Sage stepped back. Taro's fingers fell from his shirt, while Oxley let himself into the room. "Nice to meet you." Oxley held out a hand for Taro to shake. He stared quizzically at Taro's green nails.
The valet shook his hand at least, but stood silently, staring confidently, and once again looking bored. He said nothing to Oxley, so Sage rescued the situation. "Mister Vinea is doing well so far."
"Is he?" Oxley was clearly amused by Taro's messy appearance. "Well, don't let me distract you or you'll be late for the funeral, never mind breakfast."
Taro finished buttoning up Sage's shirt, then crossed the room to get his waistcoat.
"What time did you wake him?" Oxley whispered. "He looks a mess."
Sage shushed him as Taro returned and helped button his waistcoat too. "I think some plain silver cufflinks will do for today."
Taro silently moved around them, helping Sage and avoiding Oxley's judging stare.
"I should go down. Mum will probably be later herself, you know what she's like with appearances and the public," Oxley said, straightening out his own black blazer.
Oxley left, and Taro paused the moment the door shut behind him. "That's your younger brother?" he asked.
"Well, isn't that obvious? Or else he'd be next in line to be king, not me."
"Well, he acts older."
"You got that from this short interaction?"
"It's not the first time I've met him."
Sage stopped examining himself in the mirror. "Oh?"
"I say the word met loosely. He's not that good at disguising himself after he jumps the palace walls."
Sage was intrigued and wanted to ask where he had seen his brother, and what Oxley was doing. But he was interrupted by yet another person at his door, though this person had the decency to knock. "Come in!" Sage yelled down his long bedroom.
Osier, the butler, entered. His round face reddened at the sight of Taro Vinea's untucked shirt, wonky buttons, and unbrushed hair. "How dare you grace the Prince's presence in that state! Go and get yourself dressed this minute, Mister Vinea!"
Taro exhaled very slowly and stormed through the room. When he was gone, Osier shook his head. "I apologise Your Royal Highness. Just say the word and he'll be gone by breakfast."
Sage smiled. "As much as he likes to strain the rules, he's not that bad. He is a fast learner, he just needs to understand that we do things in a very particular way here, and we have for centuries."
"If it was up to me, I would have fired him yesterday."
"Why?"
"He has an answer for everything. To say he is rude is an understatement."
Sage refrained from scoffing. "He's certainly the most interesting person we've had working for us. Today was a big test for him. I needed him to really care about how much I needed to look good. He arrived on time and even remembered to iron my suit. He's trying Osier."
"Not hard enough, in my opinion, but I respect your kindness, Your Royal Highness."
* * * * *
Sage was anxious from the moment he got in the car, to the moment they reached the church. Large crowds gathered, and the security had doubled. He was at a funeral because of a murder and the murderer was still on the loose.
Sage sat with his brother in the back seat. They both watched the faces pass by. Most were filming the cars and already, the paparazzi were running along with his car, trying to snap pictures.
"Remember, keep your poker face," Oxley said, pulling Sage's attention away from the window. "At least you don't have to worry about them taking a picture of you crying like last time."
Sage jaw clenched. "A human who shows emotion, how awful."
"That's not what I meant. It's just that nobody liked uncle-"
"Can we just get this over with already," Sage interrupted. His head pounded with each flash and each scream from the public. At least Sage didn't have to worry about slipping up and smiling by accident; he was in a foul mood.
The car eventually stopped, and his heart pounded harder than his head. "Sage," Oxley said and grabbed his arm before they both got out. "Just don't think about the press today. They're not allowed into the church because of the severity of the situation. Okay? Breathe."
Sage nodded, but he couldn't breathe, not with so many faces and so many cameras on him already.
His mind blanked as he got out. The crowd went wild for him and Sage's hazel eyes momentarily scanned their excited faces. He gave them nothing, not even a wavering frown, and faced away.
They waited by the Church door as their parent's car pulled up too. Sage felt better standing with the rest of his family. Nobody could enter the church before the Queen, and she did a fantastic job of pulling the attention from her son.
Her dark hair almost resembled a black rose at the back of her head. Her dark skin was covered in a black vail, so her outfit was slender to grace the crowds with her body rather than the beauty of her face. Her dress was long and scoured the floor when she walked. Each step was careful and graceful. Even her arm wrapping around her husbands was a move that fuelled the crowd's excitement.
Sage sometimes couldn't believe the insensitivity. He was at a funeral, yet the crowds cheered as though they were having the best day of their lives.
He linked his fingers and turned to follow his parents inside the church. His eyes tried to remain in front, that was hard when the paparazzi shoved up against the fence, shouting his name, asking him anything they thought would make him turn his head.
"Prince Sage! Are you and Lady Liniana dating?" one shouted.
"Prince Sage, will there be tears today?"
Prince this, Prince that, Prince-
Sage tripped.
The front of his shoe stubbed the top of the step and he tripped into his father's back. His father quickly turned to coil an arm around him, but Oxley was already pulling Sage back into place in their family queue.
Sage felt the impact of what he had done instantaneously. The crowds paused for a mere second, then burst into laughter as every camera close enough to see him flashed and captured his blushing cheeks. The paparazzi went so crazy, all their shouting blurred into one loud noise.
The Queen sped up her pace, so Sage was out of the public eye quicker, but the damage had already been done. He could still hear them screaming about him after the heavy doors closed behind the last family member.
Even inside the church, all eyes were on him. Sage's father patted him sympathetically on the back, knowing just how damaging that one mistake would be. In a matter of hours, the whole world would be laughing at his expense.
Sage would have laughed with them if they didn't eventually turn so nasty.
The rest of the funeral was a slow sad pace. By the end, many of Sage's family were focused on Patrick's dark green casket, the green that matched Greenthenor colours.
All Sage could think about was what the papers were already saying about him, and whether the evening news would focus on his stumble, or whether the staff in the house would whisper about what he had done, and how long the tabloids could keep his trip circulating their magazines and websites.
He hadn't spoken a word during their time in the church. He kept his head down when it was time to follow his mother and father back into the public eye. Of course, nobody paid attention to the Queen. Sage was their target, and it took all his willpower not to shout back at their rude remarks about him not knowing how to use his legs properly.
He slammed the car door and angrily yanked his seatbelt around himself. The driver did all she could to get away from the crowds quickly. Oxley kept opening his mouth to say something, but not finding the right words.
Sage gave the window dirty looks until they were home. "Why are we not going to Castle Radix?" asked Oxley.
"We are, Sir. The Queen made a request to drop Prince Sage at home first," the driver replied, adjusting her mirror.
"Tell her I said thank you," Sage mumbled to his brother, relieved that his mother knew he wanted space. "Just tell them I'm not feeling well or something."
"I will."
Sage got out and stormed through the halls. He didn't look at anyone, he couldn't, not when he was so angry and so close to tears. All sage did was trip. People tripped every day and most celebrities laughed it off and got on with their lives.
Not Sage, not now. They would make fun of him, lie about him, find another reason to tell everyone he would be a useless king. Sage had done nothing to deserve such cruelty. The tabloids needed no excuses when choosing their victims, they just needed people who had reputations they could ruin.
Sage stormed into his room and slammed his door. A painting of the gardens shook on its nails above his head. Sage ripped off his tie and undid his top button. He raged to his bed and sat by the bedside table.
The motion had made hot tears fall, so Sage paused to let it happen. Something as small as a stumble would now cause him so much harm. He wanted to look at what reporters said about him, but he knew from experience that their words were like poking an open wound.
Sage sunk his face into his palms and cried at his own carelessness, until he felt something cold tickling his skin. Startled, Sage lifted his wet face. The Devil's Ivy plant had somehow stretched across the bedside table and fell around his forearm.
The Prince quickly rubbed his eyes dry with the back of his hand and delicately held the green stalk. He tried to focus on its progress to calm himself down.
The plant was growing well. It had four separate stalks, all with more than three leaves each. Every stalk was getting longer by the day and hanging a few inches over the bedside table.
Sage touched each leaf and each leaf responded to his touch by curling around the tip of his fingers. "Odd little plant," he whispered and sniffed back the rest of his self-pity.