Page 9 of Never Ever After

She points at the basket of pears. “Take these to Farmer Lan tomorrow morning and get the best price you can. Don’t be distracted by his son.” Mistress Henglan’s mouth slides into a cunning smile. “Someone like him won’t even look twice at you. And if he does, he’ll only want one thing.”

“Maybe I only want one thing from him too.”

It slips out before I catch myself, her words stinging. I hate how she pushes me down, making me feel small. But as her eyes narrow, I drop my head, biting my tongue so hard I taste blood, feeling like I’m burning up inside.

CHAPTER FOUR

F armer Lan lives just over an hour away by foot, his grounds and fields well tended, the house built of stone. My hair is braided neatly down my back, and I’ve changed into my only remaining set of clean clothes. As I approach the door, my heart quickens. I’ve met the farmer’s son, Songmin, just a few times, but he’s kissed me—gentle, tender kisses that stirred a warmth I’m eager to feel again. I don’t care about my step-aunt’s warning; I’m tired of living by her rules, fearing her displeasure.

Before I can knock, the door swings open. Songmin stands there, a smile on his handsome face. As he steps outside and shuts the door, he glances around to check we’re alone. “I saw you come down the path. I was thinking of you.”

“I was thinking of you too,” I admit, before catching myself. He seems to draw away when I edge too close. “I came to see your father today.”

“All business? Or do you have time… for more?” His voice arches in an intimate way.

“It depends.” I try to match his tone, but it cracks at the end. “Shall we go for a walk by the river?”

He slants his head back, a glint in his eyes. “Come find me in our usual place.”

“It was only twice,” I counter.

He leans down until his lips are by my ear, his broad shoulders an inch from mine. “And I’ve thought about each time in great detail.”

The door rattles, then opens again, Songmin straightening at once. Farmer Lan steps out, watching me intently like he thinks I’ll steal his coin. If he keeps looking at me that way, I just might.

“Songmin, you should be working in the field,” he chides him. “Not wasting time here.”

“I was just headed there,” Songmin replies with his easy manner. “But we have a visitor.”

I set the basket down, my arms beginning to ache. Farmer Lan’s gaze goes right to it. “Pears? This early?” He squints at his own trees, their fruit still small and green. “Where did you get them from—Mist Island?”

I make myself laugh at his joke. “Yes, Farmer Lan. I flew there last night and plucked these off a tree made of gold.”

“She’s lying, Father,” Songmin says with a wink at me.

“How do you know I’m lying?”

“No one can get to Mist Island.” His stare trails the length of me. “Though maybe I’m wrong. They do say fairies are allowed to enter.”

Farmer Lan’s snort destroys any pleasure in the compliment as he squats down to inspect the fruit. “Fairies? What rubbish. All these wild stories when no one has ever been there. No one can even find Mist Island, much less enter. The late king’s soldiers only got as far as Thorn Valley and failed to penetrate the island’s barriers—a waste of precious funds.”

As much as I dislike him, Farmer Lan is a good source of information beyond our village, spending most of his time in the teahouses listening to storytellers and hiding from his wife.

“Let’s hope Prince Zixin will rule differently,” I say with feeling.

The farmer wrinkles his nose. “His Highness’s first command was to impose that ridiculous tax to commemorate his father’s passing. Now he’s throwing a ball, a frivolous waste of money. What will he do after he’s crowned king? It’s not just us in the villages who are struggling, but those in the towns too.”

It’s hard to imagine the wealthy farmer being short on funds, but the harvest has been poor in recent years across the kingdom. Some whisper that our land is cursed, none daring to say this too loud for fear of drawing the soldiers’ attention.

I want to ask Songmin if he’s going to the ball, but Mistress Henglan has forbidden me from attending, and it would feel worse knowing he’d be there, dancing with—

“Thirty copper coins,” Farmer Lan barks, breaking my daze. “For the whole basket.”

“Farmer Lan, it’s worth at least twice more,” I say in an injured tone. “Fifty copper coins and it would be a bargain.”

The farmer runs a callused finger down a pear, his other hand scratching the mole on his chin. “They look bruised and misshapen.” A false complaint to drive down the price.

“They are perfectly shaped.” I add, “You can fetch a higher price in the market with these being so early in the season. They will help draw more customers in.”