Watering the plant was already annoying. Sage would be deep in a reading, deep in King lessons or deep in his own thoughts when his watch buzzed. The first night, Sage had even dreamt about watering the plant and awoke in a panic.
He rolled out of bed to yet another day without his valet. He was capable of dressing himself, but he had no idea where everything was, and whether anything had been sent off to get mended, or if anything was yet to get mended. Sage just dressed blindly, but at least all his clothes were bland enough not to look too out of place. At least he was in mourning and threw on anything dark.
He wore smart black jeans with a black shirt, a black waistcoat with silver buttons and black smart shoes. Finding his socks was a task that should not have been as difficult as it turned out to be. He had gone sockless for two days and couldn't stand the blisters. Sage eventually found his sock drawer in the bottom cupboard by his bathroom.
He ran a hand through his dark curls, staring at his tanned skin and cheeks that were now flushed after running around his bedroom. If he didn't wear black, or dressed informally, the tabloids would have a field day of making up lies about him. They would say that he didn't care about his Uncle's death. That might have been true, but Sage couldn't give them a reason to tear down his reputation. He had once reacted badly to their lies, and from then on, they made it their life's mission to bring him down like how he brought them down.
Sage was late to breakfast and this time, his father's eyes joined in on the judging stares. They hadn't talked about Patrick's death the night before. So the Queen ordered the servants from the room, so they could talk as a family.
"Nice of you to finally join us," his mother said sternly. Though she made the effort to smile at her eldest son.
"Sorry mother," Sage mumbled, glancing to Oxley who was bursting to crack a smirk. "Have you got more news on what happened to Uncle Patrick?"
"Nothing other than the fact that he was murdered with a cord of some sorts. The house he was in belonged to nobody, and so far, everything is pointing to dead ends. Patrick's house is being searched for any signs that someone was threatening him or that he was in trouble. I'll be very surprised if nothing turns up. Patrick was always testing the law some way or another."
Sage rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He was probably up to something rather shady. He always seemed to be up to something."
"I'm hoping that's what got him killed, and not some crazed lunatic who has it in for the Royals," his father added. "At least you're off the front page for a few days." He sighed heavily and shared a glance with his wife. "Anyway, let's not cast a shadow on today's breakfast."
They talked about the weather, their boring Royal engagements, and then his father moved onto a topic that made Sage's stomach churn. "I'll arrange for some... women of interest to come and occupy you after the funeral is out of the way."
Sage's fingers fidgeted under the table. "I don't really-"
"You're either chopping back the rose bush, mowing the lawn, or trimming the hedges. Sage, you're a Prince, not a gardener."
"You told me to fill more of my days this week with helping Mrs Beecham. And besides, I'm not in the mood for entertaining guests."
"You never are," said his mother, tightly pursing her thick red lips. "You'll be twenty-one soon. You need to think about the future. I won't live forever."
"You're acting like I need to get married tomorrow." Sage's heart flipped in a sudden panic. He had to tell them that he was gay, preferably sooner rather than later. Sage had even drafted letters before he burned them, fearing that they'd fall into the wrong hands. Whatever he did was big news. Being gay would somehow turn into a scandal.
"Not tomorrow, but at least get a few potential options for yourself." His father pointed a strawberry at him as he spoke. "Lady Liniana has shown a lot of interest in you. I don't know why you-"
"I'll think about it. But I'm busy with the garden."
Everyone in the room eyerolled him, never understanding why he paid so much attention to plants and not people. Plants never spoke or judged or expected great things from him.
Sage was first to leave the table. He found Mrs Beecham hovering by the exit to the gardens. "How's the plant?" she asked, not even bowing her head or greeting him politely. "Have you been watering it?"
"Yes, yes," Sage sighed, eyeing a leaf stuck in her ginger curls.
"And given it-"
"Yes, plant food. Do you really think I would have forgotten already? You gave it to me yesterday."
"Unwillingly, might I add. But you're dealing with a loss. Maybe I should take it off your mind for a while."
"I'm not that incompetent." Sage stormed to the shed and Mrs Beecham followed, sensing something was wrong.
She gave him some pots to fill with soil and he filled them so aggressively, she had to stop him before the rest of the soil spilt all over the floor. "Are you alright?"
Sage stared bleakly into the pot. He was always careful not to share too much information with anyone. Like his brother said, trusting those was hard with a status as heavy as his. "My father wants me to be social soon."
"Ah, but Prince Sage is not a social creature."
"Not exactly."
"And those who you are supposed to be hosting are all female, yes?"
"Yes." Sage had known Mrs Beecham for as long as he could remember. He didn't share everything with her, but she knew that entertaining females was a heavy reminder of what his future held. "I called it off for now, but I can't keep holding it off."
"And your dad wasn't pleased?"
"Not really."
"Well, all in good time. You can't entertain guests when you're not in the mood. First impressions are very important."
"Are they, when you're trying so hard to be the person who they expect you to be?"
"Don't get all cynical on me now." She smiled. "How about you go and get the plant from your room, so I can take a look."
Sage was angry that he couldn't find the courage to come out to his parents. He might have done it already if his mother wasn't the Queen and his father wasn't so set on finding him a wife.
He stomped to his bedroom, not making eye contact with any of the staff or guards lounging in the hallways. Most bowed their heads, but some of the female workers tried to smirk at him and attract his gaze by purposefully getting in his way. Sage was tall, broad, young, and some even said that he was the most attractive prince to ever walk the halls of Pothos Palace.
Sage rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and continued up the stairs as if he hadn't noticed someone gawking at him wearing his waistcoat. He had to always look good outside of his bedroom in case a picture of him was leaked to the tabloids. He still worried that his ex-valet was going to sell some ludicrous story to the papers.
Sage stopped checking the news, and his parents stopped reading the papers in front of him. The articles and lies were sometimes too much if he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
Sage entered his room with slumped shoulders and a dark expression. He shut the door behind him and stood in the silence for just a moment, wanting to clear his head. He planned to stride through his room, maybe scream into his silk pillow and leave as though everything was fine, until he heard a noise. Sage peeled himself from the patterned door and tiptoed past his desk hidden away in a small alcove.
He heard the noise again, like someone was rummaging through papers. "Hello?" Sage called out. Nobody should be in his room at this time of day. His bed was made in the morning and his room was cleaned during breakfast. Without a valet, nobody should be in his quarters. "Oxley?"
The rummaging had stopped, so Sage stormed through his room with large strides, just in time to see the plant on his bedside table wobble. He lunged forwards before it smashed on the wooden floors, catching it and spilling some soil on his waistcoat.
Sage put it back and knelt on the floor, holding the plant pot and glancing around. Nobody was in his room. Without a word, he scooped up the plant and bolted down the corridors, out of breath by the time he reached the shed.
Mrs Beecham looked up, alarmed when he barged in so quickly. "Everything... alright?" Her bright green eyes darted to his arms.
Sage looked down too. If she one day decided to blab about him to the papers, Sage didn't want to be known as the crazy plant Prince. His mother always said that those who had something to gain by being his friend would always help themselves in the end, and trample on him in the process.
"Yes. Just pressed for time today."
Mrs Beecham inspected the plant proudly, gently touching the soil, and even treating the pot it sat in as though it would break at any moment. "It's not worse, but it's not better yet."
"Of course it's not. You found it like this only a day ago."
"This type of ivy grows unnaturally fast."
Sage was still learning a lot about plants, but he had never heard of anything like this.
"So, don't be alarmed if it starts sprouting leaves within the next few days," Mrs Beecham continued. "Just don't be alarmed by anything this plant does."