Page 90 of The Pumpkin Bride

On her, nothing. Same with the Leshy and the various buildings around Grimroot Farm. Bastien, however, briefly transformed into a man and seemed none the worse for wear. She dusted her palms together. Without Vera and her vast knowledge of magical gifts, Marigold would be forced to experiment like she had during her alchemical pursuits.

She needed to try it on someone else.

Marigold steepled her fingers and pressed her pointers to her lips. A large, green opportunity could be found back at Grimroot Farm. He claimed to hate magic, but he’d grown comfortable with her minimancy. She called forth an orb on her palm and gazed upon its heatless light. During her alchemy studies, she’d conducted strange experiments on stubborn metals. She could convince him; she was sure of it.

After all, it was her birthday.

Didn’t he owe her a present?

Chapter 25

Bram put the plate of frosted cakes into the cupboard, pleased with the cakes, the pumpkins he’d prepped, and that he’d figured out a plausible reason he knew today was her birthday.

He stilled.

The frisson of someone crossing the border skated along his spine. A new arrival? Or Alfred and the alewife leaving? It couldn’t be Coby. He wasn’t due back until tomorrow.

Marigold burst through the door.

“What’s wrong?” He glanced at her empty basket. “Where are the mushrooms?”

“Shite, I forgot—well, I didn’t forget. I was distracted.” She lifted her hair from her neck. “I had an encounter.”

Bram’s neck tensed. “Are you hurt?” Please don’t let her be hurt.

“No, just frightened for a moment.” She peered into the kitchen. “Do I smell cakes?”

He reached for his cloak. “Tell me where.”

“By the tree covered in goldcaps.” She turned back to him as he plucked the sword from its bracket above the fireplace. “You don’t need to storm the wood, Jask. I met a little boy. Your neighbor—the widow caretaker’s son. He’s adorable, and he might want to visit. But first, there’s this—will you marry me?”

Surprise and delight whirred through him, despite the impossibility. Few in history had approved a union between a princess and a commoner, much less an orc.

“What precisely did you speak with this boy about?”

“Old Mother Ash. Answer the question. Will you marry me?”

“I believe it’s customary for the man to ask for a lady’s hand.” He slipped an arm around the small of her back to pull her in for a kiss.

She laid her hand on his chest. “We’ve never been customary.”

“True. But why have you asked me tonight?”

“Because if I’m already married—” she lifted onto her tiptoes to kiss him “—then I can’t marry Crispin. Brilliant, isn’t it? Can we summon a cleric right now?”

Heaviness settled in his sternum.

He couldn’t doom her to his fate. Grimroot Farm was his world, but it didn’t need to be hers. As much as he’d love to marry her, for her sake, he wouldn’t.

Deflection was the coward’s way, but he had no choice.

“I think the opportunity has sailed for today. The sun sets soon, but I still have a celebration in store.” He kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday.”

Underneath his lips, her forehead puckered. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

So many lies this evening.

“The night you drank my cider. You said the first time you’d been in your cups was on your birthday, the eighteenth of October, when you and Bram overdid it on perry.”