Sage had been raised to judge on appearance. Everything mattered, from the clothes they wore, to their hair, down to the length of their fingernails. Sage couldn't help himself as he judge Taro Vinea. He wasn't dressed for the role, and he didn't look smart enough either.
His blond hair was messy, and he often had to brush it out of his bright green eyes that were lazily roaming all over Sage as though he was a dirty cat sitting on the side of the street. Taro's jumper had a few loose threads, and his nails matched the colour of his eyes.
Sage judged him hard and already prepared to turn him down until he remembered about the plant. "Oh shit," he said aloud. Mrs Beecham and Taro looked at him with surprise. Sage quickly cleared his throat. "I forgot to water the plant this morning."
Taro turned to Mrs Beecham who waved it off. "It'll be okay just this once. You said it was doing well."
"It is." Sage frowned when he thought about it moving places during the night. Taro's eyes returned to him and he decided not to fret in front of a stranger. Sage should not have been anywhere near the interview. What if Taro had a recorder or a secret camera, or planned to run to the papers about him?
Sage then met Mrs Beecham's gaze. He trusted her enough to give him someone who he could also trust. He motioned for Taro to sit and he pulled out a stool. He allowed Mrs Beecham to sit quietly in the back and started his completely improvised interview. "So, Mister Vinea, how old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"Sir," the gardener hissed, anxiously picking apart the ends of her ginger curls.
"I'm twenty-three, sir," Taro repeated blankly.
"Why are you applying for the valet role?" Sage was annoyed by Taro's tone. "It's clear you have no experience." Judging by your lack of respect for a Prince.
"He has been out of work for so long-"
Sage shot Mrs Beecham a look of warning and she closed her mouth. "Forgive me for being blunt, but this is Taro Vinea's interview."
The gardener nodded her head and sank in her stool. Sage had a feeling that Mrs Beecham wanted him to get the job more than Taro.
"I need the work," Taro said with a small permanent frown. "Sir."
"What are your previous jobs? Have you ever worked for Royals?"
"I've had a few assistant jobs in shops, one was shadowing a tailor, so I know a bit about mending clothes and dressing the rich, Sir."
That's something, at least. Sage linked his fingers. "It's not an easy job. I have much more qualified men who will jump at the chance of an interview. Your incompetence would be highly inconvenient to me."
Mrs Beecham stared worryingly at the back of Taro's head. The blond man sensed it and sat up a little straighter. "I'm eager and can prove that to you by starting as soon as you need me. I'm a fast learner and to be honest, I heard you were looking for someone younger. Those qualified are at least over forty . . . Sir."
Sage raised a dark brow. Taro spoke very unprofessionally, but he had a point. He was only three years older than Sage, but that would also raise questions among the staff. "If you get this role-" Sage lifted a hand when Taro opened his mouth to speak. "I said if you get this role, questions will be asked about why someone so inexperienced got it." Sage now spoke to Mrs Beecham. "Special cases always cause tension among the staff."
"That is true. I admit, I haven't thought that far ahead," she confessed.
Sage really didn't want another elderly man making small talk as he struggled to button up Sage's waistcoats, but was it unfair to give Taro a chance just because he was young? The answer was yes, highly unfair, but Sage had to be selfish for his own sanity. He didn't want another bland member of staff who he had to tolerate because they were qualified for the job.
"Sage, would it be outrageous of me to recommend that we... lie?" the gardener dared to suggest.
The Prince blinked with surprise. "Yes, highly outrageous and inappropriate." Sage hadn't even given Taro Vinea the role and he was already forming a scandal.
Taro's eyes flicked between their gazes, amused. "I'll lie. I have no problem with that."
"That's not something you want to admit aloud, Mister Vinea." Sage crossed his arms. He was desperate for a valet, so desperate that he considered hiring an incompetent twenty-three-year-old. "I can give you a trial week. Show me that Mrs Beecham speaks highly of you for a reason."
The gardener leapt off her stool with a grin. "He won't let you down!" She jabbed Taro in the ribs.
The man tilted his head forwards a little. "Thank you for the chance, sir." His deep voice was yet to sound grateful.
Sage didn't want to think about whether he was out of his mind for giving Taro an opportunity to prove himself. He hovered by the shed door, ready to get on with anything other than their awkward interview. "I'll arrange for Osier to introduce you to the other staff at noon. He's the butler. I'll let him know that you're here for a trial week." He opened the shed door and paused. "One last thing, do you have an eBay account?"
"No. I'll sell your things on the black market instead," he joked.
Mrs Beecham looked like she was about to faint. Taro's boldness was somewhat intriguing to Sage and would be entertaining to Oxley. It could also get the man into a lot of trouble if he wasn't careful, yet Sage still found himself starting to smile. "For your sake, I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plant to water."
He left and Mrs Beecham hurried after him, running across the stones in her brown muddy boots. "About that plant . . . "
"Are you mad that I forgot?" Sage paused as other gardeners rushed past them with their heads down.
"No, but-" she pressed her lips together. Her green eyes glanced over his shoulder. "Never mind. Do you have time to help out with some sorry looking roses?"
"Shouldn't I go water that plant first?"
"Oh yes- but can I make a suggestion that might be very inconvenient?"
"What? Don't tell me the plant needs fresh soil or something."
"No, no, but I think the water from your taps in the bathroom is not the same as the drinking water in our taps downstairs. I think the plant would like it if it was given drinking water instead."
Sage held back a low grumble. "It's doing fine."
"But this could-"
"How am I supposed to give it water from downstairs every four hours? It's hard enough watering it from the stuff in my bedroom."
"I could take it off your hands."
Sage narrowed his eyes. "No."
"Then I have another suggestion." Mrs Beecham smiled. "I've already spoken to one of your cleaners who only attends to the west wing, including your quarters. She says she's okay to carry the plant back and forth from your room to the kitchens. She was adamant that it won't inconvenience her."
Sage's hazel eyes remained narrow. "I don't want her in and out of my room."
"Then leave the plant outside your door when you're using your room."
Sage finally ran a hand through his dark curls. "You're really testing me here, aren't you? Do you know how ridiculous this all is?"
"I do, and I'm more than willing to take the plant off your hands if it's too much."
Sage considered it. Though, he had put effort into the plant already and he enjoyed watching it grow. "Won't the plant mind all that constant movement?"
"Not now that it's not close to death."
"Alright then, I'll abide to these ridiculous rules if it'll please you."
"You did give me a prince promise after all."
Sage rolled his eyes and left her to get on with her job. He returned to his room and the plant was exactly where he had left it on his bedside table. Sage moved it to his desk, watered it, and slumped onto his desk chair.
He wrote a note explaining to Osier the Butler about giving Mister Vinea a trial week. As he signed his initials at the bottom, his brother knocked and entered.
"One of the maids said they had seen you coming up. How did the interviews go?" Oxley flopped onto the green velvet couch by his golden shoe wrack. Some said that Oxley and Sage could've been twins.
Sage didn't see it. Oxley was shorter, chubbier, and always shaved his head when his curls grew longer than an inch. Oxley had their mother's wide nose and high cheeks. Sage's nose pointed out a little more, and his eyes were rounder.
He could've listed their differences for hours, and often wanted to every time people commented on their similarities. "It went well. He's getting a trial week."
"Nice. How old?"
"Twenty-three."
"Wow. That's young for a valet."
"I know, which is why I'm giving him a trial week." Sage turned on his chair, holding up a letter.
"Is that to Osier?" Oxley cackled. "He's not going to be happy."
"Yeah well, he can deal with it," Sage muttered. "If Osier had it his way, he would've hired a man too old to use the stairs."
"Still, don't be surprised if he pays you a visit. Where did Mrs Beecham find the guy?"
Sage shrugged. "I'm just glad she did. Even if the guy's not good at the job, at least it's a change for a week."
"Careful there," Oxley warned with a grin, "you're starting to sound like me."