Page 125 of The Pumpkin Bride

“I’ll give you treats if you get me out of here,” she whispered.

He crouched to allow her to climb on his back. With firm grips on his fur, she whispered, “Take me to the Lantern Oak.”

Fuzzle was off like lightning.

She’d never been accused of being an expert horsewoman, so it was no surprise she was having difficulty keeping her seat on the cat’s neck. Though his stride was smooth, she clamped her fists and legs tight.

Soon, Fuzzle slowed before the glowing golden orbs within the Lantern Oak’s branches. It had shed more leaves since she’d last been here, revealing more of its trunk and limbs. At daybreak, the autumn sprite would disappear. They’d have to wait until the wheel of the year cycled back to fall to break the curse on Bram.

At the base of the tree, she snapped herself back to full size.

From within the basket, she withdrew a cream tart, then tossed it to Fuzzle.

“Good man,” she said.

As the orange tabby happily dined on the treat, she shed her cloak and scrambled onto the lowest bough. If Bastien got the sprite’s name wrong and she tried true-naming him first, he might be too irritated to give her a chance to solve the riddle. But if she tried to solve the riddle first and failed, she had the true-name option as her last arrow in the quiver. And if both failed . . . well, she wouldn’t entertain that possibility. Positive thinking only from this point forward.

As she heaved herself upward, she sang a tune to calm herself.

“Bram and Marigold, sitting in a tree.”

Heave, grunt, plant her foot, and—shite, she slipped and banged her knee.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Twist, bend, hook her arm around the limb and . . . yep. There was the kink in her neck again. Hopefully Bram could massage and melt it like butter later.

“First comes love.”

She stood on her tiptoes, then stretched for the next branch.

“Then comes a curse.”

Her grip slipped, and she whirled her arm until she caught a branch and her balance.

“Then comes grief.” She heaved herself up another branch. “And isolation, melancholy, the grayness. Then love again while navigating class-system oppression. Typical girl-meets-boy story.”

She breached the surface of the canopy.

“Grand tune, Red.” The autumn sprite appeared at her side. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Tell me you’ve brought more of those cakes?”

“I have.”

“Well now, don’t be shy.” The autumn sprite rubbed his hands together. “I’m hard pressed for time.”

She yanked the basket away before he could get under the lid. “Ah, ah, ah. First we talk. Then cakes.”

The autumn sprite pouted and held the hand she smacked. “Be quick about it, then, will you?”

She cleared her throat. “It’s about Bram.”

The autumn sprite sat on a branch. “The green fellow, aye?”

“Cut the shite. You know who he is, and I’m here to break the curse.” She shifted her seat on the branch as she reached for the note. “‘List all that true love does, not swears; the quiet works, the patient cares. Miss but one, and thorns shall scrape; speak them all, and free the face.’ Is that right?”

“Not my finest rhyme, I’ll admit. But yes, that’s the loophole.”

“Great. So, I’m to tell you all the ways my true love is wonderful. Is that it?”