Page 98 of The Pumpkin Bride

Jask laughed.

She flipped again. “Oh, this one’s closer. A sister silently weaves shirts from nettles for her cursed swan brothers but can’t speak all the while. Right before she’s set aflame for witchcraft, she throws the shirts on the swans, and presto—they are again men.”

“You’re no sister to me.” Bram nuzzled her cheek as he palmed her strong thigh, she flipped another page.

“Closer still!” A man-sized hedgehog glanced up from the pages. “The princess kept her promise to marry him and not ask questions, and delighted in him when he shed his hedgehog skin at night and came to her as a man. One night, she burned the skin and set him free. Now that is more like it.”

“Alas.” He skated his hand higher. “I do not shed.”

“And thank the saints for it.” She kissed him. “But I mean taking action. This princess understood she shouldn’t sit and wait. I must speak to the autumn sprite.”

“There’s no casual conversation with a sprite, Marigold. It’s always a gamble, and very rarely does anyone besides the sprite win.”

“But I—”

“Do not go to the Lantern Oak, Marigold. Promise me.”

She pursed her lips. “Don’t you want to be yourself again?”

“I am.” He arched an eyebrow. “Can’t you love me like this?”

“I already do, Bram. I’ve loved every version of you I’ve known—the boy, the youth, the man, and the orc. This isn’t right, though. The world’s out of balance while an innocent man lives under a curse. And don’t you want to leave Grimroot Farms?”

“For years, I was desperate to leave. Tried everything I could to escape, including flinging myself through the sky on a trebuchet. The farm isn’t a prison to me—it’s a perimeter. Every inch of it is knowable, manageable, mine. The crops behave according to predictable rules, and a pumpkin doesn’t stab me in the back, unlike my brothers-in-arms. Aside from all that, the reason I was desperate to find an escape knocked on my door in the middle of the night, and I’m more content than ever to stay.”

“I swear, you are the sweetest marshmallow.” She kissed him, then broke out into giggles. “You must’ve been shocked to see me.”

“That’s an understatement.”

She laughed harder. “You tried so hard to get me to leave.”

“And you wouldn’t. Your stubborn reputation is intact.”

“Delightfully stubborn,” she said. “And aren’t you grateful?”

“I am.” He kissed her cheek, then pushed up from the rug. “If you’re up for it, there’s one additional birthday surprise.”

He held out a hand to help her up, then Marigold followed him, both naked as the day they were born. Appropriate, given they were celebrating her birthday. After washing up, he reached into the cabinet where he’d hidden the cakes.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed.

Marigold sealed them shut. “What is it?”

He fitted a small taper into the center of the apple-sized cake, then set it in front of her. “Happy birthday, Marigold.”

She opened her eyes, then covered her mouth. “I knew I smelled cakes!”

He nodded. “Vanilla with pomegranate frosting. I made it while you were foraging.”

“You did this for me?” She swiped away a tear.

“Why are you crying? Are pomegranates no longer your favorite?”

“These are happy tears. I have missed this so much.” Her wobbly smile steadied. “I took the way you see me, really see me, for granted. If you asked my parents, my brothers, Bess what my favorite fruit is, they wouldn’t know. They’d think it a silly question.”

“All the better that we found each other again.” He lifted the cake to her mouth. “Dry your tears, Princess Marigold. They don’t mix well with birthday cake.”

She giggled, then bit into the cake. “Delicious.” She licked her lips. “Now you.”