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?”
