Page 15 of The Pumpkin Bride

Crispin’s sadistic and disproportionate responses were yet another reason to run away and seek sanctuary with allies. She felt terrible about inflicting wanton destruction on an innocent person’s life.

To calm her breathing, she listed the actions she’d undertake as soon as Crispin and his poxy knights cleared out. First, help the orc set the cottage to rights. Second, evaluate if she’d veered off course, and if so, how far. Third, plot her new path toward Mareval. Fourth, beg the orc for a horse to speed her journey. Fifth, run like hell.

The smashing slowed.

Amid the flying feathers, a knight crunched through the pottery bits scattered on the floor. She ducked under the rocking chair as he paused nearby. His shiny greaves were close enough to see her reflection from where she’d hidden in the basket.

“Oi, she’s not here,” he groused. “Clear the home.”

The ill-mannered knights left the door open as they clanged outside in their light armor. The disturbed air in the cottage drifted back to calm. She pressed her palms to her eyes and drank a deep breath to relax her pounding pulse. Her unsatisfied and unaware stomach growled.

Hopefully, the pies were unscathed.

Outside, Crispin’s voice rose above the din. “My guard will continue patrolling the hinterlands until my betrothed is found. I’m sure she’s been kidnapped by blackguards. Speak to no one about this, orc.”

“Who would I talk to out here?” the orc grumbled.

She covered her mouth to mask her giggle.

“If she arrives on your doorstep, signal immediately.”

The orc grunted—neither a yes nor a no.

His preferred way of communicating, it would seem. Honestly, with Crispin? That was the only appropriate response. From her first day at Harvest Hollow, she should’ve grunted at him instead of trying to talk. But then he’d probably would have already shipped her off to the Sea of Red Tides to “take the air” as he had his older sister, Princess Rosamund.

His staff gossiped far too much during evening ablutions.

Hoofbeats rattled the floorboards as the company pounded away from the cottage. The orc returned and closed the door, then slowly scanned the damage. Marigold remained in her minimized state. At this size, she had the advantage. She hadn’t been able to properly look at her host.

Not without being rude anyway.

People staring at her like she was an animal in a menagerie was a professional princess hazard. She’d never wish to do that to another person, but this was her first time meeting an orc. She’d read about his kind in the broadsheets, of course, but she assumed the paper’s contents were at least half fiction, bait intended to hook a reader’s eyes and sell more copies. For example, they’d said orcs were of low intelligence, and that was already provably false. And the renderings were frightening, all jagged teeth and small red eyes.

Not so with this fellow.

He was large and green. That, they’d gotten right. Green was insufficient, however. His skin matched the dark rich tone of an emerald, like those in her father’s crown. His jet hair fell past his shoulders and gleamed like obsidian. The pointed ears—another true thing from the stories—poked through the strands, and two small gold hoops decorated the left lobe. As he returned the massive divan to its upright position, controlled strength rippled his arms, broad chest, and thick thighs.

All from many hours working the land, no doubt.

“It’s safe to come out,” he called. “They’re gone.”

She skittered from behind the basket. After making sure the area was clear, she snapped herself back to full-sized Marigold. As her stomach swam, he stumbled backward in surprise and into the butcher’s block counter.

“Blood and bones,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hip. “That’ll leave a mark.”

“Sorry.” Despite the nausea, she giggled through her fingers. That she of all people could frighten a creature like this was hilarious. The only person she’d ever intimidated in her life was Bram the first time she’d kissed him. “I should’ve warned you.”

With eyes flared, he clutched the butcher block to steady himself. “You can glimmer step?”

“No, not at all. I wasn’t invisible.” She lifted a ruined pillow from the floor and placed it on the divan. “My power is minimancy. I can shrink things and set them back to normal size. Including myself.”

“Hmph.” He furrowed his brow. “I don’t like it.”

Neither did she, at first. “It’s immensely useful. I’m well in control, if it worries you.”

The orc pressed his lips together, then rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Is it dangerous?”

Mercy, he was nervous about her abilities. Typical in Thornwick, but she’d thought a creature rumored to have heightened abilities might be more understanding. Ordinarily she’d playfully snap back with a jokey answer to lighten tensions. But if she wanted to stay here—and what better place was there to stay than one that had already been searched by the palace guard?—she should answer him sincerely.