Page 131 of The Pumpkin Bride

“What do you mean, no? You must obey me.”

“Not anymore. Red true-named me, so she’s the boss now. She also told me plain—no more following orders I’ve no heart for. She granted me agency, you eejit.”

Crispin stamped his foot like a toddler. “Don’t call me eejit.”

“Oh, Crispin.” A melodic, disappointed voice cut through the whispering in the crowd. “Have you been misbehaving again?”

A tall woman approached, folding back the hood of her cloak. As the cloth fell around her shoulders, the rising wind snatched at her long dark hair. She narrowed her violet eyes. “Hello, brother.”

Crispin blanched. “Rosamund?”

“Oh, shite,” Grindlethwack murmured. “What’s she doing here?”

“I’ll own that,” Bram said. “Marigold’s brother and a knight friend of mine—Sir Coby—went to persuade Princess Rosamund to return to Harvest Hollow since she, by all rights, should serve as regent instead of Crispin.”

“Brilliant, but fair warning—she might be pissed.” Grindlethwack swirled his index fingers around each other. “Crispin true-named me right around the time the old king took ill. First thing he asked was to afflict his older sister, too. Nothing fatal, mind. Just enough for her to need the air at the Sea of Red Tides. So he could be regent instead. And then Red here told me to undo things I didn’t agree with.”

“Like making Rosamund ill,” Marigold said.

Grindlethwack nodded. “Just so.”

“Guards?” Rosamund called. “Please ready the carriage so my dear brother and I may return to Brambleton. We must consult with the High Council about the legitimacy of his regency. Oh, and you there.” She beckoned to Coby. “You’ll ride in the carriage with us. The rest of you will walk or ride, if you have horses.”

Her cloak swirled as she turned toward Marigold and Bram. Rosamund’s cool gaze appraised the two of them, dressed in humble farmers’ clothing. “I understand I have you two to thank for retrieving me?”

Marigold curtseyed. “Princess Marigold of Thornwick, at your service.”

Bram bowed. “Sir Bram Duncan, also of Thornwick.”

“Up, up.” Princess Rosamund touched their shoulders. “No bowing among friends. We’d be stuck all evening, bobbing at each other like ducks. I fear it’ll be a late night for me this evening, but I’d like for us to visit with each other soon.”

“I’d like that, too,” Marigold said.

Bram remained silent until Marigold stepped on his toe. “And I.”

With a great clanging, the palace guard, Princess Rosamund, and Prince Crispin headed toward the corner of the harvested pumpkin patch where carriages and horses had been tethered.

Marigold’s curls smelled of pine as he leaned to whisper, “I don’t envy him that ride.”

“Pumpkin.” Queen Elowen reached for her daughter’s hands. “We shall plan the wedding of the century.”

With an audible huff, Bess stalked away and into the night. Had they been on better terms, he might’ve warned her she was headed straight for the Leshy’s patch of forest.

“Um, actually.” Marigold twisted her shoe into the ground. “Could we not?”

With a fizz in her belly, Marigold called, “Brother Oswald! We need your help.”

The round monk huffed over to where they stood. “How may I be of service?” he asked.

“We wish to be married.” Bram kissed her knuckles. “Tonight.”

The full golden moon loaned the pumpkin patch and the meadow an amber glow. A perfect scene for the wedding of her dreams.

“’Tis a marvelous night for a wedding,” Brother Oswald agreed. “Where may I do you the honor of officiating?”

“The meadow,” Marigold said.

“Pumpkin,” Papa said, “there’s no need to rush.”