “Yeah, I know. He’s the most like Dad. Mother believes that’s why they fight so much.”
“Dennis?” Ephraim’s voice made both boys jump.
Dennis looked guiltily up at his father. “Yes, sir?”
“Why don’t you go outside to the car and see if the others are back yet?” Mr. Hardcastle suggested.
“Yes, sir,” Dennis answered before looking back at Xavier. “Thank you for inviting me tonight, Prince Wells.”
“Hey, you might as well call me ‘Xavier’ or ‘X.’ The rest of the guys do.”
Dennis grinned. “Okay. Thanks, Xavier.” Then he left the store.
Ephraim settled into Dennis’s chair next to Xavier, stretching his legs out in front of him. He smirked as Court grimaced as Mr. Nottingham measured his inseam.
“That was very kind of you to invite Dennis and his friend to your campout, Xavier. Aside from Terry, he rarely gets invited to things. He’s a smart lad, but he’s also incredibly shy. His brothers would walk all over him if his mother and I didn’t put a stop to it.”
“I know. I could see it in his thoughts. He doesn’t mind his brothers doing that most the time, but he wishes he could be more like them—more outgoing. I thought if Court could get past his irritation, we could help him do that.”
Ephraim looked down at Xavier with nothing short of respect. “Prince Wells, you are going to make one fine king someday,” he concluded and ruffled Xavier’s hair.
Chapter 5
After lunch and playing video games with Drew, Court, and Caleb for a bit, Xavier finally exited the Hardcastle residence, sauntered up the stairwell, and entered the royal residence five minutes after one.
“Hello, son,” Jeremiah greeted stiffly.
Xavier turned and found his father lounging on the sofa with his feet propped up on the wooden coffee table and a newspaper in hand. By all accounts, the king looked relaxed and calm, but Xavier sensed his father’s body language was nothing more than a ruse.
Xavier hesitated and studied his father closely before asking, “Are you angry at me?”
Jeremiah swiftly stood, tossing his newspaper onto the coffee table before giving him a dry smile. “You tell me,” he answered flatly, holding his arms out to his sides in an invitation.
Xavier allowed his telepathic abilities to stretch across the room and connect to his father, who mentally pushed back, not allowing him access. Xavier frowned. “Dad, if you want me to use my abilities, why are you blocking me?”
“Who said I wanted you to use telepathy?”
“You did!”
“Did I? I believe I asked for your opinion. Now, if you want to use telepathy to find out the answer to your question, then I suggest you push harder, boy,” Jeremiah snapped.
“Ah… no, that’s okay. I don’t need telepathy to know you’re pissed at me,” Xavier mumbled.
“Do it, boy!” his father barked.
Xavier jumped and glared at the king. “Geez, Dad! Did Lana tell you off this morning or something? Why are you so freaking mad at me?”
The king stomped toward Xavier until he stood large and imposing in front of him. “Do it!” he snarled.
Xavier bit back a retort and glared at his father. “All right then. If he wants telepathy, if he wants me to push, I will,” Xavier thought as he squared his shoulders and pushed hard into his father’s thoughts. He felt his father’s surprise, but Xavier was too angry to stop at the king’s surface thoughts. “By God, you wanted me to push! I am,” Xavier thought, forgetting that his father would hear every word. Suddenly, Xavier pushed into a fog that seemed to serve as a barrier to the king’s memories and deeper thoughts. The first image he saw was that of Lana and his father standing on the patio, dancing and kissing to the faint music drifting out from the king’s room.
“God, I really don’t want to see where this goes,” Xavier thought and pushed on quickly.
“Xavier, stop!” His father’s voice sounded muffled and far away.
Xavier ignored him and kept pushing. Soon he found himself in the hospital. His father was sat next to a bed, his head on an unconscious Xavier’s chest, and he was sobbing.
“Xavier, stop now!” his father’s voice came again, clearer this time.
But Xavier pressed on. He continued past the memory of his father, mother, and him on the beach when he was an infant until he came to a large wall. Puzzled, Xavier peered up at the wall and wondered why his father had a wall in his memories. Cautiously he approached it and pushed it. It was solid. Idly Xavier wondered if his abilities would work in his father’s brain.
“No! Xavier, I forbid you!” his father ordered.
Ignoring his father, Xavier pressed against the wall with all his might, and it tumbled, revealing a classroom filled with students. Puzzled he entered the memory filled with quiet, working students. Father O’Brien stood at the front of the room, watching the students. Then Xavier spotted a teenage version of his father sitting in the back next to a tall lanky blonde boy. Loren! Xavier had to laugh at the youthful, skinny image of one of his father’s closest friends. Eager to find more familiar faces, Xavier quickly scanned the rest of the class, hoping to find Mr. Hardcastle or possibly Henrick among the students. But as his sight swept over a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy, he froze. Sitting a row over and a seat up from his father was none other than William LeMasters. Fear prickled up and down Xavier’s neck before he could remind himself that he was in no danger and that he was witnessing a memory.
“Prince Wells!” O’Brien snapped loudly, causing most of the class and Xavier to jump. “Sit up straight!”
Xavier watched as his father grimaced but straightened in his seat without rebuttal.
Looking thoroughly satisfied, Father O’Brien sat behind the desk and began grading papers. As soon as the priest was occupied, William LeMasters glanced back at Jeremiah, who was busily working on his assignment.
Suddenly, Jeremiah shouted, “Bloody Hell! Who did that?”
“Sire Wells! I don’t appreciate the outburst, and that language is unbecoming for the Prince of Warwood,” O’Brien spat.
Jeremiah glared at the priest before answering, “Yes, Father O’Brien. Sorry, sir.”
With a nod of satisfaction, the priest returned to grading the papers. Jeremiah’s glare swept toward William, who smirked back at him before returning to his work. With a flick of his finger, William’s book rose up and smacked him in the forehead. Jeremiah stifled a snicker and returned to his work, but William wasn’t going to let it end and suddenly the papers and books on Jeremiah’s desk flew forward, smacking the boy in front of him in the back of the head before slamming loudly to the floor.
“Ow! What did you do that for?” the boy whined.
“I… I didn’t…�
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“Prince Wells!” Father O’Brien barked from his desk. “Come here. Now!”
Reluctantly, Jeremiah stood and approached the front of the room. O’Brien picked up his ruler and walked around the desk to stand in front him.
“Hold out your hand!” he commanded roughly.
A muscle rolled in Jeremiah’s cheek as he slowly presented his hand to the priest.
Father O’Brien grabbed his wrist and held his hand in place as he struck the palm of his hand with the ruler half a dozen times. Though he didn’t make a sound, Jeremiah winced with each blow and tears pooled in his eyes.
“I hope this punishment has reminded you, sire, that this is my classroom. You hold no authority here, boy. I want you in my office at the end of the day for detention. Understood?”
Jeremiah blinked back the tears and scowled back at the priest. “Yes, Father O’Brien,” he whispered bitterly.
“Good. Now return to your seat and do not interrupt my class again.”
Jeremiah turned and walked toward his seat.
“How’s the hand?” William whispered. “I’m sure your girlfriend Loren will be upset that you can’t use it on your date tonight.”
Suddenly, Jeremiah pivoted on his heel and lunged at the other boy, knocking him out of his chair and slamming him to the floor. The class erupted to their feet and surrounded the fighting boys.
“Prince Wells!” the priest shouted, scrambling to his feet and shoving his way through the crowd.
Jeremiah pummeled William’s face into a bloody mess before O’Brien finally reached them, grabbed Jeremiah, and yanked him off LeMasters.
“Get off me, you fat ass!” he shouted, whipping around and sending an uncontrolled force into the priest’s chest.
Father O’Brien stumbled backwards, his face screwed up in pain as Jeremiah turned back to William and continued to punch him unmercifully.
“Jeremy! Jeremy, please stop!” a beautiful young girl pleaded, grabbing his arm in mid-punch.
“I said, get off!” Jeremiah screamed, turning and backhanding the girl and simultaneously striking her with an electro force. The girl collapsed immediately, and Jeremiah froze, staring down at the unconscious girl in horror.
“Lucy?” he whispered, leaping off a moaning and barely conscious William. He knelt next to the fallen girl and timidly stroked her hair from her face. “Oh, God! Lucy? I’m so, so sorry! Please, wake up!”
“Move away, boy!” Father O’Brien ordered harshly as he shoved Jeremiah hard to the side and began examining the unconscious girl. Then he looked at a boy standing behind Jeremiah. “Mitch, go get the nurse.”
The boy nodded importantly and raced from the room.
O’Brien looked at the rest of the class. “I want everyone in their seats, now!” he barked.
The class quickly moved to comply except Jeremiah, who was still on the floor where the priest had shoved him, staring fixedly at Lucy. Loren stood behind Father O’Brien, his eyes also fixed on Lucy.
“Sir? Father? Is she going to be okay?” Loren asked, his voice thin and broken.
Father O’Brien didn’t answer as he continued to study the girl.
Then the nurse raced into the room and knelt next to O’Brien. “What happened, Father?” she asked as she busily scanned Lucy with her hand, using some kind of x-ray ability.
“She was attacked with an electro force,” he answered, his eyes settling menacingly on Jeremiah.
Jeremiah still hadn’t moved. He sat stiffly, watching the nurse examining and applying aid to the deathly still girl.
Finally the nurse relaxed and sighed. “Her vitals are good, but she has a concussion. I’ll wake her and call her parents to come and get her. She needs to be examined by a trained healer.”
“All right. If they have any questions about the incident, refer them to me. Take Mr. LeMasters with you to the infirmary. He was assaulted by Prince Wells as well, and I’m sure the king will want that on record,” Father O’Brien stated before standing and regarding the rest of the students. “Class, I want you to take your belongings to the library. You’re to work on the assignment I’ve given you until dismissal for lunch. Understood?”
“Yes, Father,” the children chorused and began to exit the room as the nurse brought Lucy back to consciousness.
Jeremiah slowly got to his feet.
“Not you!” O’Brien spat as he grabbed him painfully by the arm. “You are coming with me to the office while I call the king!”
William moaned as he struggled to sit up. He wiped the blood off of his face with the back of his sleeve and sniffed.
“Mitch, help Mr. LeMasters to the infirmary,” the priest ordered before yanking Jeremiah out of the room. Xavier followed the priest and his father down the corridor of Wells Academy, listening to O’Brien’s loud reprimands.
“How dare you use your powers against your own people! How dare you attack me! Your father will beat you until you’re within an inch of your life, boy. Just you wait! You’ll regret the day you ever thought that because you’re a prince, you can get away with being a hoodlum.”
They entered the headmaster’s office, and Father O’Brien slammed the door behind them. “Sit down!” he barked, shoving young Jeremiah into a chair, waddling around the walnut finished desk, opening a file drawer, and slamming two folders onto the desk before sitting. He opened the top file, picked up the phone on his desk, and called Lucy’s parents.
Jeremiah squirmed guiltily in his seat as Father O’Brien explained what happened and who was responsible for their daughter’s injuries. After informing them to pick up their daughter from the kingdom’s infirmary, he bid them farewell and hung up. Jeremiah looked close to tears as the priest shuffled the folders and opened a considerably thicker file. Again, he picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello, Deborah. I need to speak to King Wells, please. It’s rather important. We’ve had an incident involving the prince here at the school.” O’Brien paused. “Yes, thank you, I’ll hold.” After nearly two minutes, Father O’Brien’s face lit up and he straightened in his seat as though he were at attention. “Good day, King Wells. This is Father O’Brien, headmaster of the academy.” The priest paused before continuing in a rush, “Yes, sire. I know you’re a busy man. I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but I have a serious problem with Prince Wells that I was certain you’d want to know about.” He paused as the king responded briefly. “Well, sire, in my class today, the prince displayed disrespectful and disruptive behaviors. I corrected him, but it had no effect, for no more than a minute later, he started beating another boy in the class. Then, when I attempted to stop him, he assaulted me with his powers and went on to do the same to a young girl. The girl had to be sent to the kingdom’s infirmary.”
“HE DID WHAT!” a voice bellowed so loudly that even Xavier could hear it. Jeremiah slumped deeper into his seat, doing his best not to cry. “You tell Prince Wells I will be there shortly and there will be hell to pay!” the voice continued from the phone.
“Yes, sire. See you soon,” Father O’Brien responded, hung up the phone and peered down at the boy in front of him with triumph.
In less than three minutes, a middle-aged man wearing a royal purple cloak and crown stomped into the office.
Xavier studied his grandfather with interest. He was tall and his shoulders were broad, but he carried a few extra pounds around his middle. His hair was cropped short, and he had a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were identical to that of his son and grandson—a stormy, dark gray. He would have been a handsome man if it weren’t for the look of disgust and anger that twisted his features.
“Get to your feet, boy! Now!” he boomed loudly.
Immediately, Jeremiah jumped to his feet. “Father…”
“Silence!” he shouted. “I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses and lies! Follow me!” the king interrupted viciously, turned on his heel, and walked out of the office. “You as well, O’Brien,” he added loudly from the hall.
Xavier followed the two men and a solemn Jeremiah, who shadowed his father and the priest with his head hanging low with shame. The king led them down the hall and into the busy cafeteria. Every student in the school sat chattering and laughing over their lunches, but the moment the king entered, a hush rippled through the room.
“Good afternoon, young citizens,” King Jeremiah Wells III greeted them. “I have been called away from my job as your king to keep your kingdom running safely and smoothly because Prince Wells has decided he’s above the rules and laws of this academy and this kingdom.” The king looked down at Jeremiah before adding, “You’re not above the laws of my kingdom, son. You are not king yet.” The king addressed the silent students again. “So I am here to pass judgment and execute punishment for the prince’s crimes. It is your duty to bear witness.”
King Wells took off his cloak and crown and handed them to Father O’Brien. Then he turned to Jeremiah. “Drop your pants and face the wall.”
Jeremiah’s eyes bulged as he looked up at his father in horror. “Sir?”
“You heard me, boy!” he spat, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from his protruding waist. “Drop them and face the wall!”
Jeremiah glanced around anxiously. “Father, please!” he pleaded, his eyes filling with tears of humiliation.
“Now!” the king bellowed, his imposing, authoritative voice sending a wave of flinches through the room.
Tears streamed down his face as Jeremiah slowly turned, awkwardly unfastened and dropped his trousers down to his boxers, and despondently leaned his flushing face against the wall.
The king beat him with the belt in his hand. He beat the boy so hard that welts turned into opened wounds, but the king didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate as he continued to violently punish his son. Jeremiah fell to the floor after the fifteenth blow and cowered into the fetal position as the king continued to strike him.
“No,” Xavier moaned. “Stop! Please stop!”
The Prince of Warwood and The War of Kings Page 5