Page 106 of The Pumpkin Bride

“Dammit, Marigold. I told you—”

She held up her hand. “Please, Bram. All’s well. We made no bargain. We merely chatted civilly.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Help me set up a bath, and I’ll tell you.”

Within twenty minutes, Marigold, skin pinked and steaming, relaxed in the tub in front of the fire. As her scrapes met the water, she’d hissed, but claimed she was now in a perfect state of bliss. The cloves and pine released a soothing scent, and she leaned her head against the pillow he’d made from a linen roll.

“Now will you tell me?” he asked.

She sighed and leaned forward. “Scrub my back for me?”

“Delaying is very dramatic.”

“I’m processing.” She moaned as he sluiced water over her shoulders. “That feels wonderful.”

The soap lather hid the border between her suntanned and ivory skin. “Marigold, you’re driving me insane.”

“My technique is simple. I took him birthday cake.”

He dipped the linen back in the water. “That’s it? Cake?”

“Yes. Did you not take him cake?”

“Well, no. I climbed the tree under cover of night hoping he wouldn’t wake.”

She tsked. Men.

“You . . . filled him with sugar, and he talked to you without trying to bargain for your first-born child?”

“That’s it.” She rested her forehead on her tented knees. “He was quite friendly. Seemed a bit lonely, if you ask me.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Mostly why he does Crispin’s bidding.”

He scrubbed her shoulders. “And?”

“Could you massage my neck? I got a kink when I climbed the tree.”

Bram exhaled. Compliance would get the information faster. Once again, she erupted into soft, breathy moans as he worked the knot below her neck and to the left of her spine.

“That’s the spot.” She lifted her head back up. “The sprite said he does Crispin’s bidding because he true-named him. If we can figure out the sprite’s true name, then he’ll have to do our bidding. But we don’t even have to do that. He said he gave you an out when he cursed you. What was it?”

Bram’s hands stilled. “Did he?”

“Yes.” She twisted in the tub. “He was adamant. Do you not know the loophole?”

Bram’s stomach hardened. “So, hm. I . . . whew.”

“Oh, Bram. Did you do that thing?” She scrunched her nose. “Where you don’t pay attention to the middle part?”

Bram’s cheeks heated. “I was full of adrenaline.”

“Well, is there anyone we could ask?”

“Like, who, Marigold? The prince who ordered the sprite to curse me? Or the knights who witnessed it and ran away with the golden acorns, leaving me in a quivering, retching heap under the Lantern Oak? Or . . .”