Roots and Oxygen

Chapter 5 - Improper Trials

"Sage, would it be outrageous of me to recommend that we... lie?" the gardener dared to suggest.

The Prince blinked with surprise. "Yes, highly outrageous and inappropriate." Sage hadn't even given Taro Vinea the role and he was already forming a scandal.

Taro's eyes flicked between their gazes, amused. "I'll lie. I have no problem with that."

"That's not something you want to admit aloud, Mister Vinea." Sage crossed his arms. He was desperate for a valet, so desperate that he considered hiring an incompetent twenty-three-year-old. "I can give you a trial week. Show me that Mrs Beecham speaks highly of you for a reason."

The gardener leapt off her stool with a grin. "He won't let you down!" She jabbed Taro in the ribs.

The man tilted his head forwards a little. "Thank you for the chance, sir." His deep voice was yet to sound grateful.

Sage didn't want to think about whether he was out of his mind for giving Taro an opportunity to prove himself. He hovered by the shed door, ready to get on with anything other than their awkward interview. "I'll arrange for Osier to introduce you to the other staff at noon. He's the butler. I'll let him know that you're here for a trial week." He opened the shed door and paused. "One last thing, do you have an eBay account?"

"No. I'll sell your things on the black market instead," he joked.

Mrs Beecham looked like she was about to faint. Taro's boldness was somewhat intriguing to Sage and would be entertaining to Oxley. It could also get the man into a lot of trouble if he wasn't careful, yet Sage still found himself starting to smile. "For your sake, I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plant to water."

He left and Mrs Beecham hurried after him, running across the stones in her brown muddy boots. "About that plant . . . "

"Are you mad that I forgot?" Sage paused as other gardeners rushed past them with their heads down.

"No, but-" she pressed her lips together. Her green eyes glanced over his shoulder. "Never mind. Do you have time to help out with some sorry looking roses?"

"Shouldn't I go water that plant first?"

"Oh yes- but can I make a suggestion that might be very inconvenient?"

"What? Don't tell me the plant needs fresh soil or something."

"No, no, but I think the water from your taps in the bathroom is not the same as the drinking water in our taps downstairs. I think the plant would like it if it was given drinking water instead."

Sage held back a low grumble. "It's doing fine."

"But this could-"

"How am I supposed to give it water from downstairs every four hours? It's hard enough watering it from the stuff in my bedroom."

"I could take it off your hands."

Sage narrowed his eyes. "No."

"Then I have another suggestion." Mrs Beecham smiled. "I've already spoken to one of your cleaners who only attends to the west wing, including your quarters. She says she's okay to carry the plant back and forth from your room to the kitchens. She was adamant that it won't inconvenience her."

Sage's hazel eyes remained narrow. "I don't want her in and out of my room."

"Then leave the plant outside your door when you're using your room."

Sage finally ran a hand through his dark curls. "You're really testing me here, aren't you? Do you know how ridiculous this all is?"

"I do, and I'm more than willing to take the plant off your hands if it's too much."

Sage considered it. Though, he had put effort into the plant already and he enjoyed watching it grow. "Won't the plant mind all that constant movement?"

"Not now that it's not close to death."

"Alright then, I'll abide to these ridiculous rules if it'll please you."

"You did give me a prince promise after all."

Sage rolled his eyes and left her to get on with her job. He returned to his room and the plant was exactly where he had left it on his bedside table. Sage moved it to his desk, watered it, and slumped onto his desk chair.

He wrote a note explaining to Osier the Butler about giving Mister Vinea a trial week. As he signed his initials at the bottom, his brother knocked and entered.

"One of the maids said they had seen you coming up. How did the interviews go?" Oxley flopped onto the green velvet couch by his golden shoe wrack. Some said that Oxley and Sage could've been twins.

Sage didn't see it. Oxley was shorter, chubbier, and always shaved his head when his curls grew longer than an inch. Oxley had their mother's wide nose and high cheeks. Sage's nose pointed out a little more, and his eyes were rounder.

He could've listed their differences for hours, and often wanted to every time people commented on their similarities. "It went well. He's getting a trial week."

"Nice. How old?"

"Twenty-three."

"Wow. That's young for a valet."

"I know, which is why I'm giving him a trial week." Sage turned on his chair, holding up a letter.

"Is that to Osier?" Oxley cackled. "He's not going to be happy."

"Yeah well, he can deal with it," Sage muttered. "If Osier had it his way, he would've hired a man too old to use the stairs."

"Still, don't be surprised if he pays you a visit. Where did Mrs Beecham find the guy?"

Sage shrugged. "I'm just glad she did. Even if the guy's not good at the job, at least it's a change for a week."

"Careful there," Oxley warned with a grin, "you're starting to sound like me."