Roots and Oxygen

Chapter 7 - Counterfeit Tears

A group of maids stood in a clump by the east wing stairwell. They didn't see Sage in time, and he heard one say, "Taro Vinea, he's so good looking in that uniform."

Another added, "And his deep voice, I could get used to hearing that every morning."

"Maybe if Prince Sage keeps him on, we will!" They all laughed, and Sage decided to loom behind them.

"A good addition, then?" he asked.

The maids all spun, paled, bowed, then hurried away, muttering, "Your Royal Highness."

Sage sighed. They would happily gossip about him all day, but not look him in the eye when he stood right in front of them. He continued his long journey to the bedroom.

The plant was on his bedside table when he entered. Sage took a moment to touch one of the new green leaves. It opened out and stretched against the tip of his finger as though Sage had woken it from a deep sleep.

He smiled and held the pot against his chest. He used the servant's stairwell, which was much quicker, though the steps were ridiculous. Sage wondered how any of the staff could carry trays of delicate tea pots up them.

He just about made it to the ground level and stumbled into a narrow corridor with a low ceiling and dim flickering lights. "Your Royal Highness!" a booming voice said from the doorway to his left.

"Hi Osier, I'm just watering the plant." Sage paused by the Butler's office. "How's Mister Vinea getting on?"

Osier spluttered on his words as he said, "Sir, any of the staff could have done this for you!"

"It's fine, I wanted to stretch my legs, and I promised Mrs Beecham that I would look after it."

"Very well, Sir. And Mister Vinea is doing okay, I assume. I sent him off to fix the button on your trousers. I'll check on him soon."

Sage smiled and continued his venture to the kitchen. He scared the cook half to death when he asked for her to step aside, so he could reach the sink. She bowed so low, she had to use the counter to straighten up again. "I won't be a moment. This plant deserves any attention I can spare."

The plump middle-aged woman wearing brown trousers with a matching top and hat shuffled a little closer to the sink. "Devil's Ivy, a good choice in house plant."

"It was barely alive when I started looking after it." Sage decided to keep the plants odd growing qualities to himself.

"You've nursed it back to health very well, Sir."

"Thank you." Sage was aware that he was pressed for time. He couldn't spend thirty minutes going to the toilet otherwise Oxley would start with the jokes, and nobody needed that.

Sage stormed back through the corridor, up the steep narrow servant's stairs, down the long corridors in the west wing, and into his bedroom. He put the plant on his desk and left, but on his way out the door, his jumper caught on the handle and pulled the threads loose.

"Shit," Sage groaned, collecting the long thread from the handle and re-entering his room, just in time to almost clash with Taro Vinea. Sage was pushed back into the corridor as Taro skidded to a halt.

They both froze. Sage was first to recollect his thoughts. "Mister Vinea, how-"

"I was rearranging your sock drawer."

"I didn't see you."

"I was crouching to reach the drawer... Sir."

Sage looked around when a housemaid hurried past with fresh bedding. He cleared his throat. "I've put a hole in my jumper."

He showed Taro who shrugged. "It's tiny."

Sage arched a brow. "Do you understand what a valet role is?" he asked, knowing he sounded condescending. "Your job is to make my appearance look good." He pulled off the jumper and dumped it in Taro's arms. "There's no hurry to get this sewn up today, but make sure that you do by the end of the week."

Taro nodded his head once. He waited until Sage turned and stormed in the opposite direction.

Sage returned to the room that his family suffocated with fake sadness. His other grandmother had arrived, the Queens mother, the eldest member of their family who was slowly losing her mind. "Sagerian, nice of you to join us!"

Sage wore a smile and allowed her arms to wrap around him. Now, they had moved into ultra-polite mode. Uncle Patrick was dead, it was a tragedy, everyone's heart was broken, at least that was how it was supposed to look.

The Prince approached his younger brother when his mother diverted his Grandmother's attention.

"What happened to your jumper?" Oxley asked as Sage sat in his black shirt.

"I put a hole in it."

"So?" Oxley turned and poked a finger though the hole in his jumper.

Sage linked his fingers and slumped against the pin-cushion couch. "I actually care about how I look."

"Yeah because you have to otherwise the tabloids would eat you alive."

Sage motioned for one of the servants to bring over the drinks. "Still focused on Patrick's murder?"

"Yep, and that celebrity's... explicit photograph."

Sage took some lemonade with squeezed lime and ice. "Just wait, I'll get out of the car wrong and suddenly I've ruined our family name, then it'll be on the front page."

"You could sneeze in public and be the worst Prince ever."

Sage dreaded the funeral, mostly because he would be in the public eye. If he shed no tear, tabloids would discuss his mental state. If he shed tears, he was a weak man. Sage couldn't win no matter what he did. "Oh well, at least they're focused on me and not you sneaking over the garden walls almost every night."

Oxley nudged him and Sage spilt lemonade on the rug. "I have places to go, people to see."

"You know how damaging this can be if you get caught, right? Uncle Patrick was murdered and you're sneaking out."

"Maybe I'm sneaking out to see a girl."

"Are you?"

Oxley shrugged. "You should come. She has a friend, he's just your type."

Sage's face froze, as did the breath in his lungs. He stared hard at his younger brother.

"I'm joking," Oxley scoffed. "Obviously."

Sage quickly reigned in his composure with a thumping heart. "That's not funny."

"Why?"

"Because you're implying that it's a joke to be gay." With that said, Sage left his brother to sit alone.