Sage did as he was asked with the plant. He watered it every four hours and gave it plant food mixed with water every eight hours. Sometimes he forgot to rotate the plant, but when he arrived at his bedroom after dinner, he noticed that the plant was doing miraculously well.
He sat next to it on the bed, gently turning the dark purple pot. The vines were inches longer and three new leaves had sprouted over the past few days. Sage touched each leaf as if he thought they were fake.
Each leaf responded to his touch by opening out. Sage smiled. "Strange," he mumbled. He got the watering can from the windowsill and the soil soaked it up like he hadn't watered it only four hours ago.
He checked the top of the roots. They were no longer rotting. "Mrs Beecham will be happy you're doing well." He touched the leaves again. They were smooth and healthy with flecks of light green through the centre.
Sage decided to stop prodding the plant and lounged around in his room until the evening. His Valet usually entered at nine if Sage was already in his quarters, but he still didn't have one. He got himself changed and threw his clothes by the washing basket.
He washed his face and brushed his teeth in his grand bathroom- almost as big as his bedroom. Everything was laced with gold, from his doors, to his floors, his sink, mirrors, tiles and even the blurred window. The chandelier had one hundred gem drops. Sage loved the lavishness, but most days it was wasted on his eyes. He paid it no more attention than he would a single raindrop in a storm.
His bath was round and indented into the floor. Sage guessed it could fit at least five people, but he hoped one day it would be shared with a significant other.
His days were full of roaming the palace, now that his uncle had been murdered and they still hadn't found the killer. Sage's Royal engagements had been postponed. He couldn't complain, he enjoyed the free time, though it was more time around his parents, and more time alone thinking about how he would tell them that his significant other would be a man.
On his way to the bed, he paused when he thought the plant was moving. His hazel eyes stared hard in the dim light. His fire was burning opposite his bed, and the flames made odd shadows, so he shrugged it off.
He took the pot from the bedside table and put it on his desk. Sage sat and stared at it. The plant entranced him, and not because it was the only house plant he had looked after. The Devil's Ivy was unlike anything he had ever seen. The vines were starting to develop a light green twisting pattern that branched out into each heart-shaped leaf. It moved when he touched it, and required more care than a human child.
Sage had tried to search about ivy that demanded so much attention. He found nothing. The plant was needy, and weird, but beautiful. The green on the outside of its leaves were deep and strong in colour. The way it grew so fast was almost magical.
He left it on the desk and went to bed, falling asleep fast, only to be woken four hours later by the alarm on his phone. Sage switched it off and turned over in his silk sheets. He laid still for a moment until he remembered why his alarm was waking him so early.
The plant.
Sage jumped out of bed and grabbed the watering can he left by the window. He sluggishly dragged himself to his desk and almost watered the wood. Sage paused. The plant wasn't where he left it. In his tired confusion, he spun, squinting in the dark until he saw it on the bedside table next to his bed. He scratched the back of his head. He didn't remember leaving it there.
Regardless, the plant needed its water. The leaves stretched out when Sage splashed water on them, and he frowned at it the entire time. He had been dreaming about the plant, and about how the leaves reacted to his touch. Again, he shrugged it off, too tired to concern himself with it.
He put the plant back on his desk and flopped onto his covers, falling asleep on top of his silk duvet, basked in what little light the crescent moon brought in through his tall windows.
Morning came equally as fast, waking Sage with a sharp sound from his alarm. He grumbled and reached over to blindly switch it off, only to get a handful of soil. His head shot up so fast, his neck cracked. "What the fuck," he mumbled, staring at the house plant he had left elsewhere.
"Morning!" a familiar voice said from the far end of his room.
Sage's head snapped in that direction, meeting the amused eyes of his brother Oxley. "What the fuck."
"Just making sure you're not late for breakfast otherwise mum might actually kill you this time and trust me, I do not want your crown."
Sage sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning into the hand that wasn't covered in soil. "Stop moving my plant."
"What?"
"And get out so I can get dressed."
"Still no Valet?"
"No, but I'm interviewing one today."
"You're interviewing one?"
"Yes," Sage said, pausing to point at the door. "Out."
"Why are you interviewing one?"
"Can you blame me that my trust in valets is a little . . . low? I want to meet them first."
"Who is it? That got arranged fast."
Sage sighed and started rummaging through random drawers until he found his black mourning clothes. "Mrs Beecham knew someone."
Oxley scoffed and shook his head. "See you downstairs." He left and Sage showered quickly, dressing in black trousers, a long-sleeved black top, and a smart fitted blazer. He checked himself in the mirror, wanting to run a hand through his dark curls, but for once, his hair was not frizzy from the heat of the steam from his shower, so he fought against it and hurried from his quarters.
He passed familiar faces who bowed to him before scurrying on with their tasks. Sage didn't slow down his march until he was on the long corridor leading to the dining room. Two guards dressed in gold uniforms straightened up when he approached them. They bowed and opened the carved double doors of Devil's Ivy leaves in a tight circle. Devil's Ivy was a distant generations symbol of strength, the plant that suffocated the palace's outer walls, and the same thing that sage currently kept in his bedroom.
His breakfast was as boring as ever, but at least he wasn't late. His father talked about mourning Patrick in front of the servants, so it seemed like they were thinking of him often. His mother tried not to look inconvenienced by his funeral, but there was some truth to her sad dark eyes.
Patrick had been a nice man once, but one act of cruelty turned into a thousand more, and he had lost himself in bad intentions. Sage's earliest memory of the man was his hand smacking Oxley's cheek for asking too many questions.
From that day on, Sage and Oxley stuck together.
"Sage says he's interviewing for his next valet himself," Oxley said loudly.
Sage stared with blank hazel eyes. He loved his brother when he wasn't using him as a topic of interest, diverting their parents from the fact that Oxley was always up to something that was a bit too risky for a prince, like climbing over the garden fence and prancing around the city with a hood up and sunglasses.
Sage would never snitch on him unless Oxley had been particularly annoying that day.
"I beg your pardon!" his father scoffed, looking up with cold blue eyes. "Sage, is that true?"
Sage shrugged and crossed his arms. "All my royal engagements are postponed until further notice. I need a valet, so why not choose him myself and get this over and done with."
His father struggled to argue back, so of course, he turned to his wife. "Marigold, your thoughts?"
The Queen was already staring quizzically at Sage. "Fine, do what you wish if you think it'll speed things up. Once the funeral is out of the way, and we get to the bottom of what Patrick was up to, you'll need to throw yourself hard into your duties to catch up."
Sage nodded, not expecting her to let him run the interviews. Well, Sage was interviewing just one person who didn't have any of the recommended skills, but they didn't have to know that. "Speaking of interviews, I must go, or I'll keep them waiting."
"Good luck!" Oxley said with a grin. "Choose wisely or it might be yourself that they sell on eBay."
His parents found the remark funnier than Sage.
He picked up his pace and stormed down the long corridors. The weather outside was drearily grey and wet. He had to interview the new valet in the garden shed. Mrs Beecham said it was the best place for something that had to be kept a secret.
He was a little nervous as he ran through the rain, covering his curls with a raised arm. Sage had no questions to ask, and his lack of preparation became apparent when he stormed into the shed and stared at an unfamiliar man who lounged on a stool with his chin propped on the palm of his hand.
The first thing Sage noticed about him was his green nail varnish and his average clothes, blue jeans and a deep purple jumper that were a little baggy on him. He was as prepared for the interview as Sage, so the Prince could hardly complain.
Still, he kept his guard up, straightened out his blazer and outstretched a hand towards him. The man stood slowly, almost feebly. He was as tall as Sage, not bowing when their hands touched, and not diverting his gaze either.
Sage would have looked away first, if he were used to people behaving in such a way. But he was Prince Sage Green, next in line to be king. Nobody made him feel inferior.
Mrs Beecham nudged the man and his head tilted forwards an inch, and his blond hair briefly touched the lashes to his bright green eyes. "Your Royal Highness," he said deeply.
Sage took his hand back, a little unnerved by the way the man's smile was so close to a smirk. The prince's eyes darted to Mrs Beecham and she nudged the blond man again who frowned at her elbow digging into his ribs.
This time, he said with annoyance, "My name is Taro Vinea, and I am applying for your Valet role."