Sage was nervous; Taro knew his secret.
He waited until he had calmed down, then shaved, and brushed his teeth, and sorted out the frizziness in his curls after a night of tossing and turning. Then, he rang for his Valet.
Taro came quickly, looking sharper than he had before. His suit was clean and ironed. His hair was brushed out of his eyes. He wore the biggest grin Sage had seen, a cheeky grin, one that promised mischief.
"Sleep well?" Sage asked, watching Taro stride to his cupboards and rummage around.
"Very. You?"
"Better than yesterday."
"Good."
Taro continued to grin, and Sage eventually caved in and asked, "Is something amusing?"
"Do I need a reason to be amused?"
"Usually," Sage said, eyeing the many jumpers Taro was throwing on the floor. "I hope you're cleaning that up afterwards." Sage felt the eyeroll like Taro had flicked him in the middle of his eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I'm being a better Valet. Are you dressing smart or casual today?"
"Smart. I have other engagements."
"How long are you in mourning for?"
"A few more days." Sage was sick of wearing black, but at least he looked like he had respect for Uncle Patrick.
Taro handed him his underwear and Sage slipped behind his changing wall, returning to get black trousers thrown into his chest. Sage put them on and was immediately handed a black belt. As he was threading it through his trouser loops, Taro yanked a black t-shirt over his head.
Sage quickly grabbed Taro's wrists. "Be careful," he scolded with his head through the neck hole. "You just have to look at my hair and it gets frizzy."
"Oh." Taro tried to move his hands and Sage quickly let go, doing his best not to be awkward while Taro fixed the few curls he had ruptured. "I should have ironed this t-shirt."
"It's fine. We should really decide outfits the night before, so you can get them ready in time."
Taro nodded and held a black blazer open. Once on, he brushed down the shoulders and Sage looked at himself in the mirror. Taro looked at him too. His green eyes travelled up and down the Prince rather freely.
Sage really wanted to say something about his wandering eyes. His words clung to the end of his tongue.
"So, repeat after me, I look really hot in blazers too," Taro said.
"No."
"Alright then, I'll say it for you, you look-" A knock on the door sent the boys rushing apart. Taro quickly scooped up Sage's pyjamas as Oxley poked his head into the room.
"Ah, you're alive!" Oxley beamed at his brother.
Sage tugged anxiously on his blazer. "I feel better today."
"Good. Mum was worried. Now let's go, there's a discussion about your safety outside and inside the Palace soon. Mum wants to talk about Patrick."
Sage fastened his blazer and left Taro to put his jumpers back in the drawers. He stormed the halls with his brother who tried to keep up with him. Sage didn't stop until he approached the dining room doors. Two guards straighter their posture and a servant opened the door. Upon entering the room, Sage paused so abruptly that Oxley walked into his back.
The Prince stared at his mother who wore a green velvet dress. "We're still in mourning," he blurted, eyeing his father who also wore different colours.
"Not anymore," Queen Marigold spoke softly and motioned for the servants to leave the hall. "Some recent news has shown your Uncle Patrick as a traitor. We no longer mourn him."
Sage stared hard. Patrick was her brother, and despite her mourning like everyone else to seem sympathetic, she really did feel some sense of grief. "What has he done?" To cut mourning short was a big thing for a Royal, and something his mother would have discussed with those who worked closest to her.
"He has betrayed us, that is all you're allowed to know for now."
Oxley yanked out a chair and sat heavily. Sage matched his heavy scowl. "What has he done?" he asked, sitting next to his brother.
"I don't want to discuss the details. Now eat your breakfast, both of you, then return to your rooms and change out of your mourning clothes."
"But why?" Sage pressed. "Will the tabloids know before us? They'll see that we're no longer in mourning and make up all kinds of stories."
"Their deceptive headlines mean nothing to the Greenthenor family," Haliver said, staring proudly at Sage, who felt the need to look away.
Something bad has happened. His father's heart was gold, but his eyes were never warm. If he was happy to label Patrick as a traitor, then something serious was going on. Sage ate his breakfast quickly and tried to rush off, but his mother made him follow her down the corridor.
She led him into an empty room, so empty any movement echoed, especially the clacking of his mother's green heeled boots. Patterned carpets were gone, huge paintings were gone, long grand curtains were gone, sparkling chandeliers were gone. The room was a carcass compared to others.
Sage looked around, enjoying the simplicity. Sometimes his eyes never knew where to look in grand rooms, but now his eyes were drawn to his mother and the beauty of her rich umber skin against the lemon-coloured walls, and her long dress draping the pine floor, her golden jewellery on her wrists, her neck, and her ears as the sun made them sparkle.
Her eyes were on him, her hazel brown eyes that held so much power and importance in a single glance. Sage thought that she looked so lovely basked in the golden sun with light green fields behind her, and he would never forget this moment.
His mother held out her hand for him. He reached out too as she said, "Patrick was killed by another Royal."
Sage inhaled sharply. He didn't exhale until the news had stomped on all parts of his mind, and his thoughts blanked. All he saw was dark sorrow casting shadows in her beautiful eyes.
"You can't tell Oxley. The news will be all over the city by lunchtime if you do." Her other hand touched his cheek when Sage slowly let go of his painful breath. He felt her cold rings against his skin.
"How do you know this?" he asked quietly.
"I'm not yet sure on the details, but the source is a trusted one. They say that Patrick was putting the rest of the Royals in danger, especially my sons. His death- his murder- there's more to this than what we originally thought."
"Who killed him?"
"We're not sure. But that's not important right now my darling." She lowered her hand and squeezed his wrists. "Your Royal duties are postponed for the rest of the month, or at least until we find out all details of this treachery. Now go up and change out of your mourning clothes and get some jeans dirty in the garden. I saw Mrs Beecham planting the flowers that will bloom through the autumn. She could use your help." Marigold smiled and rubbed her thumbs on his knuckles.
Sage was speechless and only just remembered to bow before he left. The Queen was his mother, but she was still the most senior Royal and rules remained no matter what.
His mind was spinning, and with each step, it spun faster. By the time he reached his bedroom, he paused in front of the closed double doors to take a breath. His uncle's murder was planned by another Royal. His mother was hardly specific, but he now knew enough to make him feel sick.
His gut flipped at the thought. A secret so heavy would weigh him down for some time.
"Your Royal Highness," a deep voice said, and Sage jumped. He spun to see his Valet standing right behind him with towels up to his chin. A cleaner was crouching down the hallway, wiping the golden skirting boards, so Mister Vinea was on his best behaviour. "If you are entering your bedroom, may I follow to restock the towels in your bathroom, Sir?"
Sage nodded and opened the door, entering first. "I was going to call you up anyway," he said, pausing by his desk. Taro disappeared into his bathroom and returned with a puzzled frown. "I'm no longer wearing mourning clothes."
Taro didn't hide the fact that he was surprised. "Am I allowed to question why?"
"No."
"Am I allowed to question why you look so defeated by it?"
Sage tugged awkwardly at the bottom of his blazer. "No."
"Well, am I allowed to ask what other stuff you're doing today?"
"My Royal Engagements have been held off until the end of the month." Sage instantly scolded himself. Never share too much. You've already given too much of yourself to this stranger.
"What are you doing today?" Taro asked as Sage stripped.
"Please stop with the questions."
Silence filled the room until Taro's slow footsteps approached him. "I need to know what you're doing, so I can dress you appropriately."
Sage sighed and sat on his desk chair in only his boxers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't snap at you."
"Have you had bad news?"
"I can't tell you what it is, I'm not allowed."
"I don't need to know the details I just need to know if there's anything I can do to help."
Sage appreciated the kindness, and not some clever remark to lighten the mood, or someone overly apologetic and sympathetic. "No. Though, thank you for offering." He looked up and made himself smile a little. "I need clothes that are somewhat comfortable. I'll be helping Mrs Beecham."
"Clothes you'll get dirty?"
"Yes."
"All your clothes are so expensive."
"And can easily be replaced."
Taro's smirk returned and Sage could imagine his snide remarks of how the Royals were bad for the environment, and how they had too much money, and how they had no idea what the real world was like. Sage was highly aware of those opinions and had selective hearing when those opinions were voiced.
Luckily, Taro kept his thoughts to himself and returned to the Prince's cupboards. He dressed Sage in blue jeans and a dark green knitted jumper with pleated patterns woven into the material. Sage left in brown shoes that were not waterproof enough for the rain that burst onto the grounds as soon as he reached the garden doors. His jumper would soak up the rain like a sponge. The last thing Sage needed was to get ill.
He retreated up the stairs, and along the corridor towards his quarters. The cleaner was still scrubbing away. She didn't even look up when Sage opened his bedroom door and slipped out of sight. He swung his door shut and strode through the room, wanting some boots and a waterproof jacket. He stopped in his tracks when a green light, bright enough to catch his eye, gleamed by the side of his bed.
To Sage's surprise, the green light was coming from his Devil's Ivy plant.