Page 111 of The Pumpkin Bride

He stared at his hands, turning them this way and that. Under the shimmer, they were both Bram’s and Jask’s, peach and green, large and huge. He scrambled up the stairs to the loft to find her looking glass. By the time he located it, only the orc looked back.

He whirled, desperation naked on his face. “Do it again.”

“Bram—”

“Please,” he begged.

Like Narcissus, this couldn’t be good for his heart or mind, but she was powerless to deny his request. With a deep breath, she held her hands aloft. The orange fizzed and sparked in her palms, then bloomed into orbs. With a gentle motion, she flicked it toward him.

As before, they popped on his skin, then shimmered as the magic spread over him. Once again, his form danced between human and orc, sliding back and forth. He lifted the looking glass and the tendons stood out on his neck.

He dropped the glass. “What is this?”

“I don’t know its name.” Marigold took his hands. “But it may reveal a person’s truest self? And raises questions about Bastien.”

The color left his face, like a candle being snuffed.

“So I’m both a knight of the realm and a farmer orc? How can a person have two true identities?” He set the mirror on the mantel, directly under his sword. “Saints, I don’t know who or what I am anymore.”

“You are Bram.” She caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. “And I love him.”

He tugged her close. After his chest expanded in a sigh, it rumbled with his words. “Brief as it lasts, there’s a gift in this magic. We don’t need to bother with the sprite or the curse. If you want to see the real me instead of the monster, you can hit me with the orbs.”

The real him? She stepped back. “Bram, look at me.”

His eyes were feverish in the firelight.

Her insides hollowed. “I’ll tell you this a thousand times until you believe it. I love you. What you look like has no bearing on my affections.”

A sad smile twisted his lips. “I don’t believe that, Marigold.”

Another step back, as though a wall were pushing up between them.

“I’m not lying to you,” she said.

He palmed his neck. “But you’re lying to yourself.”

“That’s . . . I can’t . . .” She spluttered. “Bram Duncan, that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. Do you think me shallow?”

“Mercy, Marigold. No. I think me monstrous.”

“You are not a monster.” She tunneled her hand into the hair at her temples and tugged in frustration. “Is it so wild to imagine that your heart, mind, and soul is who you are, and the rest is decoration? My body will change, too, you know. It already has. The person you knew five years ago is not the person I am today. Life changed me. Do you love me less for those changes?”

“Mare,” he said. “Let’s not deceive ourselves. This is different.”

He gestured to his body. His delightful mountain of a body.

She crossed her arms. “I don’t see it that way.”

“You’re being naive.”

Heat rushed from her belly to her cheeks. The nerve.

“That’s the second time in five minutes you’ve claimed to know my mind better than I, you clay-brained ninny. Do it again at your own peril.”

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I overstepped. But the offer stands. Whenever you get are weary of this form, you’re welcome to change it.”

In that moment she resolved never to use this ability, whatever it was, on Bram again. She would, however, do everything in her power to give him the opportunity to be restored to his original form, if that was indeed what he wanted.