Chapter 39 #2
Queen Elowen widened her eyes. “Trueface. I’ve heard of it but never seen it.”
“That’s slander.” Crispin shook his finger at Marigold. “That wasn’t me. You don’t possess trueface, you’re—”
The autumn sprite fluttered toward Crispin. “Ah, give it a rest. They figured you out.”
“You’re audacious today, sprite.” The loathsome prince puffed up his chest and crossed his arms. “I command you to turn the
lot of them into orcs. See how they like that.”
A smile spread over Grindlethwack’s face. “No.”
“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.”
“We could take our time.” Mama pulled a leaf from her hair. “Tidy up a bit?”
Marigold giggled. “This isn’t rushed, Mama.” She reached for his hand. “I’ve wanted to marry Bram since . . . always. From the moment Sir Patrick brought him to May Day and we played tag.”
“You could—” the autumn sprite swirled his fingers together “—and I’m just throwing it out there—you could ask your old magical
friend to sort some wedding duds, if you like?”
“Give me one second.” Marigold climbed atop the nearest table. “Excuse me, everyone? Excuse me.”
A few faces turned her way, but most of the festival goers remained locked in chatter, laughter, or jigging with the minstrels’
latest tune. She took a deep breath, then cupped her hands around her mouth. Before she could shout, Barnaby joined her on
the table and split the air with his shriek.
All eyes turned toward Marigold.
“Thank you, Barnaby.” To the crowd, she shouted, “You’re all invited to our wedding, starting in five minutes.”
The crowd erupted into a cheer.
Bram helped her down from the table. “Are you sure?”
“Sure isn’t the half of it.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “I am rooted, Bram. In you, this place, our life.”
“Ah, ah, ah, you two.” Brother Oswald shook his finger. “Save it for the altar. Speaking of which, what will serve as the
altar?”
She and Bram looked at each other.
In unison, they said, “The heartwood tree.”
“Lead me there?” Brother Oswald said to Bram.
“See you soon.” Bram kissed her knuckles.
As soon as Bram was out of sight, the autumn sprite cracked his knuckles. “Okay, Red, you ready for this?”
“Go for it,” she said.
The autumn sprite wiggled his fingers, then tapped her on the forehead.
From where he made contact, gold, crimson, and orange sparkles swirled around her like a gentle rain.
As the magic drizzled, twisted, and turned, her dress changed from the simple homespun and headwrap to a body-skimming ivory confection adorned with autumnal flowers.
Mama folded her hands over her heart. “That is a gown fit for a princess.”
The sparkles leapt from her hem, then flew and wheeled like a flock of starlings over the farm. In their wake, they left an
amber trail of floating lights, marking the path toward the orchard.
“Shall we?” Papa said, offering his arm.
“Wait—sister, your bouquet.” Rowan clipped a dozen sunflowers from the blaze that stood at the edge of the pumpkin patch and
tied them with his handkerchief.
Her eyes shimmered at the gesture. “Thank you.”
The crowd advanced before her, and in five minutes’ time, she and her family arrived at the orchard. The sweet scent of apple
filled the air. The crowd split, making space for her to find her groom.
Rowan escorted their mother to the front of the crowd. Marigold’s eyes followed them and led straight to Bram. The autumn
sprite’s magic had transformed his clothing to ivory finery, but still with a blue shirt to accentuate his beautiful eyes.
When they locked gazes, his face was full of joy. It was like she could see all versions of him at once, smushed together
into one delicious person: the seven-year-old boy, the teenager, the young man, the orc, and now this new version, with finer
lines and longer hair.
Saints, she couldn’t wait to love the versions yet to come.
The minstrels played the start of the traditional wedding march, and Papa patted the hand she’d slipped into the crook of
his elbow. This moment, right here, was the dividing line between the last version of herself and the new, and she couldn’t
wait for her chrysalis.
“May I offer you some advice, Marigold?” her father asked.
She nodded. “Please do.”
“There are many people who will tell you marriage is work,” he said. “That may be true for them. But with your mother—I’ve
never felt it was a burden because love makes the so-called work easy. Never take the love for granted.”
“I won’t,” she promised. “Ever.”
This moment, this life with Bram—it had always felt inevitable. Even in the most impossible moments, like death. But even
that could not stop them. Look at him over there, beaming at her like she was the sun and the moon wrapped together. The way
her cheeks hurt, she must’ve been wearing the same smile. She’d felt married to him since . . . forever, really. Tonight was
about declaring it in public so that everyone else knew how they felt about each other.
She squeezed her father’s arm. “I’m ready, Papa.”
With that, Marigold took the first step into the next chapter of her life.