Page 105 of The Pumpkin Bride

“Yep. Seemed dead certain if he got the riddle wrong, you’d come to his rescue to break the curse.” The sprite looked her up and down. “All in all, I guess he was right.”

She shifted her seat to ease the chafe on her thighs, but there was nothing for it. “So there is a way to break it?”

“There’s always a way.” The sprite flipped his palms to the sky. “Every trickster’s required to provide a loophole.”

“What is it for Bram’s curse?”

His orange eyebrow shot skyward. “Careful now, Red. That’s how you start a bargain.”

Bram’s voice nudged her brain. Never bargain with a sprite.

“Forget I asked.” She withdrew the last cake from her basket. “But I’d like some information, if you’re willing to give it freely.”

He took it from her. “You’ve been generous, so I’ll give you a hand. Only one question, mind, so make it good.”

She could ask about Bram’s loophole to return him to his true form and free him from Grimroot Farm. But she’d meant what she said earlier—she loved him no matter what. And if they broke this curse, what would stop Crispin from visiting some other misfortune on them with this sprite’s magic? His hold over the sprite was the greater mystery—that was the answer she needed to keep them safe from the prince’s shenanigans.

“Why did you do Crispin’s bidding, even though it contradicted the bargain you made with Bram?”

The sprite whistled, long and low, the pitch drifting into notes that caused her skin to break out into goose bumps. “Fair play to you—that’s a honey of a question. Crispin true-named me. That means he can force me to his bidding until someone else cracks my true name. That takes him out of the game, and once a true-namer’s bumped out, he’s done.”

Marigold wobbled as wind gusted through the tree, then caught herself. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me your name?”

The sprite fluttered closer. “Would that I could, and its pure class of you to ask instead of trying to trick it out of me. I can see why Crispin wants to steal you from Bram. He said so that night—snatched your guy’s necklace and said he was making a play for you. You haven’t married him, have you?”

“No.” Her hair whipped around her face. “I ran away.”

“Good. He’s a prick. Any more of those cakes, then?”

Her basket was empty. “All gone.”

“Pity.” He alit on the branch above her. “It’s a right nuisance to climb down in a skirt. Tell me you can do it without breaking your neck?”

“Uh . . .” She peered at the forest floor below the tree. “Maybe?”

“I gotcha.” He tapped her on the forehead, and in a blink, she was standing on the forest floor, staring up at the sprite.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Thank you!”

“Welcome, Red. And I hope I never lay eyes on you again.”

Chapter 31

Bram rocked on the front porch, whittling the block of wood into a ring. As he waited for Marigold, he needed to keep his hands busy to stop himself from punching walls in frustration. Had he been kinder, more understanding, she wouldn’t have left the cottage and put herself in danger. The frisson he felt when strangers crossed the border of Grimroot Farm had been quiet today, which held his panic at bay.

There was a chance she was simply foraging.

But there was a better chance she went to talk to the damn sprite. He looked up from the ring emerging from the block to scan the horizon. Empty. Back to the whittling; curls of wood rained on the porch.

Back up again, and—

He froze.

Marigold, looking much worse for wear, approached. His knife and the wood clattered to the porch, and the porch steps shook as he bounded down them to meet her. Twigs and leaves clung to her hair, and mud spattered every inch of her. Beneath her cloak, she was missing a shoe.

“What happened to you?”

She sighed. “I think we both know I went to see the sprite.”