The Lost Prince Read online

  Contents

  Signing Page

  A Message From the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  Sneak Preview

  Connect With Me

  <$Signing Page

  A Message From the Author

  Thank you for reading The Gifted Ones Trilogy. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. I love the idea of superheroes, the sci-fi and fantasy of their worlds. As I move forward with this series, The Gifted Ones will join the graphic novel genre as they combat fictional worlds and villains in their modern day setting. I hope you will follow their journeys by signing up on thegiftedonestrilogy.com for news and updates.

  In this crazy world of 2020, where heroes combat invisible threats to our lives every day, we could all use a little superhero break and some hopeful stories.

  If you’re interested in fantasy novels, visit my website to see a full list of my hardcovers. You’ll also find my children’s book series.

  The Lost Prince

  P.G. Shriver

  The Lost Prince by P.G. Shriver

  The Lost Prince copyright © 2020 by P.G. Shriver

  ISBN: 978-1-952726-06-4

  ePub Edition

  All applicable copyrights and other rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, for any purpose, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law, without the express, written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters in this book to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Address comments and inquiries to the author:

  [email protected]

  Internet URL: https://www.pgshriver.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Without fans of superhero fantasies, what would be the point of writing them? Fans deserve acknowledgment by authors. They’re the people who keep writers writing— and working! With that in mind, I want to acknowledge a special young man. I don’t know his name. I know he enjoys science fiction and fantasy because I met him at the Heart of Texas Comic Con one year. I was there with The Gifted Ones Trilogy, books one and two. He visited my booth, perused my books, and chatted with me about superheroes. I enjoyed our visit. When he left my booth, he turned back and with a glint of mischief said, “You should make one of the teenagers dress like a popular superhero in the next book.”

  As a writer, ideas come from many places and conversations. I would like to acknowledge this young “Batman” for his suggestion. You’ll learn why when you begin reading this book.

  I would also like to acknowledge my beta reader, Mikayla Cantrell, for her suggestions and minor edits, as well as my husband and family for their encouragement and support.

  Writing is a risky business today. It’s as competitive today as it was twenty years ago to write a successful novel and subsequent series. That said, I would never give it up. No matter how hard it gets to bring my stories to the world, I will do so. Thank you, dear reader, for keeping me going!

  Enjoy!

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the many heroes of 2020 who fight COVID 19 each day and those who self quarantine to distance themselves for the sake of keeping the rest of the world safe from this virus.

  I would also like to dedicate this book to those who don’t see the color of a person, but instead see the soul of that person, the heart from which they share with others, the good they shed upon our world. Even the lowliest person without home, job, or family has some good to offer this world; it’s up to those of us who’ve found our way to light the path for others who are lost. And, it’s those who lose sight of the good in people that fail to see their own good and what he or she has to offer others.

  Having lived through many difficult, very personal, events in my own life— events that might have caused a different person to exit this world by their own hand— it’s so necessary for us to lean on each other for survival, to love each other, and to help the strugglers.

  I applaud those who are barely hanging on in this difficult time, still plugging away, still seeing the good, and trying to share that good with others.

  We all were given a gift at birth to share with the world, to make a better world for mankind. It’s so easy to fall into traps set by evildoers and follow the wrong path, but if we find our gifts, use our gifts, we can right our path and live a happy life. We will begin to see the good, again.

  We can still make our world a better place.

  There are so many “evils” in this world to combat, real life evils, and with that in mind, I acknowledge those who have found their gifts, those who use their gifts daily, and those who remain on their path to make this world a better place, and raise the positive vibrations of a suffering world.

  May love, peace, and joy fill your hearts.

  Crouched deep in the closet corner, black spandex clad knees shook with anticipation beneath his calloused hands. He couldn’t believe he was hiding in a closet dressed in his Comic Con costume. If one of his friends saw him dressed this way now... he shook his head at the thought.

  Only she could talk him into wearing this costume on a normal day. Of course, she was the only one who knew the truth about him.

  She thought he was a real superhero.

  Hmpf!

  What did she know? She was only seven years old.

  He could hear her soft footsteps approaching. He’d grown to love her so much this past six months. She was so innocent, so delicate, so happy— and in need of a big brother to protect her from the woes of this world. She’d become the little sister he never had the chance to know. Being her big brother made him feel strong, responsible, loved— in control. Nothing in his life had allowed him those feelings before his new foster parents brought him here.

  As he squatted there, waiting for his sister to pull the door open, listening to her last few approaching steps, her high-pitched scream startled him from his hiding place. He burst from the closet, panic hidden beneath his masked face.

  No!

  No!

  Not now!

  His body shook with rage; his jaw muscles swelled as his teeth clenched. Every step became the longest sprint of his life, yet his stride seemed to slow down.

  Her scream muffled, grew distant, silenced.

  Noooooooooo!

  The word flourished deeply within and then rose in crescendo.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  Not this time.

  By the time he made it to the other room, she would be dead, just like all of the other times.

  He couldn’t save her.

  His sense of
control was false.

  He couldn’t stop her death.

  She thought he was a superhero.

  The door creaked under his forceful push on the brass knob. She lay there, on the floor of her room, motionless, breathless, colorless. Flames licked the walls, circled the room, and concealed her from his view. From the center of the flames, he heard it, the laughter, the taunting, the voice of the faceless man.

  Tears blurred the roaring flames as he relented to his grief. He couldn’t fight it any longer. He wanted to give up.

  When he finally consigned himself to the thought, another voice called to him, the voice of a girl, “Unite, Gifted Ones!” He peered through the watery flames for her face, for some hope, and there she was across from him in the hot spiraling whirlwind.

  The constant drumming grew louder as Jamie woke from the nightmare, the Juniper tree he curled beneath little protection from the heavy drops bouncing and splashing into the already muddy ground. A puddle formed beneath his left side. Water trickled into his right ear through the needled branches above, a tiny waterfall winding its way over his auricle into the ear canal. He could feel the cool December rain building, seeping through the black spandex covering his body. The cape served well to protect him from the cold wind, but did nothing to keep the water away from his skin.

  What Jamie wouldn’t give for his own clothes and a rain slicker— better yet, a room with a warm bed.

  Jamie’s conspicuous costume drew too much attention when wandering the crowded streets, especially in small towns like this. He cringed at his foolish decision to flee his home without clothes and supplies.

  On the plus side, the raindrops masked the hot tears trailing over the bridge of his nose.

  Some hero!

  Whenever the recurring nightmare brought him to the ledge of lunacy, a face loomed before him, her face. That sincere, hopeful look was the only image that refocused his thoughts.

  Thinking about her, he rolled out from under the evergreen and sat upright, allowing the hard rain to wash dirt, leaves and wet needles from his costume.

  Through the curtains of rushing water dripping down either side of his forward bent face, lightning flashed, followed by a roll of thunder so near him the ground vibrated his crossed ankles.

  He squinted into the pouring rain and silently wished the seeking arms of lightning would find him, strike him, end this nightmare, but he knew that wasn’t possible. He could never escape the endlessness of his lonely world, his life.

  He’d tried.

  In spite of the raindrops racing over his cheeks, he wiped at his hot tears.

  They had left him in charge of her.

  They had trusted him with her life.

  Worse, he had trusted them... both of them… his foster parents who said they loved him, wanted to adopt him. Ha!

  He closed his eyes to the images of the last time he’d seen the only other people he’d loved since his own family.

  Never again would he trust anyone, love anyone.

  Long strands of soft, brown hair framed a floating face full of hope. The wavering image pushed through his depression, grief, anger, warning him of his self-pity. “Don’t give up, Jamie!” Her voice fell softly into his thoughts through the heavy drops. It was like she was there, right next to him, speaking directly to him. “You are a hero.” Her translucent image smiled, a bittersweet lift at the corners of her mouth, the pain and loneliness in her eyes so familiar to him.

  He scoffed, a harsh, ironic chuckle escaping his throat as he scanned the Comic Con costume he donned.

  “Who are you?” Jamie begged of the brown-haired girl before sobs disarmed his sanity. He gritted his teeth against the drenching rain, then he released a thunderous scream.

  When Jamie lowered his eyes from the gray, branch parted sky, he noticed a hooded figure in the distance dodging from one tree to another. Jamie squinted through sheets of rain as the figure moved closer, hiding and running. The rain gear looked like the ones he’d seen cops wear in the movies, but it was much shorter. Curling himself into a ball, he rolled beneath the Juniper, drew his cape around his body and tugged down a lower limb for camouflage.

  “Shut up! Are you trying to get us killed?” Neka whispered harshly into the darkness. “You and that incessant whistling! Sheez!”

  “I can’t help it. I’m bored. How much longer do we have to wait here? I’m starving, too.”

  “Ugh! You’re not the only one who’s hungry! Just be quiet.” She mouthed, turning an ear toward the barn door, listening intently for the gruff voice, trying to discern the muffled conversation through cracks in the old wood.

  Steps.

  Mumbles.

  Deep voices.

  A clearly stated fact, “I know I saw them over here, but there’s no way into this old barn, as far as I can see. Boarded up all the way around.” A young man’s voice, probably not much older than her.

  He sounded so nice. And cute…

  She wondered what he looked like. Her back pressed against the stall wall, she closed her eyes imagining his face.

  Wouldn’t it be nice to have a normal life? Date someone? Someone with a voice like that? She wondered, the face she created hovering in the darkness behind closed lids.

  Her life had never been normal, but then, considering all she’d seen since her parents’ disappearance, maybe normal wasn’t such a great thing. Slowly she opened her eyes as if the one behind the muted steps on the other side of the wall might catch sight of her slight movement; her muscles stiffened as his shadow passed over a sunlit crack in the wood next to her.

  An eye, the sliver of an eye. “Too dark to see anything in there. I tell ya’, there’s no way in. Been around it three times.”

  “A’ight. Let’s call it in and get outta here. He ain’t gonna be happy.”

  Who? Who’s not going to be happy? The man who tore apart my family, maybe?

  Two car doors, a quiet engine, and tires crunching on gravel eased the tension in her muscles.

  “Is it safe now?” The boy next to her whispered. There were days when his ignorance and arrogance made her want to punch him.

  “Shh!” She peered angrily in his direction. She’d learned the silence seeming to wrap her in safety was the furthest from safe. Staying low, she crawled to a crack in the wall facing the gravel drive. She couldn’t see the car, but something felt off. Intuition screamed from within, telling her to stay put, someone lurked beyond the wall, waiting for the two of them to slip up.

  Was it intuition, or paranoia?

  Following her intuition brought mistakes along the way and those mistakes cost her everything. One had cost her her parents. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she returned to her spot through musty, dirty, dried hay— each swish surrounding her with the scent of old horse manure. Doubts filled her.

  As annoying as the boy next to her was, she didn’t want anything to happen to him. He was all that was left of her past, of her life.

  She had to hold on to her brother, keep him safe.

  She closed her eyes, inhaled the horse smell, and reached a calming, protective hand toward his knee but felt only dirt. Swearing out a sigh, she searched the darkness for his silhouette before rising to follow him.

  “Stop!” She raced toward the worn wooden wall of the barn and reached for his arm, but the connection brought an electrically charged pain to her hand, up her forearm, her shoulder, her neck, her brain, then nothing... darkness… her body ripped into tiny pieces, atoms of charged energy exploding into the atmosphere. When she opened her eyes, she stood outside the barn facing wild, overgrown woods. Pressing her back against the barn wall, she shifted her eyes cautiously before breaking the stillness with motion.

  What if that boy on the outside could still be lurking? Hmm! Might not be a bad thing. Wishful thinking!

  Nothing happened.

  The view over her left shoulder revealed nothing but cracks in the old barn wall, a rusting tin roof, empty bird nests in the eves, yet she
shivered from head to toe.

  Her extremities tingled with the anticipation of being caught.

  She hated when Nashota became uncontrollable!

  Her parents should have switched their names, but he was born after she was. No matter, to her the name Neka—meaning “wild goose”—fit his personality better!

  Ugh!

  She slipped along the barn wall, side stepped to the corner, and peeked around it.

  Nothing.

  Hopeful, anxious lungs deflated like an unknotted balloon. If only she had been correct. If only the one with that voice had remained behind. She would like to see his face. Scanning her torn shirt, worn jeans, and tattered, fringed boots, she combed her fingers through the long dark snarls of waist-length hair and shrugged away the discouraged feeling. She would not want to meet a boy looking like she crawled straight out of a dumpster anyway. Still she wondered about his face, his personality, that one kind eye peering through the crack, the deep sapphire shielded by darkness that blocked daylight.

  Absently, she stepped away from the barn, her brother yards ahead, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Idiot! He had no fear of anything!

  Dry grass crackled beneath her feet as she followed the whistling bird toward the woods. Absently her fingertips continued the grooming of her long dark hair and she let her guard down.

  Snap!

  The noise followed her; she froze, every muscle ready to run like a startled deer.

  “Stop right there... Don’t take another step... Turn around.”

  It was him— the voice from beyond the wall, the eye peeking through the crack, harshly whispered words like a wild breeze blowing into her ears.

  Joyful mischief filled her; a slight smile touched her lips as she turned coyly.

  She would see his face.

  “What are you doing?” Carmen fisted her hands and pressed them to her hips. The force of her motions swung long, dark corn rows over her left shoulder. Anger deepened her delicate, caramel complexion as she prepared to fight for her belongings. “I said, what are you doing?” Her voice intimidated the thief into glancing over his shoulder.