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.”
She pulled a face. “I still can’t look at the stuff.”
“As far as alcohols to ruin for yourself, you could have done worse than pear cider. Sparkling wine—that would be a loss.”
“I can’t believe I told you all that and have no memory of it.” She placed her palms on his chest. “I promise I will never touch orc-strength cider again. I prefer to retain control of myself and memories. And thank you for being a gentleman that night.”
For a moment, he was confused, thinking she referenced the pear-cider night. On that birthday, years ago, he’d helped her
up the secret stairwell through the kitchens, tucked her in, and left a mug of water by her bedside. But she meant the orc-cider
night, when he’d done the same.
“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he said. “Now, go upstairs. I need to ready the surprises I have. I wasn’t expecting you
back so soon.”
“Okay.” She bounced on her toes a bit. “Have I ever told you how much I like surprises?”
Many, many times.
“Once,” he said. “I’ll call you down when everything’s ready.”