"A Royal... murdered!" Haliver yelled.
Sage's eyes followed his father back and forth as he paced the drawing room.
"Someone will hang for this."
Sage could always count on his father for being outrageously dramatic. "How do you know it was murder?" The middle-aged man stopped abruptly in the sunlight, facing his son. His blue eyes were as cold as ever. His pale skin was flushed and angry. His brown hair was messy from the number of times he had gripped it that morning.
"He was strangled. They said there were marks on his neck."
Their father shot Oxley, his youngest son, a sharp glare. "They, who are they?" Haliver demanded.
"The staff who work here. I overheard them gossiping about it before I was even told. They know far too much about everything."
Sage kept his arms crossed and said nothing. What could he say? His uncle was a horrid man, cruel and nasty and far too jealous of his older sister, the Queen. Murder seemed fitting for his death, but who had dared to kill a Royal, and why?
"Do we know why Uncle Patrick was at that house?" Oxley asked.
"What house?" Sage finally spoke up.
"That poor house."
"You mean the council house." Their father spoke through gritted teeth. Their father had not been as rich as he was now before marrying the Queen. But he had always been a man of rules, and the Royals had plenty of those.
"Yeah, whatever." Oxley waved his hand. "Interesting for him to be there, don't you think?" he asked as though the whole thing was something to finally lighten his dull week.
Haliver faced away from them, directing his glare to the flowers outside. "Go and get on with your day, both of you. Your mother and I will talk about this tonight as a family."
Sage and Oxley shared a glance. Something was amiss. Their father hated Patrick too, but a Royal had been murdered, and they needed to find out if it was an Uncle Patrick problem, or a problem for all Royals.
"Oxley don't leave the grounds today. I know you had plans but make other ones for now."
Oxley left with his head down while Sage hung by the couch, awkwardly prodding the golden ruffles. His father turned his head, so Sage asked if he could help figure out what happened.
"You know you can't be involved Sage."
"I just want to help with something."
His father turned to face him. The silver buttons on his waistcoat glimmered in the sunlight. "And what if this was an attack on Royals and not just Patrick and you find yourself in a spot of trouble? If anything happens to you, your poor brother will carry the burden instead. We all know how he would make a tragic king. He breaks every rule presented to him. I love his individuality, but the crown needs steadiness to reside on the head it rests." Haliver smiled sympathetically. "I know you're still standing by the door Oxley."
The nineteen-year-old grumbled from the hallway and finally stomped away. Sage knew his brother wouldn't really be mad. He was just as dramatic as their father. "So, you'll let me know when you find out who killed Patrick?" Sage asked.
"Yes, and I'll shake their hand before they're punished."
Sage smiled the same bonnie smile that made him look like his mother. The only physical characteristics his father graced him with was his tall structure and a sharp jaw. "I'll get back to the gardens then."
"Maybe you should have a few extra days with the gardener this week. We'll want to keep a close eye on where you are until this gets sorted."
Sage understood. He curtly bowed his head and left his father to continue pacing the long drawing room. The rooms in the palace were so crowded with fancy things, he barely noticed their differences. All the rooms were large and lavish and tall with big windows and dramatic curtains. Sage sometimes only knew what room he was in by what sign hung on the door.
He changed into black attire and returned to the garden shed to see Mrs Beecham staring sadly at the dying Devil's Ivy plant. She scrambled to her feet when he entered, noticing his change of clothes. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Sage wasn't used to her speaking so formally. He dismissed it with an arched brow. He knew so many people, death was a frequent visitor. "Uncle Patrick is dead. The world keeps turning." He rubbed his hands, ready to help, but she had already taken care of most of the things he usually did.
"Are you sure that you'll have enough time to properly look after the plant?" Mrs Beecham asked, relaxing back on the stool.
Sage crossed arms over his firm chest. "It's not like it needs twenty-four-hour surveillance. I'll just water it when the soil gets dry, and-"
"No, you will water it every four hours."
"The roots are already rotting. you want me to just drown it or...?"
"This is a different kind of Ivy. It will need plant food every eight hours and rotated each time you water it. If you forget even for a day, you will kill this plant."
Sage wondered if she was purposefully trying to put him off. "That's fine. I have time now anyway, thanks to Uncle Patrick getting himself murdered."
Mrs Beecham still looked wary, even when Sage lifted the dark purple pot as carefully as he could. "I will make you proud. That is a Prince Promise."
"Now you can't possibly break a Prince Promise." The gardener finally smiled. "You best go and put it in your bedroom. It'll need to settle and get used to the temperature. Don't leave your window open, and don't put it-"
"-In direct sunlight, yes, I do actually listen to you from time to time."
"Take this." She handed him a large carton of plant food.
Sage turned away, but quickly looked back to the redheaded woman sliding on brown gardening gloves. "You were telling me about someone who could fill the valet role."
"Ah, yes. Though, he's not very experienced."
"Is he a royal servant or something?"
Mrs Beecham pursed her lips and shook her head. "Though, his personality makes up for his lack of skill. He's only a few years older than yourself, and he puts his heart into everything. He would love the job."
Sage was sceptical. "I can't just give anyone this role. He'll wake me, dress me, be there when I'm getting ready for bed, accompany me on trips, and so much more." He ran a hand through his dark curls. "Who is he?"
"A friend's son."
Sage was even more sceptical. "Is that all you're going to tell me?"
"You should meet him, then decide."
"I don't do the interviews to-"
"Then, Your Royal Highness, just this once, break the rules."
As the prince in line to be King, Sage didn't get that opportunity very often. "I'll think about it," he promised before setting off to his bedroom, which was almost a five-minute walk through the grand hallways and up endless flights of stairs.
A few staff members double glanced his way. Sage could already see it in the headlines of tomorrows paper. Royal Roots, a Prince with a plant problem. According to the tabloids, Sage had many problems, the latest one being that he wasn't actively searching for a wife.
Sage didn't want a wife; he wanted a husband.
If Sage wasn't a Prince who was next in line to be King, that would have been perfectly fine. But because he just happened to be a Prince who was next in line to be King, his lack of interests in women were very much an issue. Sage had to make an heir to the throne, one day.
So far, he had kept that part about himself very secret. If reporters got even a whiff of his interests in men, Sage would kiss goodbye to any potential partners. They would destroy his reputation.
He shook his head and pushed open one of the patterned double doors leading to his quarters. His double bed was in the far distance, a large poster bed covered in silver silk and a black silk duvet with black silk cushions. A large wall length window always streamed in the morning light, warming the oak floorboards. Sage looked around for a place to put the plant. He had two large bedside tables, one holding a lamp and the other empty and out of direct sunlight.
"Perfect." Sage put the dark purple pot on the bedside table and sat on the silk covers. He touched the only remaining leaf, curled and dark in colour. The gardener said she found it by the side of the road. A fox might have chewed the rest of the leaves. Sage felt sorry for the plant.
He set a timer on his watch to water it in four hours. He had never heard of such a needy plant. According to Mrs Beecham, the plant wasn't ordinary. Sage only hoped it wouldn't also be a nuisance.