Roots and Oxygen

Chapter 7 - Counterfeit Tears

Sage left at the same time as Taro and they went their separate ways, until he heard quick steps behind him.

"Uh... Prince?"

Sage turned with a frown.

"Your Royal highness." Taro sighed. "How do I get to the kitchens? There's a servant's staircase, but I can't remember where it is."

Sage was already late for breakfast. A few minutes more couldn't hurt. "This way." He stormed the corridor, but Taro was able to match his long strides. "Bedroom is here," he said, pointing right. "The servant's staircase is all the way down this corridor, then turn right, and you'll see the dark wood door on the left."

"Thank you."

Sage cleared his throat.

"Sir, thank you."

Sage was sure that Taro eye-rolled him the moment his back was turned, but he had other things to worry about. He headed in the opposite direction, nearly running through the halls to get to breakfast.

His mother was on her feet when he entered. "Oh, I was a little worried. Are you alright?"

Sage, out of breath, stood behind his chair. "Worried? Why?"

"Word has spread that you're training a new Valet." The Queen waited until the last servant left the room. "Sagerian Greenthenor, how foolish are you!" she hissed.

Sage hadn't heard his full name in so long, especially not his lengthened surname. "I don't-"

"Your uncle was murdered, and you invite an inexperienced nobody to be your Valet. Have you lost your mind?"

"Mrs Beecham recommended him. I hardly think a member of staff, a loyal member of staff would recommend me someone dangerous, someone she couldn't trust!" Sage bit back. He looked among the faces. His father, as usual, resorted to looking at his wife, while Oxley stared with big hazel eyes.

His mother sat down, slowly. Her black dress wrinkled as she did. "Eat. You have a busy day."

Sage sat. His rough morning only seemed to worsen when his family visited. Sage had to endure their pretend grief all afternoon. His cousin was excellent at fake crying and wailed whenever a member of staff scurried past.

Sage tried to sit by himself for a while until his grandmother had an opportunity to accompany him on the couch. "Good afternoon my quiet grandchild. Lost in thought about your Uncle?"

"Not quite."

"I don't think any of us are."

Sage looked at granny Dalia, his father's mother. Her grey hair was pinned around her old face, neatly tucked under a black floral hat. Her blue eyes were as cold as his father's. Her thin lips sat in a permanent smile from years of keeping up appearances. She wore a long black dress that pinched in at the waist. Her long-sleeved arms were laced with black embroidered roses.

The Prince glanced around and saw no golden servants in sight. "I just want the funeral to be over."

"Yes, so you can get back to what's important, keeping the peace among the public. I've heard there's growing concerns out there, especially after you cancelled all your Royal Engagements for the foreseeable future. Are you aware of what the papers are saying?"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way." Sage was saved by the alarm on his phone. "Sorry, I'll be back soon."

"Sage!" his mother hissed before he made it halfway through the room. "Where are you-"

"To the bathroom, mother." Sage left with a scowl that only deepened by the hour. His mood swelled deeply in his gut. He would have rather been out at the charity boat race than stuck in doors where everyone had to look sad and talk about the few mediocre qualities his Uncle Patrick had.