Page 2 of The Pumpkin Bride

“There’s nothing special about it.” Crispin hopped over the muddy bank and onto solid grass. “The acorns at the top of the Lantern Oak turn to gold between midnight and dawn. Once plucked, they remain in their precious state.”

Bram turned the information over in his brain. His muscles tensed, the same way they did while walking home late after a night at the Laughing Gourd. If collecting a fortune was that simple, Crispin would’ve stripped this tree bare. The prince had held something back.

“Where’s the barb on this lance?” Bram asked.

“Well asked, Sir Bram. A sprite guards the Lantern Oak’s riches. If you wake him, he’ll ask you a riddle. A minor roadblock, but I don’t doubt our success.”

“A sprite?” Bram groaned as he crossed the brook.

Much as he distrusted magic, a party his size should be able to contend with a lone tree sprite. Unlike the situation at Thornwick’s northern borders. Marigold had written with news of mountain-sprite incursions at the foothills of the Gildfall Mountains. Her twin brother and Bram’s best friend, Rowan, had been dispatched to protect their northern villages. Her younger brother, Beckett, was in training but expected to join the fray soon. Yet another incentive for Bram to end his service here and return to his home realm.

At Crispin’s side, he murmured, “You should’ve told me about the sprite before now.”

The prince arched an eyebrow. “Careful, Knight. You assume too much familiarity.”

Indignation tangled with his need to remain in Crispin’s favor. The prince was correct—a knight should not question his sovereign. But if he was to serve Crispin well, Bram needed to work with a full understanding of potential dangers. He swallowed the rough words he was tempted to say and turned his attention to the squire crossing the makeshift bridge.

Even with the load Coby bore on his back, the limbs barely bounced under his slight frame as he followed. The lad whispered to him, “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s fearsome about a sprite?”

Bram hushed the remaining members of their party. He, Coby, and Crispin were light-footed, but saints, Kevin and Fergus might as well have beat a drum with the noise they made. He’d never met knights so determined to give away their advantage.

“Size-wise, nothing,” Bram said in a low voice. “Wits-wise, their riddles are notoriously confusing. If you succeed, they often twist the terms of the agreement. But most interactions end with a curse. Sprites aren’t merciless—every curse comes with a loophole. But overall, it’s best to avoid them. They aren’t trustworthy.”

“But not to worry, Squire. Neither am I,” Crispin said, overhearing them. He pointed to a scrim of willows undulating in the sharp fall wind. “Our destination should be through those trees. Hurry. Tonight is the last night we can harvest—tomorrow’s the full Hunter’s Moon. Upon the next day’s sunrise the sprite and his gold acorns disappear until next year’s equinox.”

Papery leaves scraped against his wool brigandine as Bram pushed through the switches. In the mossy meadow beyond, he stopped, awed by the Lantern Oak.

Ancient and massive, Bram could not see its top. The broad, knotted trunk was the size of a respectable cottage, and the sprawling limbs spread out in all directions. He did not doubt it could carry the weight of the world if asked. Dozens of glowing amber orbs dotted the tree as though it was decorated for Yule.

“Whoa.” Fergus gasped. “Look at the size of that thing.”

Obviously, Bram traveled with poets.

“Are we supposed to cut it down or something?” Kevin asked. The knight was five years Bram’s senior, but his voice had aged faster. Low and slightly strangled, it sounded like his thick neck muscles fought the words.

Crispin clearly had favored brawn over wits when he assembled this quest.

“What? Why would you . . .” Bram pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clearly not, Kevin. We didn’t bring saws. I’d wager we climb and gather the gold acorns, right, sir?”

“Mostly correct.” The prince snapped his fingers at Coby for the haversack, then tossed it to Bram. “Not we. You.”

The buttery leather was smooth in his hands. “It would be faster with more of us harvesting the nuts.”

“And more opportunity to tangle with the sprite. With speed and stealth, we may escape his notice, so this must be a solo journey. Large-framed as you are, you’re the best climber. It’ll take you ten minutes to reach the top. Fergus, Kevin, Coby and I will stand watch down here.”

Bram shifted his weight. All of that had the benefit of being true. So why did Crispin’s close inspection of him make his guts slither? Bram ran his hands through his hair. His instincts were rarely wrong, but this was silly. Crispin wanted him to succeed, and despite the occasional tension, he and the prince were brothers-in-arms. The magical aspect of tonight’s quest had thrown him, that was all.

As ever, he’d master his doubt. Humbly.

“Ten minutes? Bet I can do it in nine.”

He stripped off his pauldrons and brigandine to ease his climb, then handed them to Coby. The boy’s spark of silver hair above his temple gleamed in the Lantern Oak’s glow. Bram called it a wisdom mark when they’d first met, earning Coby’s adoration.

Briefly, Bram touched the half locket. That wasn’t his only memento of her—in his pocket he carried her handkerchief, the favor she’d given him when he’d left, and the small wood unicorn he’d carved for her eighth birthday, which she’d insisted he take as a good luck charm. “Soon,” he whispered.

With an easy heave, he pulled himself into the Lantern Tree. Crouched upon the lowest bough, he locked gazes with Crispin standing below. The glowing orbs restored some of the prince’s color, but his eyes were still black as midnight.

With the grace of a pirate atop a mast, Bram leaned against the trunk. “I’ll return with enough gold to fill Harvest Hollow’s coffers.”