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SHADOW OF THE CROWN

COURT OF THE FAE PRINCES

BOOK 1
LACEY CARTER ANDERSEN
 CONTENTS

Dedication
Want more from Lacey Carter Andersen?

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19

Also By Lacey Carter Andersen

About the Author
 Copyright 2023
Published by Lacey Carter Andersen
Cover Design by Covers by Carol Marques

This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All characters are over
the age of eighteen. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product
of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.
Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is
prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
 DEDICATION

To my extended family– the fact that you never read my books

allows me to write all the juicy hotness I want without fear. Thanks
for that!
 WANT MORE FROM LACEY CARTER
ANDERSEN?

Sign up for exclusive first looks at my hot new releases, exclusives,

and contests from Lacey Carter Andersen!

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my sense of humor? Teasers for my new releases? And more? Join
Lacey’s Realm on Facebook!
 ONE

Cassia
I fluff the prince's pillows with a little extra oomph because I’m
admittedly pissed. With the fae prince’s return, my workload, and
that of all the rest of the maids, has quadrupled. All day long, I’m on
my hands and knees running after the fae royalty and their retinues
while they shout orders and sit on their entitled asses.
“Yes, my lord.” “Yes, my lady.” All. Fucking. Day. Long.
If I have to pick up one more smelly pair of underwear, tossed by
a spoiled fae who uses glamors to make it seem like they know how
to wipe their own ass, I’m going to hunt Prince Sulien down and
beat him with said dirty underwear. Let’s see how handsome and
brave he is with underwear streaked with brown smacking him in his
royal face. I bet he’d be shrieking like a little girl in no time at all,
and showing us how the “big defender” of the realm really behaves.
Though, to be fair, it isn’t solely the prince’s fault. It’s due to the
Summer Solstice Ball. The princes from the Fall, Winter, and Spring
Courts have arrived at the Summer Court for the big event, which
means fae women from all over the four kingdoms have arrived for
their chance to be queen.
 There’s also just the fae hoping to match with each other, but no
one really cares about them. I mean, the fae don’t. I don’t care
about any of them, royal or not. My preference is just for them to be
anywhere but here bothering me.
“And they need rooms. Clean rooms!” Bitterness laces my words,
which bugs me, so I try again. “But there’ll be extra tasty treats in
the kitchen, so it’s not all bad.”
“You’re talking to yourself again!”
Startling, I spin around and spot Beatrix by the door. She’s
wearing the same thing I am, an ugly dull burned orange uniform
with a white apron. Except, while my blonde hair fell out of my bun
a long time ago and now spills down my back in a mess, her pale
brown hair is neatly done. Oh, and did I mention that her clothes are
ironed, and she isn’t sweating like a hot mess?
I cross my arms over my chest, giving her a fake glare. “You
know, it’s not nice to sneak up on people.”
She laughs, and the sound is light and beautiful, like her entire
personality. “No one has to sneak up on you. When you’re in your
head, you wouldn’t hear a hoard of unicorns stampeding.”
I shake my head, even though she’s right. “I’m better than you
are when you see a hot guy. Didn’t you smack into a wall the other
day?”
She rolls her eyes. “Never mind that–”
I snort, interrupting however she planned to save herself from
that embarrassing story.
“Though,” she says, glancing at the door just to be sure. “I could
see myself running into quite a few things if I spotted the fae
princes.”
I groan. “Not you too!”
 Every woman seems to be obsessed with the fae princes, even
though most of the women haven’t actually seen them at the
Summer Court in years. For all they knew, the princes could all look
like a pile of sickly sticks with tiny limp dicks. Hell, Prince Sulien is
the only one who has even been here as an adult. The other three
were kids the last time they made their rounds to the Summer
Court. So I doubt any of the rumors about their overwhelming
hotness are anything but that, rumors.
“I’m just saying, from what I’ve heard, the only thing better than
one of them would be two of them,” she purrs the last words.
“Two?” I throw up my hands. “Why not make it all four of them?”
She gets this silly look on her face. “You say that like it’d be a
bad thing.”
I laugh. “Talk about a nightmare. Could you imagine all the dirty
clothes and bragging? I bet even fucking them is terrible. In fact, I’d
bet they watch themselves in a mirror the whole time?”
“Cassia!” She sounds scandalized.
Going to the bed, I start smoothing the blankets again. “I’m just
saying, I’d take one hardworking, human man over the fancy pants
royals any time.”
There’s a sound out in the hall. Faes laughing.
She glances back at me, looking worried. “You need to finish up.
We have to move downstairs before the royals arrive.”
“Yeah, because if one of them sees us, they’ll just die!”
“Cassia…” She’s trying to warn me to be good, but she’s grinning.
I grasp my chest. “Oh, no! Oh, no! I’ve seen a maid! Now I know
who scrubs my floor! How will I ever survive!” Then, I collapse onto
the floor. It hurts, but it’s worth it when she comes up and pokes me
with her shoe while laughing.
“Are you done?”
 I open one eye to see her staring down at me. “Actually, now
that I’m down here, I’m thinking a nap’s in order.”
She laughs. “For someone so obsessed with being the best maid,
doing the best job, and rising in the ranks, you’re also completely
insane.”
Beatrix doesn’t totally get it. Her mom and dad both work for the
fae. She has the privilege of not needing this job, I don’t. She gets
to use her money for clothes, entertainment, and to save for her life
as an adult one day. I get to use it to keep my family fed and to buy
my father’s potions. So, yeah, I take it seriously. But I also take the
rare opportunities I’m given to make it fun too, since this is basically
my life.
Her amused expression fades away. “If you take much longer, we
won’t get the other rooms ready before the fae arrive. And if one of
them has to wait for their room…”
They’ll be pissed, which will mean our boss, Alexi, will be pissed
at us. “I’ll finish up and meet you there,” I tell her, climbing to my
feet.
She grins, calling over her shoulder as she heads for the door.
“Don’t take too long.”
“Oh!” My word stops her. “Did Alexi say anything to you about
getting an advance on my pay?”
Her expression gentles. “She said no. Sorry.”
My gut clenches, but I try not to show how upsetting the news
is. I was really depending on a different answer. I guess I’ll have to
come up with a Plan Z. “Thanks.”
She looks like she might want to say something else, but then
leaves.
Hurrying, I finish making the bed, then check over the room to
make sure I’ve finished everything. Anything I see that needs to be
straightened or dusted, I take care of. This is the final check. The
moment to make sure that everything is presentable for the precious
fae.
Otherwise, we’ll hear about it. We always do.
My gaze sweeps over platter after platter of food set out for the
prince’s return, and my stomach grumbles annoyingly. Unable to
help myself, my thoughts go to my family. We’re always one day
away from starving ever since my grandmother went blind and could
no longer work as a tutor, resulting in the palace tossing her on her
ass. Since then, I’ve spent my days cleaning for the spoiled royalty,
but the money doesn’t go far.
They have all of these riches, but they pay pennies. Plus, there’s
the whole lack of loyalty thing. We’re about as important as the
things they scrub off their pretty shoes.
“And they care just as much about whether we’re starving our
asses off.”
I let my hand slide along the table near the unlit fireplace. The
one with a tray covered in different kinds of meat. The one covered
in desserts. The one with fruits and vegetables piled high.
There’s more food in Prince Sulien’s room than we’ve had in our
home in the past year.
“All this food for one person,” I grumble as I use a cloth from my
apron to dust the statue of Prince Sulien’s father next to the spread
of food. My father’s hunched-over body flashes in my mind. “And I
don’t have enough money to buy us anything for dinner tonight.”
An unexpected thought enters my mind, and my heart starts
racing. I look around. No one would even notice if a little bit of this
food went missing.
I’ve never taken so much as a cracker from the royals. Cook
always gave me and the other maids any extras after meals, and a
bowl of the staff porridge made from leftovers from the day before,
which is allowed as long as it doesn’t leave the castle, but I’d never
actually taken something. Because up until recently, I always had
enough to ensure my father and grandmother had food.
Up until I started paying for my father’s expensive treatments.
Treatments I can’t take away from him, no matter what I have to do.
I’m many things, but I’d never consider myself a thief.
Reaching into my pocket, I double-check the spot my coins would
be and find nothing. This is the first time my family will go hungry.
I’ll be allowed something from Cook, but nothing to take home.
Those are the rules. Can I really live with myself if my dad and my
grandmother go hungry because I failed to provide for them?
Then, my dad would know how difficult it’s been to afford the
potions he’s been using on his legs. The ones the fae healer said
could bring back his ability to walk. He’d already gotten the feeling
back in them. He’s already managed a few steps.
It’s just… so difficult.
Grandmother and father know things are tight, but I’ve hidden
from them just how tight because the food is usually gone by
payday, yet I always manage to get more. But if he knew we
couldn’t eat because of them, he’d stop his treatments.
My stomach churns, and I quickly shove a stack of ham into the
pocket of my apron. Maybe it’s wrong, but my family doesn’t deserve
to starve. Not when there’s so much available right here.
And it’s not like I’ll suddenly start stealing gold and diamonds. A
little meat. That’s all. Nothing really. Just enough to fill their bellies.
It won’t even be missed.
“What’s the prince going to do with this, anyway? He’s not going
to eat all of this. It’ll probably just sit here until it starts to spoil, and
then we’ll have a chance at it.” I wipe my hands on the bib of my
apron, then snatch a cloth off the table, using it to better conceal
the meat.
“Dad hasn’t had any protein in…” I trail off, trying to actually
remember. Shaking my head, I go back to the table and snatch
another small handful.
No one will notice. Please don’t let anyone notice.
The only thing worse than watching my family go hungry today
would be watching them go hungry every night moving forward.
With no fae blood, no magic, no land, and no skills, it’s this job or
being a whore. Those are my options.
“Besides, everyone will be focused on the sexy princes, not a pile
of meat.” I’m tempted to dump the whole platter of meat into my
pockets, but I get back to cleaning, knowing better than to tempt
my luck.
“Although, I don’t actually know if they’re sexy. At least not all of
them.” My mind wanders to Sulien. It’d been years since I saw him
last, but I’m sure time won’t have changed him all that much.
“Sulien is sexy as fuck. So sexy that he melts the panties of ladies
everywhere. As for the other three, only time will tell.”
Laughing to myself, I shake my head. Trying not to remember
the Prince Sulien from when I was a kid. The boy my grandmother
would tutor. I was allowed to come with my grandmother to her
sessions, which meant getting to know Sulien. He was smart, kind,
and fun to be around.
And then grandmother’s eyes went bad, and we were tossed out
of the palace. My only interactions with Prince Sulien after that were
when I caught glimpses of him in town. By the time I was old
enough to work at the palace, I saw him far too often, and yet I
seemed to become invisible to him.
 “Sexy, but an ass.” My jaw clenched. He could have a dick as big
as my arm, and it wouldn’t be enough for me to forgive him. Yeah,
maybe he wasn’t the one who decided my grandmother, father, and
I were worthless after she lost her sight, but I’ve grown to accept
that anything the prince wants, he gets, so he must not have
wanted us.
“The fae princes get to come here and find their mates while I
fluff the already fluffed pillows.” I twirl around, ready to leave the
room.
“Oof.” I bounce back and almost lose my footing. I rebound and
stand up straight.
Directly in front of me is a man’s chest. My gaze moves slowly
up, up, up sweeping over an imposing chest, wide shoulders, and
then the face that has haunted my dreams for far too many years. I
hate that he looks even better. Prince Sulien. The man who is as hot
and merciless as the summer sun, with a face that seems carved
from stone.
He stares back at me, his eyes the color of canyons at sunset, a
brownish-auburn color that I’ve never seen in the face of another
fae or human alike. He doesn’t say a word to me, standing there
hovering over me. His lips in a firm line. His gaze unforgiving.
My heart races. How long has he been here? Had he seen me
steal the meat? If he did, I’ll be tossed out of the palace so fast my
head will spin. And if he heard my other comments?
Fuck. What did I say? Nothing good, that I was sure of.
I open my mouth without thinking, and words start flying out.
“You know, you’re the prince and all, but sneaking up on a woman is
beyond rude. I could have been in a compromising situation. What if
I was adjusting my clothing? What if I wasn’t wearing any clothing
at all?”
 He stares down at me, still silent, but his eyes twinkle, and the
corner of his mouth quirks up almost imperceptibly. “Why would you
be undressed in my room while you’re working?” He crosses his
arms and leans back.
I mirror him and cross my arms as well, trying to buy time to
come up with an answer to his very good question. “Maybe a bug
flew into my shirt, and I had to strip to get it out.” I smile and nod
my head.
Yes, that was a reasonable answer. Far better than telling him
that I’m sure I’m not the first woman to find his room and undress,
either with him or alone, and fantasizing about him.
I’m honestly proud of myself for keeping quiet.
And then he keeps talking. “Why would there be bugs in here?
Isn’t it your job to keep this room clean? Are you not doing your job
well?”
Dammit. He’s gotten smarter over the years. When my
grandmother was tutoring us, I’d always been the quicker of the two
of us. Oh, what wouldn’t I give for the days of him being a lovable
dummy.
Not that I can say that, he’s staring at me, waiting. So, I start
talking. “The windows have been open more lately to air the room
out. And that’s not my point.” I wave my hands in front of me. “My
point is that you barged in here—yes, it’s your room, but still. You
barged in and snuck up on me, and scared the shit out of me.”
He lifts a brow, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Noted. I need
a bath. Are you too scared to run me a bath?”
“Scared?” I snort, but then switch to a more formal tone. “No,
your Highness, I am not too scared to run you a bath. Right away!” I
turn on my heels and head towards the bathroom.
 As I prepare the water, he enters and begins peeling off his
clothing. My jaw drops, and my gaze locks on him. I swear he takes
his time unbuttoning his blue shirt, the one that makes his tanned
skin look even more tanned. And when he drops it to the floor, I
actually have to check that my panties haven’t dropped to the floor
too, because he looks that fucking good.
His chest and shoulders are wide. His stomach is so muscled that
every man I’ve ever slept with suddenly looks like a pile of horseshit
compared to him. And his biceps as he reaches for the button on his
boots—a shudder rolls through me—they’re actually rippling.
Is it getting hot in here?
“Did you want some lavender to help you relax?” I ask while he
unlaces his boots.
“I don’t care,” he says, and his tone seems in agreement with his
words.
“What about some hibiscus petals? Those are good for your skin.
I don’t know where you’ve been, but if it’s been harsh on your
skin…” I trail off, watching his boots and socks hit the floor.
When he doesn’t answer, I throw in the lavender, the hibiscus,
and a few more items from the basket beside the tub. Honestly, I’m
not looking. And who can blame me?
He reaches for the buttons on his pants and starts flicking them
open. Hell, he’s good at taking off his pants. But that’s probably
expected. If half the rumors are true, the princes spend their time
fucking their way through the four kingdoms. I’m sure they’re all
more than apt at removing their pants.
Then, he pulls his pants down and my mouth goes dry. My gaze
moves from his strong calves to his thighs that look made for
squeezing a woman tight, up to his tight boxers, and I feel the horny
rush inside of me getting to dangerous levels.
 “Are you excited about the ball? It’s mating season!” No one calls
it that. I’m not sure why I just did. “I mean, it’s time to find a mate.
I’m so curious about how that goes. It must be exciting, though. A
dance to find your wife. So romantic.” I look up at Prince Sulien, and
he’s a god standing before me in nothing but his underwear.
And, oh fuck, I stop trying. I just stare at the bulge of his cock
and let my gaze run over the outline. The sheer size of the thing. No
wonder there are so many rumors about him. He is, in fact,
concealing a dangerous weapon in his pants, one I’d love to get my
hands on.
He clears his throat, and I remember he’s here. That he can hear
me. And see me… staring at his dick like it’s a new treat I
desperately want to start licking.
“Do you mind?” He’s got that brow up again as he sweeps a
hand toward the door. “Bathing me isn’t one of your duties.”
I feel my face heat up, and my pulse races. “You sure? I really
don’t mind.”
Did that fucking just leave my mouth? If I wasn’t blushing
before, my face is on fire now.
“I mean. The bath is ready, your Highness, so I’ll be on my way.”
I bow and try to skitter out of the room.
But when I try to slip by, he grabs me and pulls me close to him.
For one second, I think he’s going to take me up on my offer to
bathe him, and I swear my body’s already wet and ready for him.
But, instead, he whispers in my ear. “There are consequences for
stealing, even things as small as food. Be careful.”
I hold my breath, waiting for his hands to release me, but it
seems to take him an eternity before he does. An eternity where I
wonder what he means. An eternity where I wonder if he’s about to
turn me in, or wants my pocket food back. An eternity where I
wonder whether I should beg him on my knees to forget this.
But then he steps away and heads toward the bath, like he’d
never whispered anything at all to me. Like maybe it was all in my
head.
Sweat rolling down my spine, I raced out of the room. I’m
relieved he didn’t fire me from my position right then, but what if
this meat in my apron loses me this job? What if I end up with
nothing instead of the pennies I get now?
Damn it.
 TWO

Cassia
My heart’s still racing by the time I escape into the kitchen, being
cautious not to be knocked down by the servants who rush in and
out with trays of food and drinks as I do. I slide around them and
into my favorite nook in the corner, out of the way of everyone.
Then, I watch.
I love to watch instead of work. It’s one of my many negative
qualities.
The kitchen is a sea of orange, because each of us is wearing
uniforms in the Summer Courts’ colors, dark orange and light
orange, although our uniforms are different based on our positions.
The kitchen staff wears dark orange pants and shirts with a long
light orange apron covering them. The wait staff wears light orange
shirts with billowing sleeves, and short, dark orange dresses on top
of them. Our uniforms are the ugliest, I think. We wear dark orange
dresses, with light orange collars and sleeves, and a shorter light
orange apron.
To think, I used to like the color orange.
Now? Not so much.
 I relax a little, watching Cook as she works. She’s a flurry of
movement as she adds ingredients to pots and prepares delectable
meals for all the royalty staying in the palace. Winifred is my
grandmother’s age, but you’d never know it by the agile way she
moves. She has both the strength of a young person and the
knowledge of someone older. She, no doubt, has some fae in her
bloodline.
Someone passes by me with a tray of pastries. The scent of
butter wafts from them, and my mouth begins to water. I stop
myself from following the tray out of the kitchen and into the formal
dining room by sheer will alone.
But just barely. Fuck. I’m hungry.
I lean against the counter beside my nook as my thoughts begin
to shift from the kitchen and the food to what’s really bothering me.
Running the confrontation I had with the prince through my mind
once again, I feel my palms grow sweaty. I said and did so many
things I shouldn’t have. It’s one thing to be an idiot in my daily life,
but never with the fae. Especially not the royalty. Stealing from the
fae could cost me my head if one of them is particularly pissed about
it… I don’t even want to think about that. Speaking out of turn with
the fae can easily cost me my job, which is the more likely outcome
of my stupidity.
Damn it. I really need to learn to hold my tongue.
Far too often, words fly out of my mouth with no concern for the
consequences. This time, however, the consequences of being such
a fool might cost me everything, even if the prince doesn’t care
enough to take my head. Imagining myself being thrown out of the
palace makes my stomach turn. This would mean yet another Wither
being tossed out. Only unlike my grandmother, I’d deserve it.
Winifred spots me in my nook. “On break or helping?”
 I stiffen. “Not on break.”
She laughs and shakes her head before pointing at a pile of
potatoes and a knife.
I roll my eyes but know that helping the cook means getting
leftovers, so I start peeling.
“How’s your grandmother?”
That was Cook. She never beats around the bush. “She’s doing
really well. Considering. She cooks. She cleans, and she’s figured her
way around the house and garden.”
She puts a spoon in a pot, then takes a sample of it. Her nose
wrinkles, and she adds more spices. “Glad to hear it. I miss Hazel.
She’s one of the good ones.”
I wonder if the prince remembers that. I wonder if he
remembers that my grandmother was more of a mother to him than
his own. That she was the one he went to when he was hurt or sad.
That it was her warm arms that held him when he cried.
Who knows if he even knew what became of his old tutor, or if
his pampered life erased all the little people that helped him along
the way?
The fact that the prince and his family threw my grandmother
away like that pisses me off the most, but the truth is that I’m also
hurt about losing my relationship with him. We used to study
together, laugh together, and play together. We were friends. But
maybe I was the only one who saw him that way.
I bet my grandmother, and I have been erased. I bet the
moment he saw me today, he only saw my uniform. A faceless
uniform, because real connections mean nothing to the fae. All they
care about are their riches, their clothes, and having fun.
It makes me angry, even though it shouldn’t.
 “How’s your father doing?” Winifred asks me, drawing me from
my dark thoughts. She’s moved to the counter to chop some
peppers for a dish she’s preparing. Meat is sizzling in a large pan on
the stove. I don’t know what she’s making, but it smells amazing.
There are two things I know I’ll get from Winifred at any given
moment: delicious food and empathy. She’s the kindest person in
this palace, and she’s really taken me under her wing since I’ve been
working here. My solace when I’m at work is wherever Winifred is.
“He’s getting stronger. It’s just happening so slowly,” I huff. The
image of my weakened father laying in bed flashes in my mind,
breaking my heart for the thousandth time.
“Slow is better than not at all, Cassia. Be grateful.” Sweat glistens
on her dark brown skin, and I wonder how she manages to stay in
here all day with all the fires burning to prepare the palace meals.
I understand her sentiment, but the fae potions to help him
regain the use of his legs take more than half of my pay. As the only
person bringing money into our home, that hurts a lot, yet I can’t
stop buying them. It took us forever to find someone who knew how
to make the potion. I haggled the price down as much as I could.
When the fae healer threatened to toss out the potion completely
over my bargaining, I accepted the price she gave me and went on
my way.
I wonder if she added an extra spell to make it work slowly. Fae
can be assholes like that.
“I’m grateful. At least I’m trying to be. He took a few steps
yesterday. We couldn’t believe it. No one thought he’d ever regain
enough strength to stand, much less walk.” I smile.
Dad pushed so hard yesterday. I wanted him to sit down and
rest, to not overexert himself, but his determination won out. The
way his face lit up as he put one foot in front of the other and
walked around our tiny kitchen table will be ingrained in my memory
forever.
Winifred reaches out to me and slides a lock of my hair behind
my ear. She holds her hand on my cheek and looks into my eyes.
“You’re so young. Too young to have all of these responsibilities.
First, you lost your mom, then your father lost his ability to walk,
and then your grandma lost her sight. All of this is not on you.” She
drops her hand and looks away from me. “At least it shouldn't be.
You’re doing a great job. I bet no one’s told you that, so I wanted
to.”
I take a deep breath, trying to fight the tears threatening to fall,
then peel the potato in my hand more aggressively to distract
myself. “Thanks.”
What more can I say? That I screw up on a daily basis and will
probably ruin my family with my stupidity? That I really hope that
she doesn’t regret her faith in me one day?
A server drops a tray on the counter beside me. It’s mostly
untouched, so I know the servant will bring it around again in a little
while. The tray is covered in bite-sized pastries that look like fluffy
bites of pure yumminess. Yumminess, whipped cream, and
chocolate.
My mouth starts to water, and my stomach grumbles.
To my surprise, Winifred carefully removes a pastry and shifts the
others to make sure no one notices it’s missing one. Leaning in, she
shoves the pastry into my hand and whispers, “A little bite for you.
Something to sweeten up your day. Hurry up and eat it, so you don’t
get caught.”
I shove the small treat into my mouth. My eyes close as I chew
the pastry, trying to enjoy every bite. The texture and flavor are
divine. The pastry doesn’t just have chocolate in it, but chunks of
strawberries, too. I haven’t had fruit in months. The flavor of the
strawberries lingers on my tongue. My grumbling stomach interrupts
my perfect moment. One pastry isn’t enough to calm the angry sea
that is my empty stomach.
Winifred hears my roaring stomach and laughs, wiping her hands
on the front of her apron.
“Let’s get you something more substantial. We’re all going to be
very busy this week. You need some fuel.” She leads me to the staff
porridge pot. I stop short of gagging at the sight of it. Porridge is the
very last thing I want to eat, but it’s better than nothing, which is
what we have at home.
Winifred uses the ladle and gives me a healthy serving. I take the
bowl and do my best to look grateful as I tell her thank you. She
gives my elbow a squeeze and heads back to her station. I lean
against the wall and force down the porridge. I am grateful, but I
wish I could take this home. There’s always a way for me to eat
here. Food isn’t scarce. I just hate going home with a full stomach
and seeing my father and grandmother withering away.
“Cassia!”
I turn and spot Beatrix darting around the kitchen staff and
heading for my corner.
“Hey,” I say, blowing on the porridge on my spoon.
“Have you seen the prince yet?” Beatrix’s uniform looks brighter
and more crisp next to mine. She’s been here just as long, but her
life differs from mine drastically. With two working parents in her
household, they’re still not rich by any means, but they never go
hungry either.
My gaze runs over her as I take a sip of my porridge. Her full
face and body make me feel gaunt. She’s soft and supple where I’m
angled and thin. Her hair shines while mine feels dry, like straw.
 If she wasn’t my best friend, I’d hate her.
“I had a run-in with him in his room.” I don’t offer anything else,
not wanting to recount the incident.
Beatrix eyebrows rise. “A run-in?”
I’m aware that there are far too many ears in this kitchen, so I
choose my words with care and lower my voice. “I literally ran into
him. I finished in his room, and I ran right into him on my way out.
His body felt like a brick wall.” I leave out all the talking I did. She
doesn’t need to know that.
“I wouldn’t mind running into him,” she says practically purring.
My mind wanders over the memory of him in his underwear.
“Running into him, or–?”
“Cassia!” she says with a little gasp, her face bright pink.
“Maybe you want to run into him? Over and over again?”
She looks like she wants to crawl out of her skin. “Stop…”
“Maybe just a little naked and soapy?” Oh oh, when did me
teasing her turn into my very own fantasy? Fuck, maybe I should
have found an excuse to clean his room longer during his bath.
Not that the royal prick asshole would even give someone like me
a second look.
“He’s royalty,” she sputters. “And the prince. Regardless of all the
dirty talk from the servants, that’s all it is, just talk.”
I grin, taking another bite of my food and burning my mouth.
Karma and all that. “I know. I’m just teasing you.”
She grabs a bowl of porridge and shoves herself close to me and
out of the way. “Isn’t it exciting having all the royalty in our palace?
There are so many beautiful fae from all four courts. Have you seen
their clothes? Their women? Their men? Though, the Winter Court
can’t be comfortable here. Don’t they live in ice castles?” She’s
babbling, but then Beatrix has always been far too fascinated with
the fae royalty. It’s like she’s the only one who didn’t get the
message that they’re a pack of assholes.
“They look so out of place with their bright white hair and heavy
clothing. They seem like the most uptight of all the courts.” The
misery on the faces of the members of the Winter Court shone
clearly to everyone. They were not acclimated to any terrain except
for their own.
“I heard they make their rooms cold by forcing a lesser fae to
touch the walls of their rooms and keep them cold the whole time
they’re here,” Beatrix whispered.
I believed her. If the summer fae were cruel, it was nothing
compared to the chill of the winter fae. “That must be why they all
stay in the Queen’s old quarters. They must have a few lesser fae
keeping the place cold around the clock. I’d hate to draw that straw.
What a bore.”
Beatrix shushes me and looks around for anyone listening in. One
of her strengths is restraint. I need to be around her more and let it
rub off on me.
“What’s your favorite court?” Her face lights up as she asks me.
I’ve never thought about it. “What’s yours?”
“Oh, that’s easy. It’s the Fall Court.” She gets a faraway look in
her eyes and a half smile appears on her face. “They’re just…
something else.”
“It’s the red hair, isn’t it?” I ask, picturing the few people from
the Fall Court that I’ve seen in my life. I get it. It’s kind of hot.
“It’s the red hair, and the hunting for their own food. A man who
leaves the house to get food to feed his family is so sexy to me.” She
moans a little and closes her eyes. “They embody fire. I bet they’re
wild in bed.”
 I laugh. That’s not at all what I thought she’d say. I really
thought she’d talk about the weather and the landscape, but she
went straight to sex. I get it. A fiery man in bed sounds absolutely
delicious. It takes more than just being from a certain court to stoke
passion, though.
Survival tops my list. The hunting aspect of the Fall Court is
attractive now that I think of it. If I had someone in my life who
could hunt, we could eat. It would solve so many of my life’s
problems. But I don’t have anyone to do anything for me, so I
dismiss the idea from my mind.
“I’ve never been to another court, so I don’t have a favorite.
They’re probably all the same anyway with their hierarchies and
ridiculous wealth for only a select few while the rest of their court
starves to death and dies of illnesses only money can cure.”
Fuck. I killed the mood. I don’t like games like this. There are no
fantasies in my world most of the time. I live in a painful reality
that’s hard to escape; I’m a human in a fae world. So, it wouldn't
matter what court I lived in, my life would still be the same.
Beatrix’s cheery expression falls, replaced with a neutral one.
“Hmm, well, I’ve got another wing to get cleaned in preparation for
the Spring Court. They’ll be here by sundown, and I’m only halfway
done.”
I wince. “Sorry, I just killed the fun, didn’t I?”
She nods. “It’s super dead.”
“I ran it over with a carriage, then beat it with a shovel.”
She laughs, then turns on her bowl of porridge, eating it like a
mad woman. Even though it’s probably still warm. “I really do have
to go, though.” Then she gives me a side glance. “You have more to
do, too, right?”
I wince. “Yeah,” and I start eating faster.
 She brings her bowl to the dish washer, who takes it kindly, then
she turns, gives me a wave, and slips out the door. Which means
she’s left me alone with my own thoughts, which are way bitchier
than her thoughts, despite her beliefs.
“Which court is my favorite?” I grumble while I choke down the
last of the porridge. “Like I’ve been given a tour of the continent.
I’ve never left this goddamn city, much less been out in the world.”
Beatrix means well. She’ll probably marry some handsome
working man who can provide for her and the hoard of children she
no doubt dreams of. I, on the other hand, will work until everyone I
love is gone. So, maybe she can afford to be a dreamer. Me, not so
much? Because I imagine life is better if you accept that you’re
going nowhere rather than imagine that there might be something
better.
I hand my bowl to the dish washer and focus on the rest of my
day. There’s only one more room for me to clean today, and it
shouldn’t take long, luckily for me. I want to be home before the
festivities begin… as far from the privileged fae as I can get.
 THREE

Cassia
The first thing I see when I open the door to the Gold Bedroom
is Lady Takara’s naked, bouncing breasts as she reverse-rides Lord
Cirrus on the pale golden sheets I’m supposed to be changing. Her
eyes are closed, and her mouth is opened in a slight O formation.
His hands cling to her waist and he slides her up and down on his
dick like he's using her to start a fire on his cock.
I freeze, unable to move for a painfully long moment before my
brain catches up to what's happening. Taking a step back, I start to
close the door, but the damn thing squeaks. Their gazes snap to me
before I manage to back out of the room. Neither of them stops
what they’re doing, but they definitely saw me.
Fuckity fuck.
Lord Cirrus just so happens to be married to a viper of a woman.
Some of the fae cheat like dogs in heat, but others demand
faithfulness. His wife is the second kind of fae.
I've heard she'd cut off a woman's nose for touching her
husband.
Some gossip is fun to know. This kind is not because it's the
dangerous kind. I’m just hoping everyone involved keeps this
incident to themselves. I sure as hell won’t utter a word about it. I
value my life more than that.
I shake my head, wondering why I didn’t have the forethought to
knock on the door. The room wasn't assigned to a guest, but still, I
know how horny the fae are. An empty room is more temptation
than they can handle.
Stupid. I am so damn stupid.
“Fuck!” I whisper-scream, scurrying down the hall.
I just have to hope the two fae, infamous for being arrogant
assholes, won't feel the need to remember what a maid looks like.
Hell, I'll have to hope they're the kind of fae that see the help as
furniture versus actual people. Because if they see me as a threat,
my body might be found in the river by tomorrow.
I groan, pick a couple halls at random, and finally slip into a dark
corner. Taking deep breaths, I look down and see that I’m shaking.
Damn it. I want to be calm. I want to be smart. But those two things
don’t come easily to me.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper to myself. “They did
something wrong… you just saw it. You’re okay.”
And I’m talking to myself again. Great. Just great. I need to get a
hold of myself and act like everything is fine. But if I do what I’m
expected to do, I should be going back to that room to clean it.
Nope, that won’t work. I need to do the only thing I can, report
to the Head Maid. Tell her as little as possible, because this secret
needs to stay with me. I’ll either be assigned to another room or be
sent home early.
Please let me be sent home early.
Slipping out of the corner, I step right out in front of someone
who was rounding the corner. “Fuck!” I startle, then bow my head,
and say, “I mean, excuse me.” I give a little bob, then slowly look
up, praying it isn’t Lord Cirrus.
Instead, I find myself staring into Prince Sulien’s face.
He lifts a brow. “You like running into people.”
“I’m not sure what to say, since you weren’t asking a question,” I
tell him, bouncing a little on my feet. Ready to run the hell out of
there, since I’m no doubt going to win a medal when it comes to
getting into trouble.
“And who are you talking to?”
Fuck. He heard me talking to myself?
I tear my gaze away from his soul-sucking eyes, but when they
shift to his chest, I’m suddenly distracted by the memory of him
shirtless. “You see, your highness, I have a habit of talking to myself
because no one else seems to want to talk to me.” I sneak a glance
back up. Does he look amused? “Although, I blame everyone else.
I’m delightful to talk to.”
He clears his throat. “You…”
I realize he’s struggling to remember my name. Which is, you
know, fine. It’s not like we grew up together. No, wait, we did. “My
name’s not important, Prince Sulien. I’ll try harder to stay out of
your way.”
Before I lose my nerve, I give another bow and dart around him,
heading toward the Head Maid, Alexi’s workroom. Although I swear,
I can feel his gaze on me as I run for it.
It’s not until I’m nearly to my destination that I risk slowing
down. I have two horny faes to avoid and one princely one. As a
maid, my job is to be invisible.
I can do that. Even though it’s not exactly my skill.
Darting down the hall containing the small rooms of the maids
who live at the palace, I head to the very last room. Alexi isn’t going
to want to hear anything except that I’m done with my work for the
day. She takes few excuses, but this one is actually an acceptable
one.
Tapping on the door, I debate about exactly what to say, knowing
who she is as a person. Alexi isn’t a terrible boss, but she doesn't
care about anyone or anything. She just wants the job done. So,
how do I approach this without saying too much or not enough?
"Come in!" I hear her say.
Stepping inside, I instantly feel a strange pang of envy. I don't
want to be a maid, so I sure as hell don't want to be the Head Maid.
But seeing Alexi with her feet up, papers in hand, and the relaxed
look on her face, it's hard not to want what she has. My kind of work
will quickly erode my body and my beauty, but not hers. We're the
same age, but in time I have no doubt she'll age far better.
“All done?” She asks, not looking up from her lists. She lives for a
list. Her desk is littered with them. A checked-off list is the only thing
I know that’ll make her smile.
I’m not about to make her smile.
“My last room for the day is…” I trail off, trying to find the right
word. “It’s currently occupied.”
Alexi shuffles through her list and finds the one with my name on
it. “No, it shouldn’t be. They haven’t arrived yet. I just got an
updated list of our guests.” She picks up another list and runs her
finger down it. “Nope, they aren’t here yet.”
I let out a low sigh. “I understand. But the room is occupied.” I
raise my eyebrows to give her an indication of what I mean by
occupied, but she still hasn’t looked up at me. I pinch the bridge of
my nose. I can’t tell her that two high fae are fucking in the room. I
definitely can’t tell her I barged in there without knocking and saw
them fucking.
 “Well, it shouldn’t be occupied, but we can’t do anything about
that now. Go to the next wing and clean the Purple Room.
Someone’s occupying it, but I know she won’t be back in it for
another couple of hours after lunch. I’m sure it could use a refresh.
Take care of that, and you can call it a day.”
Relieved, I head to the Purple Room, named so because of the
decor, but also because it’s the most west-facing room with a large
window that catches our gorgeous purple sunsets. Something about
the sky in the Summer Court amplifies the purples in the sunsets
here. This room blazes a brilliant purple every single day. It’s one of
my favorite rooms in the palace.
Knocking this time, I enter after waiting for a response for longer
than usual. Walking in on anyone else today just doesn’t sound
appealing. Jewelry covers every surface of the room. Whoever
rooms here brought every ring, necklace, and bracelet she owned
with her.
I laugh at the idea that she feels she needs this many choices for
the few days she’ll be here. These superficial fae make my stomach
churn. The value of one necklace… I shake the thought out of my
mind. There’s no use in whining about their egregious wealth. You’re
born into it or you’re born human. I’m the latter.
I spruce up the room, avoiding all of her jewelry. Some people
are meticulous about the placement of their belongings. I don’t want
to disturb her process. I remake the bed, open the curtains all the
way, and pick up anything that doesn’t belong on the floor—an easy
last task of the day.
I open the door, smiling because I’m done for the day and also
because I’ve got some food to take home. These spoiled, over-
indulged fae will have their party tonight, and I’ll spend the evening
with my family, who I’d choose any day over the fae. I head towards
the closet. They make us leave our regular clothes and belongings
in, the one they search regularly, to grab my bag.
Glancing behind me, I see Lady Takara and Lord Cirrus lurking at
the end of the hall. Lurking. Fae don’t usually lurk, they saunter, and
they don’t hang out near the servants’ quarters. Something clinches
around my heart. Are they planning to threaten me? Slit my throat
on my walk home?
I’m tense as I continue past them, but neither of them stops me.
I unclench my ass cheeks just a little when I start down the stairs,
and they don’t stop me. Still, I think I might find someone to walk
me home today.
Downstairs, I see Alexi and a fae I don’t know. She’s from the
Fall Court with their signature shiny auburn hair falling in waves
down her shoulders. The woman’s face is scrunched up, looking
irritated, but she says nothing. Alexi points at me and then signals
for me to approach, which is weird. She’d usually be waving for me
to get the hell out of there in front of an important guest, but who
knows what the woman wants?
Coming to stand in front of her, I hesitate, then decide to just
ignore their awkwardness. “I finished cleaning the last room.”
I don’t acknowledge the fae. There’s no point. Not only am I just
the help, but I’m also a human. She wants nothing to do with me.
“And everything was as expected?” she asks me, choosing each
word carefully.
Damn, this woman has her really wound up. “Yes, ma’am.”
She sighs, then shakes her head. “This is the guest from that
room. Her fire opal necklace is missing, and… you were the last
person in her room.”
My stomach drops. “What are you saying?” I want her to say it,
to verbally accuse me of stealing. Otherwise, I’m not going to
suggest it. If this is some kind of trap, I won’t be lured into it.
“I need to search you,” Alexi says in an almost whisper. She looks
everywhere but at my face.
“Because you think I stole it?” I ask, coldly.
“Because it’s valuable, and we need to be sure,” she answers, her
voice almost kind.
I want to argue, but that would only make me look guilty.
Glancing over at the fae woman, she glares at me, and it takes
everything in me not to stick my tongue out at her. I don’t know
what her deal is, but if she thinks just because I’m human, I’m a
thief, she’s about to learn a lesson.
“Of course,” I say, my voice sickly sweet.
I drop my bag on the floor and lift both of my arms out to make
a T with my body. The first pocket she reaches into is the one with
the food I’ve stolen, which I’d forgotten about until that very
moment. Fuck, okay, so I’m a little bit of a thief, but not one who
steals jewelry.
It’s hard to keep my face steady, not admitting any guilt or regret
as she finds it. Taking food shouldn’t be a huge offense if none of
the fae knows about it. She holds the food in front of my face and
frowns. I look past her at the sconce on the wall. The fire in it
flickers even though it’s midday.
Of course, the one day I’ve ever taken so much as an olive, I’m
caught.
That’s just my luck. But at least I didn’t steal the jewelry. I’ll be
punished for the meat, but I won’t lose my job. Not if the fae
woman doesn’t know what the meat pile means. Alexi will keep this
between us, I think.
She returns the food to my pocket with a little sound of disgust,
probably not wanting to handle the old food any longer than she has
to, and reaches into my second apron pocket. I hear the unexpected
jingle of metal. Shifting my vision down, I watch as she pulls out a
gold necklace with orange gemstones.
Tears sting my eyes, and I shake my head. No, no, no. I didn’t do
this. Alexi knows this. She has to know that the fae used their
powers to plant this on me. I force air into my lungs through my
nose, not wanting to let anyone know how much this hurts me. I
need this job desperately. My family needs me to have this job.
“I didn’t take that,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t. It’d be pointless. Who
would even buy a necklace like that from a human? I’d be reported
immediately. You have to know I’m not that stupid.”
Oh, the irony. I hate this job, but I need this job. And now, after
all my screwups, I’m about to lose it over something I didn’t do.
If Karma is real, she’s a twisted bitch.
“I knew it,” the fae says angrily, ignoring my words. “Filthy
human scum.”
I bite back the urge to call her a bitch. “It wasn’t me. I know
how this looks, but it wasn’t.”
Please. I need this job. I need something to go my way in this
stupid life.
“Then, how did this get here?” Alexi asks, staring.
I draw my shoulders back. “I saw two fae fucking. One of whom
is married to a very dangerous person. Then, I saw them lurking
around the corner just before you found that necklace on me, so
they must have used fae magic to put it in my pocket, to frame me
and get me removed from this job, so I can’t tell anyone. Not that I
planned to tell anyone.”
“Lies!” the woman shouts. “How dare you accuse a fae of such
treachery?”
 Alexi drops the necklace, her expression genuinely upset. “We
don’t tolerate larceny in the palace. You need to leave right now.
You’ve forfeited your pay for the week, and you aren’t welcome
back.” Her anxious whispers are replaced with fire on her tongue.
She looks back at the woman, handing her the necklace and
apologizing profusely. They both stare at me like I’m the lowest kind
of scum. Which shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
I meet Alexi’s eyes, glaring now, and bend over to snatch up my
bag. Angry tears threaten to escape my eyes, but I hold my head up
high as I leave.
Only at the end of the hall, I see Prince Sulien standing with his
arms folded across his chest. I glare at him, lift my hand to flip him
off, debate for a minute, and drop it. I’ve already lost my job, no
need to lose my head too. Instead, I march past him, hating him
and all the fae with every ounce of my being.
 FOUR

Cassia
Tears gather in my eyes as I storm down the street, sadness and
anger competing against one another in my heart. This job was
already my last resort. There’s nothing I’m skilled enough at to
actually make a living doing. Not when fae are always better at
everything than humans. We take the lowest of the low jobs, jobs
that they don’t want, and I’d just lost one of those jobs. Who else
would have me after being fired by the fae?
No one, that’s for sure.
And I wasn’t stupid. I knew Lady Takara and her fuck buddy
framed me just to make sure I wasn’t in the palace, and couldn’t
spread the rumor about how I found them.
Dumb asses. I was never going to tell anyone, and they still
ruined my life.
The fae suck so hard they should have puckered assholes.
I pass The Velvet Sands, the most popular brothel in the Summer
Court. My stomach churns and knots form in every muscle in my
body. For my father and grandmother, I’d do anything. Which might
just mean applying for a job. Selling my body in a way I’ll never be
able to come back from.
 With the way the fae treat humans, the ones they can use like
rags in the brothel get it even worse, if half the rumors I’ve heard
are true. Being a whore in the Summer Court would mean having
my body broken and bruised. Allowing my pain to give pleasure to
the worst of the fae… the ones who pay to touch humans when they
have so many other choices.
More fire stings my eyes. I clench my jaw and continue walking.
If I can’t think of a better place, I’ll have to go and beg for a job
before we go too long without food. The decision will likely need to
be made by morning.
Decision? I want to laugh. There is no decision. I’ve been marked
by losing my job with the fae. That Takara bitch had made certain
that I’d be lucky if the brothel let me work for them.
Lucky. To be broken. Lucky to be violated.
I turn down a tree-lined path, wanting to get away from the
hustle and bustle of the main street to clear my head. It’s a small
relief to be out of the scorching sun under the trees. A chance to get
my emotions under control. I don’t want what happened to be
written all over my face when I walk into my house and see my
grandmother and father.
The only thing that could make what I have to do tomorrow
worse is if they found out. They will, eventually, rumors fly after all,
but I’ll try to keep this from them for as long as possible.
It takes effort to practice smiling as I walk. To blink the tears
from my eyes. But nothing I do eases the tightness in my chest.
I wish I could wake up from this nightmare.
Heart racing, I pinch myself, just in case, but nothing changes.
The terrible feeling in my gut builds. Why am I even walking home?
I should be going straight to the brothel. The only difference
between today and tomorrow will be how hungry I am.
 Pausing beneath a tree, I take several deep breaths and think of
my grandmother and father. My family. If I’m not home this evening,
they’ll wonder. They’ve been through enough and don’t need to
worry about me or how we’ll survive. If I’m going to take this next
step, I’ll need to come up with an idea to explain my change in
schedule.
I need a night to sleep on things and come up with a plan. The
second the thought comes to me, some of the tension eases from
my chest. A night. That’s all I need. I don’t have to do anything
tonight.
“Right.” I laugh. “Tomorrow I can decide all this whore business.”
With my resolve restored, I keep walking. This might not be a
good plan, but it’s a plan. The thought of a cruel fae’s hands biting
into my flesh, slapping my face, and ramming into me makes me
stagger. But, I right myself and keep going, trying to forget the sight
of the bruised and battered whores wincing as they walk out of the
brothel.
If that’s my future, I’ll handle it. I’ll handle whatever I have to for
my family.
My steps come surer as I walk, even though a coldness fills my
belly. All I hear are my footsteps on the dirt path. All I see is the
flickering of light between leaves as they shift on the ground, and
the wind playing on the leaves like today is any other day.
Like the world doesn’t realize that my life got turned upside down
today.
I suddenly sense that I’m not alone. My blade is in my hand
before I can even think about it. I try not to change my stride, just
like my grandmother always taught me, keeping my pace even until
I’m absolutely sure I’m not alone. Someone is watching me from
somewhere, and I’ll be damned if I let them take me by surprise.
 Holding my blade out in front of me, I turn in a quick circle, then
crouch, surveying my surroundings. There’s nothing. No movement.
But I know I’m not alone. Either that, or I’ve started to lose my
mind. I’m going to bet on the not alone thing though.
“I will gut you before you get anywhere near me,” I growl, every
muscle in my body tense. Waiting. Watching.
Out of nowhere, Prince Sulien appears, leaning against a tree in
front of me. I barely manage to swallow down a scream of shock,
but I manage it before clenching my blade tighter. Everyone knows
powerful fae can teleport, but I’ve never seen one do it before. From
what I understand, it’s considered rude to use the power in front of
others. Probably because it’d be unsettling just teleporting around
others like an asshole.
Hell, what’s he doing here? Haven’t I had enough bad luck?
I don’t say that though, I just study him. Staying crouched,
staying ready. It seems these damned fae aren’t done with me yet,
but if he thinks I’m going to take whatever this is lying down, he’s
wrong.
“Prince Sulien,” I greet, trying to keep my voice respectful, and
failing.
His mouth twitches, but whether I pissed him off or amused him,
I can’t tell. The damn man is impossible to read.
When he doesn’t respond, I let my gaze run over him. His long
legs could be tree trunks themselves with how large and thick they
are. Under his dark clothes, I know they are sinewy and sun-kissed,
and the memory of him before his bath dances in my memories no
matter how much I wish to erase it. His chest, his huge arms, all of
it is impossible to forget, but I want to. I’ve officially decided I hate
fae. All of them… but he makes it hard to remember.
 “Is there something you need?” I ask, spinning my blade for a
minute before stopping it.
His gaze shifts to the dagger in my hand. “Your grandmother’s
lessons on weapons and fighting are still with you, I see.”
“Oh, so you do remember my grandmother?” My voice drips with
accusation. I’ve already been fired. What do I have to lose?
“I remember your grandmother was a good tutor before losing
her sight. I remember that she tried to hide what was going on
instead of being honest with my father and me.” He’s expressionless,
unaffected by how that one day set my never-ending streak of bad
luck in motion.
I chew on my bottom lip in frustration. “Yes, because telling the
fae you can’t do your job anymore always ends with empathy.”
He lifts a brow. “Lying’s the one thing my father doesn’t tolerate
from anyone…except for himself.” He mutters that last part, but I
catch it.
I meet his eyes, a scowl on my face. “Great walk down memory
lane. Anything else I can help you with? Or can I go?”
He grins at me, his dark eyes shining in the sunlight that peeks
through the trees. “I saw you get fired.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “You saw me get setup,
but that doesn’t really matter, does it? I was fired from the Summer
Court. I no longer serve you or your family, so I guess we’re done
here.” I do my most exaggerated bow before standing tall and
walking past him.
“I have a proposition,” he calls after me, his voice as smooth as
silk.
“Proposition?” My back goes as steel as a rod.
I glance back at him, trying to ignore the fury weaving through
my blood. What kind of proposition can he possibly offer me? He’s a
fae prince who doesn’t give a crap about me, so it’d only be
something that helps him out. And what could I possibly help him
with?
He flashes the smallest smile, and I feel the blood drain from my
face. Right. That.
“I am not a whore,” I tell him through clenched teeth.
Not yet, at least. An image of The Velvet Sands flashes in my
mind, and I shudder. Maybe the prince will be able to pay my fee in
another night or so, and he’ll get what he wants without even
having to follow me home.
“Perhaps proposition was the wrong word. How about a
proposal?” He counters, unmoving. That smile of his gone, replaced
by his mask of indifference.
Proposal? Proposition? It all seems to mean the same thing.
My heart pounds in my ears. “A proposal now? Is this… some
kind of joke?”
Was losing my job really not enough? He’s playing with me now?
A proposal for sex? For something awful? What the fuck does he
want from me?
“No, when I said proposal, I meant proposal. This isn’t a job.
This is me asking you to be my wife.” There’s not an ounce of
amusement in his face.
“Your wife? Oh, sure? But why stop at that? I could rule all the
fae.” Sarcasm oozes off of my words, as I try to figure out what the
hell his angle is.
“I’m serious.” He pushes away from the tree and walks toward
me. When I take a couple of steps back, he stops. “I can take care
of your family. Move them into the palace. Treat them like the royalty
they’ll become. All you have to do is become my queen.”
 “Queen of what? Scrubbing your underwear?” I laugh, shaking
my head.
His eyes harden. “Queen of the Summer Court.”
My brain feels like it’s swimming through words, facts, and ideas
that don’t make sense. “Don’t you have to meet your mate tonight
at the ball or something? Isn’t that how you’re supposed to find your
queen?” I don’t understand how he can ask me to marry him. Fae
don’t do that. That’s a human custom.
You know, if there was even a reason for a fae prince to be
asking his human maid to marry him. Another bubble of nearly
hysterical laughter threatens to explode from my throat. This can’t
be real. This is some kind of trap or fae game. I just know it.
He sighs, his handsome face betraying nothing of what he thinks
or feels. “We do have the Solstice Ball tonight, where magic should
determine my mate. It’s a whole production…”
“So, then, what are you doing? Go to your… ball.”
He starts moving toward me, and this time I stay still, not willing
to run from him any further. The fae prince moves until we can
almost touch, and then his voice comes out no louder than a
whisper. “I have a spell. A powerful one that will make it seem like
you’re my mate. All I have to do is drink a potion with you in my
arms.” His long, black hair flows in the breeze, making it impossible
to ignore the pure beauty of the man as he speaks.
But I try to pull my thoughts back to his words. He wants to use
a spell to make me appear to be his mate. The whole point of the
ball is for the magic of the evening to connect the fae princes and
their mates. You know, along with helping the other fae find their
mates, but no one cares much about that. The person the magic
connects them to is more than a bride, a wife, or a partner. They’re
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luck throughout the year. It was wont to be the prerogative of the
clergyman, but it seems a trifle hard on the newly-made husband.

THE ORIGIN OF MARRIAGE CUSTOMS

Since marriage is usually regarded as the chief event of life, for a
woman at least, and as most women are highly superstitious, it is
not surprising to find that every detail surrounding the auspicious
occasion is enveloped in a web of legendary lore.
THE BRIDAL WREATH.—In ancient times in England bride and
bridegroom alike wore wreaths conserved specially for their use in
church, and in the thirteenth century the bridal chaplet frequently
consisted of ears of corn—signifying plenty. Rosemary was
considered lucky in Shakespeare's day. "There's rosemary, that's for
remembrance."
ORANGE BLOSSOM.—These spotless blossoms, which betoken purity
and innocence, and are symbolical of a prosperous life, are supposed
to have been first brought by pilgrims from the Holy Land, and
thereby possess a religious significance.
THE BRIDE'S VEIL.—This was originally a fine piece of cloth held
over the couple during the ceremony. Later on it was only held over
the bride, as it was supposed she was more in need of it than her
bridegroom, and so it became part of her attire. In Ireland the old
custom still prevails of a sprig of mistletoe, or a twig of hawthorn,
being used to keep her veil in place.
THE WEDDING RING.—Since earliest times the giving or exchanging
of rings cemented any and every contract. Amongst the early
Christians, the thumb and first two fingers typified the Trinity, and
the husband placed the ring on his wife's finger in the threefold Holy
name. Some authorities believed that the third finger of the left
hand was connected by a nerve or artery with the heart, hence its
choice for this purpose.
THE BRIDE'S CAKE.—This important part of the wedding feast has
come down to us from the Romans, who baked one compounded of
flour, salt, and water, which was partaken of by the bridal pair and
their friends as they witnessed the wedding contract.
THE BRIDE'S DOWRY.—The phrase "with all my worldly wealth I
thee endow" dates back to primitive times when a man bartered so
many head of cattle for his bride. This money, known as "dow," or
"dower," was originally handed over during the ceremony, and in the
course of centuries the bride's father provided its equivalent either in
money or kind.
Later still the bride herself spun the linen for her portion, and was
not regarded as eligible for wifehood until she had stocked a chest
with her handiwork. The term spinster arose in this way, and if a
girl's marriage was delayed until she was of mature age she
occasionally sold the contents of her linen chest and set aside the
proceeds as her dowry. The box, with a lid which is to be found in
old-fashioned chests and trunks, was destined as a receptacle for
money thus earned and earmarked.
THE GOING AWAY.—The rice and confetti thrown after the newly-
wedded couple signifies fruitfulness and plenty, and the flowers,
usually roses from which the thorns have been extracted, bestrewing
their path denoted happiness, just as the orange blossom and the
myrtle of the bridal bouquet were emblems of constancy and never-
dying love.
THROWING OLD SHOES.—In Anglo-Saxon marriages the bride's
father presented his daughter's shoe to her bridegroom, who
touched her on the head with it to remind her that he was now her
master. Then the throwing of shoes came to be considered a sign of
good luck. "Nowe, for goode lucke caste an olde shoe after mee."
The custom, too, is symbolical of the parting of the new life from the
old, or of shaking the dust of a place from one's feet and severing all
connection with it.
A TEAR HANDKERCHIEF.—In some parts of the Tyrol a beautiful old
custom is still observed. When the bride is starting for the church,
her mother gives her a fine handkerchief, woven for the purpose of
the best linen possible. This is called the "Tear-Kerchief," and with it
the girl is supposed to dry the tears she will naturally shed on
leaving home.
After the marriage-day the "Tear-Kerchief" is folded up carefully and
laid in the linen closet, where it remains till its owner's death; then it
is taken out and spread over her face.

THE BRIDAL DRESS

Something old, something new,
Something borrowed, something blue.
So runs the ancient rhyme regarding the bride's wedding dress.
White is the popular wear, and has been for several centuries, but
previously yellow, pink, and a brilliant scarlet were frequently
chosen, unless by a girl named Mary, who was expected to wear
blue, the Virgin's sacred color. Some years ago, the daughter of a
duke, who was united in marriage to a commoner, shocked society
by insisting on a "green" wedding. In less than a year, she and her
baby were buried in the family tomb.

WHICH COLOR
 Married in white, you have chosen aright.
Married in green, ashamed to be seen.
Married in grey, you will go far away.
Married in red, you will wish yourself dead.
Married in blue, love ever true.
Married in yellow, ashamed of your fellow.
Married in black, you will wish yourself back.
Married in pink, your spirits will sink.
Married in brown, you'll live out of town.
Married in pearl, you'll live in a whirl.

THE BRIDEGROOM
The groom, as the secondary figure in the day's ceremonies,
escapes very easily as far as superstition goes, and may do pretty
well what he pleases, save letting his hat or the ring drop, both of
which are very unlucky. He should carry a tiny horseshoe in his
pocket, and fee the clergyman with an odd sum of money.
No one ought to hand him or his bride a telegram on the way to
church, and if he wishes to be master in his own house, then he
must take care to see her before she has time to catch a glimpse of
him ere arriving at the altar.

MARRIAGE PROVERBS
Happy is the wooing that's not long in doing.
Marrying for love is risky, but God smiles on it.
The married man must turn his staff into a stake.
 Mary in May, rue for aye.
Marry in Lent, live to repent.

Advent marriage doth deny, but Hilary gives thee liberty:

Septuagesima says thee nay, eight days from Easter says you may:
Rogation bids thee to contain, but Trinity sets thee free again.
Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
My son's my son till he gets him a wife.
To change the name and not the letter is to change for the worse
and not the better.
Wedlock's a padlock.
He who marrieth does well; but he who refrains from marriage doth
better.

Needles and pins; needles and pins,

When a man marries, his trouble begins.

Honest men marry soon,

Wise men not at all.
Marry in haste: repent at leisure.
He who repents him not of his marriage, sleeping and waking, in a
year and a day, may lawfully go to Dunmow and fetch a gammon of
bacon.
It will not always be a honeymoon.
Keep your eyes wide open before marriage and half shut afterwards.
Lips, however rosy, need feeding.
Marriage with peace is the world's paradise: with strife, this life's
purgatory.
Marry above your match, and you get a good master.
Marry for love and work for silver.
Marriages are made in heaven.
Don't marry for money, but seek where money is.
A man may not wive, and also thrive all in the same year.
Better be half hanged than ill wed.
He that marries for wealth sells his liberty.
He that marries late, marries ill.
He that is needy when he is married shall be rich when he is buried.
Better have an old man to humor than a young rake to break your
heart.
Marry your sons when they will; your daughters when you can.
Marry your daughters betimes, lest they marry themselves.
Two heads are better than one, or why do folks marry?
FOLKLORE AND SUPERSTITIONS OF
THE MONTHS

JANUARY
This month is so called in honor of the god Janus, who is always
depicted with two faces or heads, one to look forwards, the other
backwards. His work was to preside over the beginning of any new
thing and, ever since his time, people have invoked his aid and
sympathy when they have been setting out on some new enterprise.
On New Year's Day, the Romans gave presents to one another, much
as we do at Christmas, but accompanying the gifts was usually a
small copper token showing the double head of Janus. To possess
one of these tokens ensured prosperity when commencing some
new work, and it was supposed to carry enterprises already started,
but not yet finished, to a successful conclusion. The accompanying
illustration gives a reproduction of one of the tokens used.
 No. 38.—Janus, the Two-Headed God. On New Year's Day the
Romans gave copper medallions bearing this device to their friends.
To possess such a medallion was a sure way to be lucky in
commencing any new piece of work or any new enterprise.
NEW YEAR SUPERSTITIONS.—Endless are the superstitions which
have gathered around the dawn of the New Year, which, although
neither a Christian nor a Church festival, afford sober reflection to
many. In several districts, the custom known as "first-footing" is still
common. People wait until the old year has been rung out and then
they call on their friends to wish them a happy new year. They must
not go empty-handed, however, or this will provide a lean year for
the friends. A cake will ensure abundance, a red herring stands for
luck, and the gift of even the smallest coin is a certain portent that a
lucky financial year is opening.
While anyone is free to pay these visits, it is much the happiest
omen if the caller be a man, a dark-haired man, and if he takes with
him a lump of coal and a fish. Any fish serves the purpose—even a
tin of sardines. Let a man, answering these requisites, be the first to
cross the threshold of your door, after the old year has gone, and
there is no better way of entering on the new year.
Another custom, which has many supporters, is to tidy up the house,
to build up the fires and to open wide the front door, just when the
old year is departing. The open door allows the exhausted year to
make its exit completely. It is then supposed to take with it anything
savoring of ill-fortune. The tidy house welcomes the new year in a
spirit of brightness and gladness.
For a clock to stop just as the new year is coming in, or to be found
to have stopped then, is an ill omen. Therefore, householders have
long been careful to give an eye to their timepieces some little while
before.
Weather-lore regarding the new year is plentiful. Here is a well-
known rhyme:
 If on New Year's night wind blow south,
It betokeneth warmth and growth:
If west, much milk and fish in the sea:
If north, much cold and snow there will be:
If east, the trees will bear much fruit:
If north-east, flee it, man and brute.
January has been described as follows:
The blackest month in all the year
Is the month of Janiveer.
In Janiveer, if the sun appear,
March and April will pay full dear.
If January calends be summerly gay,
It will be winterly weather till the calends of May.
(The calends, it may be explained, were the first days of the
months.)
ST. PAUL'S DAY (January 25th)
If St. Paul's Day be faire and cleare,
It doth betide a happy year:
But if by chance it then should rain,
It will make deare all kinds of graine:

And if ye clouds make dark ye sky,

Then meate and fowles this year shall die:
If blustering winds do blow aloft,
Then wars shall trouble ye realm full oft.

FEBRUARY
February derives its name from Februare—to expiate, to purify. In
this connection, it is interesting to note that on the 2nd of the month
falls Candlemas Day, which is the purification of the Blessed Virgin
Mary.
CANDLEMAS DAY (February 2nd)
(a) If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,
Winter will have another flight:
But if Candlemas Day brings clouds and rain,
Winter is gone and won't come again.

(b) If Candlemas Day be fine and clear,

Corn and fruits will then be dear.
(There'll be twa winters in the year.)
ST. VALENTINE'S DAY (February 14th).—Like so many of our old
observances, the festival of St. Valentine dates from the time of the
Romans, but the Church rechristened the custom and called it after
one or two saints of the name, both of whom were martyred, one in
the third and the other in the fourth century.
Latterly, the day has been dedicated to Cupid by fond lovers who
believe it to be the date on which each bird chooses its mate.
The poet Drayton sings:—
Each little bird this tide
Doth choose her loved peer,
Which constantly abide
In wedlock all the year.
Charms and omens are in favor on St. Valentine's Eve. Maidens
decorate their pillows with five bay leaves and firmly believe that, if
they dream of their lover then, they will be married to him in the
course of the year. Another fancy is that the first person of the
opposite sex whom one encounters, that morning is destined to be
one's husband or wife. Naturally, there must be some sort of
friendship in view previously.
A weather prophecy regarding February runs:—
 All the months in the year
Curse a fair Februeer.
February fill the dyke,
Weather, either black or white.
If February gives much snow,
A fine summer it doth foreshow.
In Cornwall, there is a proverb, "A February spring is not worth a
pin," and the same thought is expressed in Wales by the saying that
"The Welshman had rather see his dam on the bier than to see a fair
Februeer."

MARCH
March was given its name by the Romans in honor of Mars, the God
of War, as at this time of the year the weather was such that it
enabled them to begin their campaigns after the worst of the winter
was over. The Saxons called this month LENET MONAT, meaning
"length month," in reference to the lengthening of the days.
Several weather prophecies refer to March:—
(a) A peck of March dust and a shower in May
Make the corn green and the fields gay.

(b) As many mists in March you see,

So many frosts in May will be.

(c) A peck of March dust is worth a king's ransom.

(d) March damp and warm

Will do farmers much harm.

(e) Eat leeks in March and garlic in May,

And all the year after physicians may play.
 (f) March search, April try,
May will prove whether you live or die.

(g) If on St. Mary's Day (March 25th) it's bright and clear
Fertile 'tis said will be the year.

(h) A dry and cold March never begs its bread.

(i) A frosty winter, a dusty March, a rain about Averil,

another
about the Lammas time (Aug. 1st), when the corn begins
to fill, is worth a plough of gold.

(j) March flowers make no summer bowers.

(k) March winds and April showers bring forth May

flowers.

(l) Whatever March does not want, April brings along.

(m) On Shrove Tuesday night, though thy supper be fat,

Before Easter Day thou mayst fast for all that.

APRIL
The word April is probably derived from the Latin, Aperio, I open,
since spring generally begins and Nature unfolds her buds in this
month.
April is regarded as the most sacred month in the calendar of the
Church, since it usually includes Good Friday, on which day
blacksmiths once refused to work owing to the fact that one son of
Vulcan made the nails for the Crucifixion.
FIRST OF APRIL.—The great majority of the old-time customs which
clustered round this day and contributed a dash of gaiety and humor
to the more prosaic, everyday life of the community, have fallen into
the limbo of forgotten things, and the day is chiefly remembered by
schoolchildren, who exercise their juvenile ingenuity in playing
pranks on their fellows.
The most careful research has failed to ascertain the exact origin of
these observances, and someone has hazarded the theory that they
began with the advent of the second man on earth, who sought to
try the effects of a practical joke on the first.
Anyhow, a form of fooling may be traced to the time of the Roman
Empire, but little mention of such a thing is to be found in English
literature until the eighteenth century, although "Hunting the Gowk,"
the sending of some half-witted youth, the village idiot, on some
utterly absurd errand from house to house, was long before then a
favorite pastime in Scotland, and in France, too.
A weather prophecy for this day runs:
If it thunders on All Fools Day,
It brings good crops of corn and hay.
SIMNEL OR MOTHERING SUNDAY.—It is a very old custom to make
rich cakes during Lent and Easter, which are known as Simnel cakes.
In South Lancashire the fourth Sunday of Lent is known as Simnel or
Mothering Sunday, and young people provide themselves with
delicious cakes "'gainst they go a-mothering." The sons and
daughters present these to their mothers, who in turn regale their
families with "furmenty" or "frumenty," derived from froment
(wheat), as the dish was made of wheat and milk, with the addition
of a few raisins. For children to fail in paying this compliment to their
mothers is sometimes taken as a sign that they will have no further
opportunity of doing so.
GOOD FRIDAY.—It is a misnomer to name the world's blackest
Friday thus, but the words are a corruption of GOD'S FRIDAY. Many
quaint and curious customs are connected with its celebration, the
origins of which are not merely secular but pagan, as well.
For instance, the worship of Terminus, the Romans' pagan god, has
still left its mark on Christian England, where, in certain parishes, the
custom known as "beating the bounds" is still kept up. Terminus
decreed that everyone possessing land should mark the boundaries
with stones and pay honor to Jupiter once a year. Failure to do this
would invoke the wrath of Jupiter and the crops growing on the land
would be blighted. Good Friday or the days previous were marked
out for the ceremony.
A wet Good Friday has always been considered favorable for crops,
although people on pleasure bent will think otherwise:
"A wet Good Friday and a wet Easter Day foreshows a fruitful year."
It may be useful to add here a saying about the day previous to
Good Friday; it runs, "Fine on Holy Thursday, wet on Whit-Monday.
Fine on Whit-Monday, wet on Holy Thursday."
HOT-CROSS BUNS.—Hot-cross buns may be either a survival of the
sacred cakes offered in the temples to the gods, or of the
unleavened bread eaten by the Jews at the Passover. Bread marked
with crosses was common in ancient Egypt before the days of
Christianity. It is an old belief that the eating of buns on this day
protects the house from fire, and other virtues are ascribed to them.
For instance, to eat such a bun grants a wish that you may be
anxious to realize.
EASTER.—This name is derived from Eoster, the goddess of light and
of spring, in whose honor a festival was held in the month of April.
Few, if any of the old customs observed at this time still survive.
Eggs, as being the emblem of the Resurrection, are peculiar to the
feast of Easter, and it is lucky to eat them on the morning of Easter
Sunday. At one time, paschal candles were lit to signify the
Resurrection of our Lord. These were of colossal size, and each
church seemed to vie with its neighbor as to which should have the
largest. Easter Sunday was known as Joy Sunday, and was
celebrated by gifts to the poor and the liberation of prisoners. It was
a time when all differences of opinion should be swept aside and
enemies should be forgiven. To harbor enmity against others was to
ensure a time of blackness for oneself.
Many curious customs used to be observed. Most of them have
fallen into decay, but in some parts of the country bouquets in the
form of balls are still presented, and graves are decorated with
sweet spring flowers.
Weather observances are numerous:—
(a) April weather.
Rain and sunshine both together.

(b) If the first three days in April be foggy,

Rain in June will make the lanes boggy.

(c) If Christmas is snow, Easter is mud.

(d) If Easter is late, there will be a long, cold spring.

(e) A dry April, not the farmer's will.

April wet is what he would get.

(f) When April blows his horn (i.e., thunders),

It's good for hay and corn.

MAY
Some authorities maintain that the month takes its name from Maia,
the mother of the god Hermes or Mercury; others claim that it
comes from Majores or Maiores, the Senate of the first constitution
of Rome.
WHITSUNTIDE.—Whitsuntide, which shares pride of place in the
Church Calendar with Christmas and Easter, is closely connected with
the Jewish feast of Pentecost, which became identified with one of
the great summer festivals of the pagan inhabitants of Western
Europe, and this idea is borne out by the fact that Whitsuntide has
always been the most popular festival period of the year.
It was commonly celebrated in all parts of the country by what was
termed Whitsun ale, which was usually consumed under the
auspices of the churchwardens in some barn near the church, when
all assembled agreed to be good friends for once in the year and
spend the day in "sober" joy.
The day was a prolonged picnic, for each parishioner brought what
victuals he could spare. The squire and his lady came with their pipe
and taborer, the young folk danced or played at bowls, and the old
looked on while they sipped their ale, which was brewed fairly strong
for the occasion and sold by the churchwardens for the repairs of
the church.
During the Middle Ages, Whitsun services were marked by some
curious customs, one of which was the letting down of a dove from
the roof, another the dropping of balls of fire, of rose leaves, and the
like.
THE MORRIS DANCES.—Whitsuntide was pre-eminently the time for
the performance of the Morris dances, which some suppose derive
their name from the Spanish Moriseo, a Moor, and the dance was
originally identified with the fandango. Others believed them to be
connected with one of the season's pagan observances prevalent
amongst primitive communities and associated in some mysterious
manner with the fertilization and slaughter of all living things.
Usually the Morris dances were only performed at special seasons
once or twice a year, and in some districts they were only indulged
in at Christmas. It is highly significant, and bears out the belief in
the religious origin of the movement, that the first of the
Whitsuntide dances in some villages was performed on the top of
the tower of the church. Lucky indeed were those who took part in
these church-top revels, for they were certain to be free of the
devil's attentions for some while to come.
Weather lore affirms the following:—
(a) Dry May
Brings nothing gay.

(b) Mist in May, heat in June,

Makes the harvest come right soon.

(c) Shear your sheep in May,

And shear them all away.

(d) Change not a clout

Till May be out.

(e) A dry May and a leaking June

Make the farmer whistle a merry tune.

(f) A May wet was never kind yet.

(g) For an east wind in May,

'Tis your duty to pray.

(h) Fogs in February mean frosts in May.

(i) Who shears his sheep before St. Gervatius' Day

(May 13th), loves more his wool than his sheep.

JUNE
June owes its name to Juno, the goddess of heaven, who takes a
special interest in women and protects their interests. She is
supposed to accompany every woman through life, from the
moment of her birth to her death. Little wonder, then, that the
women of ancient times considered that, by propitiating Juno, their
fortunes were assured. This they usually did on their birthdays.
Midsummer Day (June 24th) is sacred to the memory of John the
Baptist, and the ceremonies practised at this season in the Middle
Ages were partly relics of the saints and partly relics of old sun
worship. Great fires of wood or bones blazed on every mountain top,
and were supposed to be typical of the saint, who was called a
burning and a shining light.
These Beltane fires burned often on bare, flat rocks, not only in
England, Scotland, and Ireland, but on the Alps, the Hartz
Mountains, and elsewhere. It was a great thing to be present at or in
view of one of these fires, for the evil spirit was dispelled by the
potency of the light and flames.
Rhymes regarding June:—
(a) A dripping June
Brings all things in tune.

(b) If St. Vitus' Day (June 14th) be rainy weather,

It will rain for thirty days together.

(c) He who bathes in May will soon be laid in clay;

He who bathes in June will sing a merry tune;
But he who bathes in July will dance like a fly.

(d) Look at your corn in May,

And you will come weeping away:
Look at the same in June,
And you'll sing a merry tune.
(e) June, damp and warm, does the farmer no harm.

(f) If it rains on Midsummer Eve, the filberts will be spoilt.

 JULY
This month was so named in honor of Julius Caesar, whose birth-
month it was. The Saxons called it Hey Monat on account of the hay
harvest.
The following old sayings regarding July may be noted with interest:
—
(a) A shower of rain in July,
When the corn begins to fill
Is worth a plough of oxen
And all belonging theretill.

(b) Ne'er trust a July sky.

(c) Whatever July and August do not boil, September

cannot fry.

(d) If the first of July it be rainy weather,

It will rain more or less for four weeks together.

(e) Dog days bright and clear

Indicate a happy year.
But when accompanied by rain,
For better times our hopes are vain.
(The dog days are from July 3rd to Aug. 11th.)

(f) St. Swithin's Day, if ye do rain,

For forty days it will remain.
St. Swithin's Day an ye be fair,
For forty days 'twill rain nae mair.
(St. Swithin's Day is July 15th.)

(h) Whoever eats oysters on St. James's Day will never

 want
money. (July 25th.)

AUGUST
Augustus Caesar, not to be behind Julius, named this month in honor
of himself. He was born in September, and it may seem strange that
he did not bestow his name on that month; but he preferred August
as a number of lucky incidents befell him then, and he gained
several important victories.
Rhyming prophecies regarding this month are as follows:—
(a) If Bartlemy's Day (Aug. 24th) be fair and clear,
Hope for a prosperous autumn that year.

(b) Dry August and warm,

Doth harvest no harm.

(c) Yet there is a saying that "A wet August never brings
dearth."

(d) On St. Mary's Day (Aug. 15th) sunshine

Brings much good wine.

(e) So many August fogs,

So many winter mists.

(f) Mud in May means bread in August.

(g) After Lammas (Aug. 1st) the corn ripens as much by

night as by day.

(h) As the Dog days commence, so they end.

(The Dog days are from July 3rd to Aug. 11th.)
 (i) All the tears that St. Swithin can cry,
St. Bartlemy's dusty mantle wipes dry.
(St. Swithin's Day is July 15th, and St. Bartlemy's Day
Aug. 24th.)

SEPTEMBER
September takes its name from the Latin word, septem, meaning
seven. It was the seventh month of the year as long as March was
constituted the first month. The Saxons named it Gerst Monat, or
barley month, because they reaped the barley then.
Sayings regarding the month:—
(a) If it be fair on the First, it will be fair all the month.

(b) A wet June makes a dry September.

(c) September blow soft,

Until the fruit is in the loft.

(d) If Matthew's Day (Sept. 21st) is bright and clear

There will be good wine in the coming year.

(e) If the hart and the hind meet dry and part dry on
Rood Day
Fair (Sept. 14th), for six weeks there will be no more rain.

(f) If on September 19th there is a storm from the south,

a mild
winter is certain.

(g) If it does not rain on St. Michael's (Sept. 29th) and

Gallus
 (Oct. 16th), a dry spring is certain for the coming year.

(h) If St. Michael's (Sept. 29th) brings many acorns,

Christmas will
cover the fields with snow.

(i) So many days old the moon on Michaelmas Day (Sept.

29th), so
many floods after.

(j) Michaelmas chickens and parsons' daughters never

come to good.

OCTOBER
October is so called from being the eighth month in the old Latin
calendar.
ALL HALLOW E'EN.—Hallow E'en, the vigil of All Saints' Day, was
wont to be a season of merry gathering and quaint observances,
especially where lovers were concerned. It is still kept up with great
success in Scotland. Propitious omens were sought. Nuts, for
instance, were burnt in pairs. If they lay still and burned together, it
meant a happy marriage, but if they flew apart, the lovers would not
live in harmony. All sorts of charms were practised. Girls pared
apples and sought to discern an initial in the shape the peel
assumed. The apple had to be peeled in one strip without any break,
and the whole strip was then thrown over the left shoulder. Also,
they stuck an apple pip on each cheek, and that which fell off first
indicated that the love of him whose name it bore was unsound.
The customs varied with the locality, but many of them were not
unlike the rites of St. Valentine's Day. Burns's poem enshrined most
of the Scottish practices, such as throwing a ball of blue yarn into a
kiln, winding it in a new one off the old, and, as the end was
approached, the maiden enquired, "Who holds?" and a voice from
the kiln-pot gave her the name of her future spouse.
Some girls took a candle into a dark room and peered into a looking
glass while they ate an apple or combed their hair, and saw the face
of their true love looking over their shoulder. Others went out into
the garden in couples, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pulled the
first kail-runt or plant they came to. According to its being big or
little, straight or crooked, it was regarded as prophetic of the kind of
man they would marry. If the heart of the stem was soft or hard, so
would be the man's nature, and, if any earth adhered to the root, it
signified "tocher" or fortune.
October prophecies:—
(a) If October brings much frost and wind,
Then are January and February mild.

(b) Dry your barley in October and you will always be

sober.

(c) In October manure your field,

And your land its wealth shall yield.

(d) October never has more than fifteen fine days.

NOVEMBER
November was the ninth month according to the old Latin calendar.
It was known as Wint Monat, or wind month, by the Saxons, as the
stormy weather then experienced prevented the Vikings putting to
sea and attacking their shores. It was sometimes called Blot Monat,
or blood month, as it was then customary to kill large numbers of
cattle and salt them for winter use.
November prophecies:
 (a) If ducks do slide at Hollantide (Nov. 11th),
At Christmas they will swim.
If ducks do swim at Hollantide,
At Christmas they will slide.

(b) At St. Martin's Day (Nov. 11th),

Winter is on the way.

(c) Set trees at Allhallo'n-tide (Nov. 1st), and command

them to
grow. Set them at Candlemas (Feb. 2nd) and beg them to
prosper.

(d) Where the wind is on Martinmas Eve, (Nov. 10th),

there it will
be for the rest of the winter.

(e) If there be ice that will bear a duck before Martinmas

(Nov. 11th),
there will be none that will bear a goose all the winter.

(f) Wind north-west at Martinmas (Nov. 11th), severe

winter to
come.

(g) As at Catherine (Nov. 25th), foul or fair, so will be the

next
February.

DECEMBER
Decem means ten and December was the tenth month of the early
Roman calendar. Probably it has had more names conferred upon it
than any other of the twelve months. Among the Saxons, it was
originally Winter Monat, but after their conversion to Christianity, it
was Heligh Monat, or holy month, in honor of the birth of Christ.
December proverbs:
(a) December frost and January flood,
Never boded the husbandman good.

(b) Frost on the shortest day (Dec. 22nd) indicates a

severe winter.

(c) The day of St. Thomas, the blessed divine

Is good for brewing, baking and killing fat swine.
(St. Thomas's Day is Dec. 21st.)

(d) Never rued the man that laid in his fuel before St.
John
(Dec. 27).
CHRISTMAS EVE.—The Latin Church called Christmas the Feast of
Lights, because Christ, the true light, had come into the world,
hence the Christmas candle and the Yule log, which sometimes were
of immense size.
"Now blocks to cleave this time requires,
'Gainst Christmas for to make good fires."
In the western parts of Devonshire, a superstitious notion prevails
that on Christmas Eve at 12 o'clock the oxen in the stalls are found
on their knees, as in an attitude of devotion.
Mince pies were intended to represent the offerings of the wise men.
As many of the ingredients come from the East, the connection of
ideas is plain, but what can be the origin of the notion that it is
desirable to eat mince pies made by as many different cooks as
possible to ensure as many happy months is not so easily explained.
Some authorities are of the opinion that mince pies were formerly
baked in coffin-shaped crusts intended to represent the manger, but
in all old cookery-books the crust of a pie was styled the coffin.
It is said, by those who should be able to speak with authority, that
ghosts never appear on the night of December 24th-25th. This is a
fact that Charles Dickens must have overlooked.
Christmas Proverbs, etc.:—
(a) A warm Christmas, a cold Easter.
(b) A green Christmas, a white Easter.
(c) Christmas in snow, Easter in wind.
(d) Christmas wet, empty granary and barrel.
(e) If there is wind on Christmas Day, there will be much
fruit the following year.
(f) Snow at Christmas brings a good hay crop next year.
(g) If Christmas falls on a Sunday, there is good luck in
store for all of us.
(h) A child that's born on Christmas Day, is fair, and wise,
and good, and gay.
(i) Carols out of season, sorrow without reason.
(j) If Christmas Day on Thursday be,
A windy winter ye shall see:
Windy weather in each week,
And hard tempest, strong and thick.
The summer shall be good and dry,
Corn and beasts will multiply.
(k) Light Christmas, light wheatsheaf. ("Light" here refers
to the full moon.)
(l) There is a firm belief that to leave Christmas
decorations hanging beyond Twelfth-Night is to bring ill-
luck to everybody in the house.
HOLY INNOCENTS' DAY.—December 28th was formerly reckoned as
the most unlucky day of the whole year, and few had the temerity to
begin any work or start any new undertaking then.
HOGMANAY.—In Scotland, the night of December 31st is known as
Hogmanay. Then the fire is "rested," and on no account is it allowed
to go out on the hearth, nor is the house swept, nor ashes nor water
"thrown out," in case all the luck should be swept out. "Dirt bodes
luck." It is lucky to give away food or money, to break a drinking
glass accidentally, for a girl to see a man from her window on New
Year's morning, and the birth of a child brings good luck to the
entire family.

OTHER WEATHER PROPHECIES

A blustering night, a fair day.
One fair day in winter is often the mother of a storm.
A snow winter, a rich summer and autumn.
A summer fog is for fair weather.
A foot deep of rain will kill hay and grain. But a foot deep of snow
will make all things grow.
A sunshiny shower never lasts an hour.
A late spring is a great blessing.
A wet spring, a dry harvest.
After a wet year, a cold one.
As the days lengthen, so the cold strengthens.
Between twelve and two, you'll see what the day will do.
Cloudy mornings, clear evenings.