Chapter 2

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 Court's colors, dark orange and light orange, although our uniforms are different based on our positions. The kitchen staff wear dark orange pants and shirts with a long light orange apron covering them. The wait staff wear 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's 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?" Uh 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 believe her. If the summer fae are cruel, it's 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," I say, 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.