13
W e set off to town right after breakfast, much to Isabelle’s chagrin. Crown Prince Bennett wanted to observe Coriva disguised as civilians, so we borrowed the servants’ carriage. This, I realized, was why he suggested the tour in the first place. It certainly wasn’t to spend more time with me, judging from his studious silence during the carriage ride.
The roads were busy, though not overly crowded. Several stray cats darted into an alleyway, avoiding a group of rambunctious children playing ball on the street. Misty would’ve hated the noise, but I still felt awful leaving her in Serena and Lady Huntington’s clutches.
Something must have shown on my face.
“You seem preoccupied, Lady Narcissa,” Ulysses said, glancing up at me over his spectacles. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine. It’s just my cat—” I cut myself off when the crown prince looked up. I knew I would sound ridiculous and spoiled if I continued. Misty was just a pet to him—and squabbling over a pet was not becoming of a future princess. I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
Crown Prince Bennett opened his mouth. I braced myself for whatever was coming, but the carriage rolled to a stop before he could speak.
“There’s the shop in question, Your Highness,” Ulysses said, pushing his spectacles up his hooked nose. He flipped through the pile of reports in his lap. “William’s Plants and Produce. It opened two months ago.”
“Two months only?” Crown Prince Bennett murmured, dropping his gaze from me. “Curious.”
The shop had been upsetting adjacent store owners, Ulysses told me earlier, and many had written complaints to the king. It was a mystery what the shop owner had been doing to cause such a reaction.
We clambered out the carriage. The storefront had glass walls and a yellow ochre door. Even from outside, the place was bursting with greenery.
“Are you familiar with plants, Lady Narcissa?” the crown prince asked.
I grew mildly irritated, though more at him than at his question. I wished he would just berate me for my behavior at breakfast and have it over with. “Not every herbwitch has a partiality to plants, Your Highness,” I said. The words came out stiffer than I intended.
“Apologies. I...” He cleared his throat, his gaze fixating on something down the street.
Before I could identify what it was, a floating pot of soil obstructed my view, wobbling precariously in the air. I blinked rapidly at the odd sight.
A few other civilians gaped. Others barely batted an eye.
A witch humming a lilting tune sat a few feet away. The pot drifted into his hands, which were engulfed in yellow, dirt-encrusted gloves. The sunspots on his forehead sparkled gold as he looked up.
“Ah, did I startle you, miss?” His nose scrunched as he smiled. He looked about Father’s age, but with a slimmer build and silvery hair.
“Are you William?” I asked, approaching him.
“That I am. And you are?”
“Cissa,” I said, using my pet name.
William turned. “And you, good sir?”
The crown prince looked past him, seemingly distracted. “Bennett.”
“Like the crown prince?”
He gave a start, as if just realizing he had given himself away.
The witch chuckled. “That is a poor disguise, Highness. Maybe slouch a little next time. Even without your crown, you look like you’re wearing one.” He gave me another look. “And you must be Lady Narcissa.”
Crown Prince Bennett sighed. “We may as well discuss this openly, then. Shall we take this inside?”
William’s shop was crowded with plants of all shapes and sizes. Some of them were sprouting fruit, others flowers. Some sat in elegant little pots on shelves of gold filigree, others on the floor, their leaves spilling onto the walnut paneling. A hexagonal dome in the ceiling let in a shaft of natural light. Crates of fruits and vegetables lined the opposite wall. The place was equal parts a plant store and a produce store. Charming, albeit unusual.
We sat behind the counter with William, where two sets of benches were placed. Ulysses looked hesitant.
“Your Highness, is it wise to reveal our identities so openly?” the steward whispered. “News could spread and perhaps the rioters— ”
“Not to worry, sir,” William said. Ulysses had been whispering rather loudly. “There are no rioters here. But if they come, I’ve got a nasty little jinx at the door.” He chuckled good-naturedly.
Ulysses’ face turned green.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Crown Prince Bennett said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “William, over the past month we’ve received complaints from local store owners about your shop.”
William’s brows shot up. “Whatever for? I’m merely serving my customers.”
“Are you selling them magic plants, perchance?”
The witch widened his eyes. “Not at all. Some witches don’t wish to sell magical wares, you see. Myself included. My plants and produce are perfectly non-magical.”
Crown Prince Bennett sat back. “Why would they be displeased unless you have something they don’t?”
“By all means, enlighten me, Your Highness. I’ve spent most of my life among witches. I cannot fathom what I’m doing to anger the others.”
The crown prince glanced around the crowd of greenery, though he could not possibly glean anything from the observation. He was no skilled botanist. Neither was I, but I didn’t need to be. This morning with Misty was enough.
“Are you selling produce that is out of season?” I asked. “Cantaloupe, perhaps?”
“Indeed!” William said. “Cantaloupe has been popular lately.”
I pursed my lips. I had heard that Witch Village was an underground expanse enchanted to look like the outside. Seasons were harsh at times and inconvenient at others. Perhaps the witches didn’t bother simulating unfavorable weather and grew what they wanted.
“Are there seasons in Witch Village?” I asked.
“Hardly. None of us wanted to deal with snow or sweltering heat,” William said, confirming my theory.
Ulysses seemed to catch on. After clearing his throat, he found his voice and proceeded to remind William of in-season and out-of-season produce.
“Are you saying I cannot sell my cantaloupe?” the witch said, brow furrowing. “I’m afraid that is all the customers want from me lately.”
“They want novelty. You offer them things no other shop can because of your magic,” Crown Prince Bennett said. “Cantaloupe would be fine in a witch market, but not when you’re competing directly with human businesses. That is why they are angry with you.”
William leaned back, looking lost. “But if I offer exactly what the others are offering, why would anyone want to come to me?”
“Remember the riots,” the crown prince said grimly. “Reducing the variety of your stock is a small price to pay.”
“B-but Your Highness! My life is here now, in this shop. I don’t have anything left down in Witch Village.”
“All the more reason to retreat from the spotlight. Once I return to Delibera I will work with my father on solutions. Perhaps it would be safer for witch businesses to stay in the witch markets.”
At this, William frowned. The expression didn’t suit his jovial features.
Sacrifices had to be made for the wellness of the kingdom, that I knew. But it was abundantly clear that the crown prince was making a mistake. Forcing witches to stay in witch markets would only isolate them further from human civilians, not to mention limit their pool of consumers .
I turned to William. “That doesn’t have to be the case.”
Crown Prince Bennett looked at me. Whether his gaze held curiosity or anger, I was too afraid to meet it. I knew adamantly agreeing with him would have won his favor, but leaving William upset with our interference didn’t line up with the purpose of the tour. It was my duty to fix this.
“Do you know what the other shops are selling?” I asked.
“Basic fruits and vegetables and whatnot,” William said with a grumble. He had removed his gloves.
I racked my brain for fruits that were in season. “Do you have lemons?”
William screwed up his nose. “Lemons? Who’s buying lemons?”
“The Food and Produce Census say lemons are quite popular in Alevine,” Ulysses piped up from within his pile of reports.
No one paid him any mind.
“Pears!” I said, recalling the cheddar pear soup I had several times at Greenwood Abbey. “Do you have pears?”
William nodded, seeming to have a more favorable opinion of this fruit. “I have several saplings in the back.”
“Do the others have pears?”
“I’m sure they do, Lady Narcissa.”
“But none will be as large and sweet and dependable as witch-grown fruit, will they?” I asked.
William raised his brows. “I suppose not.”
“Do what the others are doing, but better,” I said firmly. That was one of Mother’s sayings. It felt odd passing it on to William, but it was fitting. “Tell me, are people only coming to you for cantaloupe?”
“The customers like how I decorate the shop,” he said proudly. “They say it’s charming and curious. ”
I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Your presence is novelty enough, then. In the meantime, make friends with the other shop owners. Give them a peace offering of some sort.”
“A peace offering?” William leaned forward.
I nodded. “Perhaps a helpful tip about gardening. Something to show that you are on friendly terms with them despite being their biggest competitor. Once you stop selling your cantaloupe you will be on even footing with the rest. But you’ll still have an advantage with your unique presentation.”
Make them think you are equals before flying far and beyond them.
I held back a grimace. Yet another one of Mother’s mantras.
The spark had returned to the witch’s eyes. He pulled his dirty gloves back on. “This has been enlightening indeed. Thank you, Lady Narcissa!” William made a move to shake my hand, but seemed to think better of it. “I will certainly take your advice to heart.”
On our way out, William insisted on giving us a crate of his leftover cantaloupe. A gift, he said, for helping him.
Ulysses trudged along the stone path behind Crown Prince Bennett, weighed down by his papers and the crate of melons. The steward craned his neck to look at me. “Well, handled, milady. I daresay your compromise was clever indeed—”
The crown prince halted, nearly causing Ulysses to crash into his back. “Wait here.”
Ulysses righted himself. “Er, what is it, Highness?”
“I will be back in a moment.” Without further explanation, he continued down the street, melting into the crowd .
I looked down at my skirts, frowning. I hoped he didn’t recognize my advice as the petty games Mother used to play in court.
“Wait! Your—Oh dear,” Ulysses said. We stood beneath a large painted sign that read Pies by Pippin , the shop right next to William’s. A peek into the windows showed a variety of desserts, and of course, pies of all shapes and sizes. The tantalizing aroma of baked goods lingered in the frigid air.
I was half-tempted to walk inside, but my attention drew back to the steward, who was bouncing on his feet like a marionette puppet.
“Is something wrong, Ulysses?” I asked after a few minutes of his fidgeting.
His lips pulled downward. “Of course. I am in charge of keeping my eyes on the heir to the throne and heaven knows where he went. I do wish he would have taken a guard.”
The crown prince didn’t strike me as the type to dart off for foolish fancies. Whatever compelled him away must’ve been important, but it felt impertinent to ask where he went. I had the feeling the steward didn’t know either.
“Is His Highness not allowed to be alone?” I asked instead.
“He hardly ever is, milady.” Ulysses exhaled, ruffling his papers.
At that moment, Crown Prince Bennett appeared up the street. Except this time, there was an orange tabby cat slung over his shoulder like a sack. I blinked twice. Surely the light was playing tricks on me.
“Your Highness!” Ulysses exclaimed as he approached. The steward froze when the feline stared at him with pale green eyes. “This cat is...? ”
“Mine.”
“Yours? B-but—”
Crown Prince Bennett patted the cat’s head. There was a wet spot on his lavender cravat, as if it had been thoroughly chewed on. “I left him here to be groomed. His name is...” He glanced up. “Pippin. Or do you not remember, Ulysses?”
“P-pippin?” Ulysses squeaked, flipping frantically through his papers with one hand and balancing the crate with another. “Er—”
“Shall I tell Father you are no longer in prime condition to do your job?”
“No! No, not at all. Of course I remember...Pippin,” the steward said.
The crown prince removed the cat from his shoulders and offered it to me. “Lady Narcissa, if you don’t mind?”
I took the creature, staring incredulously as Crown Prince Bennett turned on his heel and headed back to the carriage.
The cat meowed in a voice far deeper than Misty’s, squirming in my arm’s length hold.
What’s your name? I thought to him. And where did you come from?
Didn’t you just hear? It’s Pippin, the tabby cat replied. As for where I come from? Don’t be daft. My mother’s womb, of course!
WHEN WE RETURNED, CROWN Prince Bennett claimed to have unfinished paperwork and disappeared to his room.
Ulysses went to the kitchens to drop off the melons, leaving me with Serena to show me back. She gave me and Pippin a sidelong glance, a tortured expression on her face. She gave no additional comment about Miss Isabelle’s aversion to animals, however, and left promptly after I entered the common room I shared with the crown prince.
I set Pippin down. He began exploring eagerly.
“This is your home for now,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “I sincerely hope you are house trained.”
Of course, of course , Pippin said, peering underneath the couch in the center of the room. He jumped back abruptly. Say! Who are you?
Misty slunk out from beneath, groggy from her nap. But when she caught sight of Pippin, she hissed and bolted behind my legs .
You actually got a ginger tabby to replace me! she yowled.
I knelt to stroke her head. “I did nothing of the sort! This is Pippin. He’s...the crown prince’s cat.”
Pippin’s tail stood upright as he strode toward Misty. Has anyone told you what a stunning creature you are?
Misty bristled. I spread my skirts to keep her back. She didn’t have the best history with the males of her species. I was secretly glad of it. I’d rather her stay with me than go off with some tomcat.
Before Misty could throw a fit, the crown prince’s door opened with a loud creak.
Giselle walked out. Her eyes widened. “Narcissa! I didn’t know you would be in here.” She shut the door quickly, pulling her braid over her shoulder.
“I live here. Why are you here?” I asked.
“Er, right. I was just...taking His Highness’s measurements.”
“Was he not doing paperwork?”
“Of course, but I had to interrupt him. Lady Huntington is hosting a ball next week.”
That sounds like fun , Pippin said, the tip of his tail curling. Will there be music? And fish?
“Aw!” Giselle cooed when she noticed the new feline. “This must be Pippin,” she said, kneeling down to pet him.
“You know him?” I said incredulously.
“Of course. He’s His Highness’s cat.”
I looked blankly at the top of Giselle’s head. How did I miss that the crown prince had a cat?
Giselle sighed loudly. “Well, I have a load of sewing to do,” she said as she jumped up. “See you later.”
“You don’t need to take my measurements?” I asked when she was halfway through the door.
“Unless you’ve grown two feet taller in the past day, no. Besides, I already have something special in the works for you.” With a wink, the witch skipped out into the hall, whistling an off-key tune.
THE NEXT MORNING, I made sure Misty was properly fed before going down to breakfast. Pippin was nowhere to be seen. He most likely wandered off to explore the abbey further. I only hoped he wouldn’t bump into Isabelle, lest she damaged my ears with another one of her screams.
“It will be a wonderful ball, Papa, I will make sure of it,” Isabelle said from beside me. Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement. She had been going on without pause about the upcoming ball the moment breakfast began. I wondered when she managed to down her two pieces of toast.
“I’m sure you will, my dear,” Lord Frederick said for the third time.
“Mama taught me everything about event planning, isn’t that right, Mama?”
Lady Huntington smiled. “And you have been the perfect pupil, my darling girl.”
I raised my teacup over my lips in case I made a face. Mother would dote on me in the same manner in public, though I never realized how sickening it was to watch.
Lady Huntington turned to Crown Prince Bennett. “It certainly won’t be as grand as the balls you are used to, Your Highness, but gatherings at our abbey are delightful nonetheless.”
“Certainly. I look forward to it,” the crown prince said. He bent down and lifted Pippin from underneath the table.
Isabelle let out a strangled squeal .
Lady Huntington set down her tea with a clatter. “Lady Narcissa, I believe I made it clear that—”
“This is my cat, Lady Huntington,” Crown Prince Bennett interrupted, letting Pippin onto the table. “I reunited with him yesterday and find myself rather attached again. I presume it will be acceptable to have him dine with us.”
Lady Huntington sputtered. “Y-your Highness!”
“Of...of course,” Isabelle said with a high-pitched giggle. “How lovely it is that you dote on your pet, Your Highness.”
Lord Frederick cocked his head, eyes flicking from Pippin to Crown Prince Bennett to me. “Isabelle, do you not have an allergy—?”
“It’s a seasonal thing!” Isabelle exclaimed as Pippin strode over to lick a dollop of whipped cream off her plate. “A...seasonal thing,” she squeaked.
Crown Prince Bennett held out a piece of toast to Pippin, who approached but merely stared at it. “He’s lonely.” He gave me a sidelong glance. It was the first time he looked at me since the carriage yesterday. “Lady Narcissa, will your cat join us?”
I blinked. “Misty already ate, Your Highness.”
He nodded. “Next time, then.”
Lady Huntington pressed her lips together so tightly they disappeared.
She forced a smile nonetheless. “Frederick says you are free today, Your Highness. Perhaps you’d like a tour of Huntington Abbey after breakfast?”
“A grand idea,” Crown Prince Bennett said. “The cats can stretch their legs.” He removed the napkin from his lap and stood, leaving Pippin. “Let us start in ten minutes.”
I stared, first at the crown prince’s retreating figure, then the faces of the remaining parties. Isabelle and Lady Huntington were both beet red, watching Pippin meander on top of the table with bulging eyes. Lord Frederick gave me a knowing smile, as if we were sharing a secret joke. I wasn’t sure what the joke was.
The tabby cat leaped from the table to my lap. His stomach gurgled. I’m starting to think that cream wasn’t a good idea .