Page 48 of The Pumpkin Bride

Jask choke-laughed on the last bite. In addition to looking at her, the orc was far less grumpy than when she first arrived. Obviously, that was partly because she was a damned delight. But he must have been so starved for company. Trips into town would be uncomfortable if people truly stared at him the way he said they had. But he’d grown to trust her—maybe he could build a rapport with others, too? Mixing with people would be good for him.

Complete isolation worked for no one.

Jask drained his mug and set it on the table. “I’ve no love for Crispin, but what went wrong between you and the prince?”

“I reject the premise.” She yanked up her too-long sleeves, then folded the dough again. “Nothing was ever right between us. He wanted a queen who’d project the right image as she stood beside—though slightly behind—him. I thought I was up to the task. My reasoning was this—if I would never be happy again, then what did it matter if I sacrificed myself for a marriage that would benefit my home kingdom? Be advised, making huge life choices while melancholic is . . . not great.”

“What made you come to your senses?” He approached the trestle table, then rested his hip against it.

Saints, between the oven and his hot-bloodedness, she’d break out in a full body sweat and need a tisane of meadowsweet to bring her temperature down.

“Several things. First, my numbness thawed.” The dough stretched as she worked it. “Coming to Harvest Hollow, seeing the things Bram wrote about in his letters with my own eyes . . . it healed me. I suppose I’m grateful for Crispin’s proposal, because it brought me here. But he measured so poorly in comparison to Bram. I couldn’t spend my one precious life with him. I’d bear him children he’d ignore, care for his aging father without a whit of gratitude, entertain his guests and be treated with less respect than his favorite horse. No, sir, that couldn’t be me.”

“You said several things. What else?”

“Is that not enough?” She blew an errant curl from her face, but the stubborn thing drifted back in front of her eyes.

“Not for a devoted princess of Thornwick whose kingdom has much to gain from this alliance.” He tucked the curl behind her ear, his nail lightly scraping the delicate skin behind it.

Her body flipped from overheating to shivers.

“I . . .” She gulped. “Discovered a plot. Knowing more may put you at risk.”

He stared down at her, his gold-flecked brown gaze like a sunbeam. “You’re worth it.”

Despite his words turning her knees to aspic, the ground was more solid under her feet. To no longer be alone in this knowledge would be like shedding the too-heavy ceremonial robes that nearly made her faint at her father’s coronation.

“Do you swear you’ll tell no one?”

He laid his injured arm across his heart. “Solemnly. I keep secrets well.”

Something wistful passed over his face. The moment stretched between them, taught as a bowstring. Underneath the tension, another sensation skated through her.

Affection.

Grumpy as the orc was, he was kind. He took her in when danger was at his door. Fed her. Carved with the skill of a craftsman and cared for a bevy of creatures. Highest in her esteem—he had the good sense to loathe Crispin.

“The prince is allied with the mountain sprites—with Alfred’s news today, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was similarly allied with those in the Shivering Dales. Regardless, he intends to use the mountain sprites to murder my brothers. With their demise, I become the sole heir to the Thornwick throne. After I succeed my father, Crispin plans to confine me to Scarlet Spire. Per our marriage contract, if I become incapacitated, he’ll rule as regent. His goal is to unite the kingdoms of Harvest Hollow and Thornwick, then strip Thornwick of its precious metals and render it a barren wasteland.”

Jask’s grunt sounded as though he’d taken a blow to the gut. As he ground his jaw, his tusks pressed against his upper lip. “That base, contemptible wretch.”

“I chose more colorful words when I learned of it. The next day, I posted a coded letter to Rowan, then ran at my first opportunity, which is how I ended up on your doorstep.”

His gaze softened. “You’re quite brave, do you know that?”

Her cheeks heated. “You’re kind to listen.”

“It’s my everlasting pleasure,” he said.

Her blood froze.

As children, Bess took her and Bram to see a traveling troupe of players stage a romance. At one point, the hero’s lover thanked him for rescuing her. While pumping his eyebrows, he answered, It’s my everlasting pleasure. She and Bram, then twelve, had dissolved into giggles where they stood in the pit. Bess hustled them out, calling them rude and disrespectful. From that point on, they’d used it any time the other did the most minor of favors. As they’d grown romantically entangled, it had become a phrase of endearment.

One he’d just casually used.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“‘It’s my everlasting pleasure’?” Jask palmed his neck with his bandaged hand, then backed away. “Read it in a book.”