Page 129 of The Pumpkin Bride

“That’s one way to put it.” Marigold narrowed her gaze at Crispin. “Will you tell them the complete truth, or shall I?”

King Matthias joined his wife and daughter’s embrace. “The truth about what, pumpkin? And who is this— Wait.”

The king blanched as though he’d seen a specter.

With a nervous breath, Bram said, “It’s me, sir. Bram Duncan. I didn’t die.”

King Matthias clasped his shoulder. “And I’m very glad for it. Marigold was despondent her childhood friend had . . . How did you come to be here?”

“May we speak in private?” Crispin’s eyes darted from face to face, never landing. “I can explain, but it would be best if—”

“No.” Marigold shook her head. “Enough with secrets and shadows. Let’s share in the open, shall we?”

Among the gathering crowd, Bram noticed a studious young woman edging closer to their circle. Isolde Fenlow, the chronicler who specialized in Harvest Hollow intrigues. Prior to the curse, when he was a knight in Crispin’s privy circle, he’d have chased her off.

Now?

He welcomed her attention and the light her pen would shine. It wasn’t his job to protect bad behavior. Nor was the shame his to bear. Crispin was the one who’d plotted, planned, and inflicted harm. The prince was the only one to be held to account here.

Bram cleared his throat. “Three years ago, Prince Crispin of Harvest Hollow bade the autumn sprite who resides in the Lantern Oak to curse me. He transformed me into an orc and tethered me to Grimroot Farm.”

“An orc, you say?” King Matthias scanned him.

“I’ve returned to myself.” He glanced at Marigold. “After your daughter broke the curse.”

Rowan stepped forward. “It’s true. I saw him with my own eyes two days ago. But that’s not the whole of it.”

Queen Elowen whipped her head to her daughter. “What, then, is the whole of it?”

“Honestly.” Crispin grasped Marigold’s forearm. “Please take this into the cottage?”

Bram sizzled with anger. “Leave off, if you know what’s good for you.”

“I’ve got this,” Marigold said. “I can shrink him to obscurity if need be.” She turned to her parents. “I overheard Crispin plotting Thornwick’s ruin. Upon our marriage, he planned to have the mountain sprites murder Rowan and Beckett, then put me away at Scarlet Spire to convalesce in grief. From there, he’d rule both kingdoms and strip-mine Thornwick for the benefit of Harvest Hollow.”

King Matthias lowered his brow. “Is that so? In league with the mountain sprites? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Grindlethwack fluttered into view, then scrunched his face apologetically. “Ah, that’d be my fault. Crispin had control of me, and I brokered the deal with the mountain sprites. He promised to give them the foothills of the Gildfall Mountains.”

“A full quarter of Thornwick’s land?” Queen Elowen gasped.

Marigold nodded. “So, you see, I can’t marry Crispin.”

“No, you cannot.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek, then glared at Crispin. “I forbid it.”

“How’s that now?” Crispin laughed darkly. “We have an agreement. A marriage license.”

“And you have broken the contract.” King Matthias, shorter than Crispin though he may be, intimidated the younger man enough to force him to step back.

“You don’t believe this . . . this fantasy, do you?” Crispin spluttered. “Why would I, a prince in my own right, engage in this kind of subterfuge?”

“How dare you, sir?” The king pursed his lips as though he were holding back venom. “My daughter does not lie.”

Crispin’s arched a sharp eyebrow. “Then she told you about the romantic relationship she and Bram carried on all those years ago, did she? You should be grateful I was willing to take her off your hands, knowing what I know about her virtue.”

“You go too far.” King Matthias fisted Crispin’s jerkin. “Apologize.”

“Never.” Crispin glared at Marigold’s father.