Page 15 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

A s we make our way back to Lyrion’s home, at the end of the day, the village streets are quiet, lit by lanterns glowing in windows, spilling pools of warm, inviting light onto the cobblestone paths.

Lyrion walks beside me. Occasionally, our shoulders brush, and every small touch sends a delicious shiver racing along my spine.

I glance around, noticing the villagers’ curious eyes as they peek from behind curtains or pause in their conversations, their expressions openly intrigued. Heat climbs my neck, burning my cheeks.

I glance up at Lyrion. “You realize people are probably talking about us, right?”

“Let them talk and assume whatever they want,” he says casually. “Their opinions do not matter.”

My heart gives a little flip, warmth flooding my chest at the quiet certainty in his voice.

Biting back a smile, I nudge his arm. “So… you don’t mind being seen with a lowly human?”

He stops and turns to me. “The High Elf King Caelen took a human woman—Queen Lyana of Eryadon—as his bondmate not that long ago. So the idea of a human and an Elf together should not be an entirely new concept.”

I’d heard these rumors about the High Elf King, but I wasn’t sure they were true. Until now. And Lyrion doesn’t seem averse to the idea. A spark of hope ignites in my chest.

We continue walking again, and I can’t help but prod a bit more. “I always thought you didn’t really like humans all that much.” His head snaps to mine. “Or anyone else for that matter.”

He frowns. “Why did you think this?”

“Well, some of your comments about humans, for one.” A hint of sarcasm laces my tone. “And”—I shrug—“you always sort of looked grumpy when you came into the café.”

He stills.

Worried that I’ve said more than I should, I start to backtrack. “What I mean is—”

“No, you’re right. I apologize. Some of the things I’ve said, I realize now, were very wrong,” he says, his expression full of remorse. “And I’m sorry.”

Warmth blooms in my chest at his earnest admission. “Thank you.”

“As for the rest”—the corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement—“grumpiness is a natural state for High Elves. Didn’t you know?”

“I suspected.” Laughter bubbles up in my throat. “But it’s nice having confirmation.”

As we pass the blacksmith’s shop, Brakkus is locking up for the evening, his tabby cat—Ember—perched on a tree stump beside him.

He turns and waves at us. “Did you hear about my good fortune today?”

“No. What happened?”

“A Fox Shifter came through here.” He grins widely, his pointed Orc tusks gleaming in the lamplight. “He gifted me a bit of his Fox luck to help me find my fated mate.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Brakkus is a good person. I hope it helps him. “I’m so happy for you.”

“And I also left some honey and sweet cakes for the Sprites on the windowsill, like you suggested,” he adds.

I smile. “That should definitely do the trick.”

He crosses his fingers and grins. “I think so too. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

As Brakkus walks away, Lyrion turns to me with a frown. “Fox luck? Sprites? Please, tell me you don’t really believe all of that superstitious nonsense.”

“You don’t ?”

“Of course not.” He gives me an incredulous look. “In fact, I’m of the firm mind that such superstitions were invented by Fox Shifters and Sprites to trick people into—”

“Shhh.” I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. He blinks in confusion as I glance nervously around us and drop my voice to a low whisper. “Don’t say anything bad about the Sprites or they might hear you.”

“And if they do?” He mumbles around my finger, arching a skeptical brow. “What then?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

Lyrion purses his lips and I can tell he’s not entirely convinced. But that’s alright. I’ll make sure they don’t curse him. I really don’t want him to suffer from bad luck for an entire year.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I’ll leave an offering on the windowsill tonight to appease the Sprites in case they heard you.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

We walk in silence beneath the moonlight, the road quiet except for the soft crunch of gravel beneath our shoes and the distant rustle of trees as the wind picks up. Dark clouds gather overhead, and the air is thick with moisture.

“It’ll probably storm tonight,” Lyrion muses, gazing at the sky. “But we’ll be home well before it starts.”

“My father was a farmer. He loved the rain.” A wistful smile crests my lips. “We’d sit on the porch and watch it for hours sometimes.”

Lyrion cocks his head to one side. “You grew up on a farm?”

“A small one. But it was enough to make a living and keep us fed.” I swallow against the sudden lump in throat. “I wish you could have met him. He was interested in all sort of plants and herbs. I think the two of you would have gotten along quite well.”

He dips his chin. “It sounds like we would have.”

“And my mother would have stressed to you the importance of leaving an offering, on the windowsill, to the Sprites,” I tease. “She would do this every harvest.”

“Your parents sound like they were good people,” he says softly. “I’m sorry you lost them. Errol mentioned how hard things were for the two of you after they passed.”

I nod. “Errol and I were homeless for a while and there were times we almost starved, but… we came here and I found a job and we’ve been alright ever since.”

“I believe your parents would have been proud of you.” His eyes meet mine evenly. “Despite losing everything, you not only found a way to survive, you didn’t let it break you.” He pauses. “You’re a strong person, Isobel.”

His words touch something deep inside me. Emotions lodge in my throat but I somehow manage to speak around them. “Thank you.”

As we continue down the path, I turn to him. “Tell me about your family. Did they have any superstitions? Did you never believe in anything like Fox luck or offerings to the Sprites? Even when you were a child?”

A smile quirks his lips. “My brother and I would often fight, especially when we would travel anywhere, and it would frustrate my mother to no end.” He arches a brow. “She convinced us that there were Trolls beneath the bridges, waiting to snatch children who failed to behave.”

“Trolls?” A startled laugh escapes me. “Truly?”

“Yes.” A grin tugs at his mouth. “It was a terrifying thought. I hated crossing bridges when I was a child.”

We both laugh, the sound echoing through the peaceful, moonlit street. I glance up at him again, studying the proud lines of his face. He truly is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

“I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he older or younger than you?”

His expression falls and I wonder if I’ve hit a nerve. “A few minutes younger. We’re twins.”

We walk in silence a moment before I gently probe. “Are you two close?”

“We are but”—he hesitates a beat—“it’s been a while since we’ve spoken.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Our family is rather well-known among various circles.” The way he says this, I wonder if the rumors are true about him being some sort of High Elf nobility.

“Our parents have always stressed the importance of building and maintaining certain connections, and my brother is perfectly suited for this.

“Rhystan is charismatic, outgoing; he thrives in diplomacy, effortlessly charming everyone around him. Whereas I’ve dedicated myself to more scholarly pursuits. And my family are not exactly very approving of my work. I’m afraid I’m… a bit of a disappointment to them.”

My heart squeezes at the quiet vulnerability hidden beneath his careful words. Without thinking, I reach out and touch his arm. “I think you’re wonderful just as you are. You’re brilliant and scholarly, and the compendium you’re creating, it’s important.”

Nerves flutter in my chest as his intense gaze holds mine. “And perhaps it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I believe that your knowledge and your passion matter, Lyrion. And someday, I think your family will see it, too.”

His expression softens. “Thank you, Isobel.”

I smile, leaning against him as we walk, savoring the simple pleasure of his warmth, his strength, his closeness. But as the quiet streets drift by, my thoughts inevitably wander to the potion.

I know it’s only been a few days, and perhaps it may be an effect of the spell between us, but it feels as if I’ve known Lyrion forever. Beneath his cold elegance and aloof exterior, he’s kind, caring, funny, and so easy to talk to.

My family has been gone these past few years, so it’s been a while since I’ve had someone to speak with like this. I’ve been alone for so long, I forgot how much I missed having someone to share my thoughts or even my day with.

My mother told me that she knew my father was the one for her the moment they met.

That there was something about him that her heart instinctively recognized.

I felt this way when I first saw Lyrion, but I dismissed it when he barely acknowledged my presence, convincing myself that I’m just a hopeless romantic who believes in fairy tales and love at first sight—things that only exist in stories and myths.

Even so, that hasn’t stopped me from mooning over him these past few months.

My chest tightens as I glance at his handsome profile in the moonlight. What if he regrets this closeness once we break the spell? What if, without magic compelling him, he sees me only as a human distraction? The idea hurts more deeply than I want to admit.

I push down my troubling thoughts as sudden unease raises the hair on the back of my neck. Shadows twist and shift beneath the trees as something rustles in the bushes. Immediately, I halt in my tracks. “What was that?”

Lyrion stops abruptly beside me, peering into the darkness. “Probably just a rabbit or some other small creature,” he replies calmly. “Nothing to worry about, Isobel.”

Even so, I edge a bit closer to him, worry prickling my flesh as I keep my eyes trained on the sides of the path. “I don’t like the dark,” I mumble more to myself than to him.

He snaps his fingers and a glowing blue orb hovers above his palm, lighting the space around us. He turns to me. “Is this better?”

“Much.”

“I forget that humans cannot see well in low illumination.”

“Elves can?”

Without warning, a dark shadow zips through the bushes beside me. Raw panic surges through my veins, and I fling myself into Lyrion’s arms, scrambling up his body, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

“What is it?” he asks sharply, immediately drawing me protectively against his chest, his strong arms locking firmly around me as his gaze scans our surroundings for danger. “What did you see?”

“A shadow,” I barely manage, my heart hammering. “Something big.”

After a moment, his shoulders relax. “It’s just a fox, Isobel,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”

“Oh, stars.” Embarrassment heats my skin as I cling to him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

My apology trails off as I tilt my head up and find Lyrion’s face close to mine, his violet eyes dark and heated. My heart flutters at his intense expression.

“Isobel.” His voice is low and husky. His gaze dips to my mouth, full of hunger as he backs me against a tree.

The air is charged between us, the heat of his body and his masculine scent enveloping me, sending sparks dancing across my skin.

Gods help me, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

“Lyrion.” His name leaves my lips in a breathless whisper.

My pulse pounds as he lowers his head and closes the space between us, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. His powerful body presses firmly against mine and I melt into him, tangling my fingers in his silken hair as I pull him closer.

Abruptly, he breaks our kiss, leaving me breathless and panting as he lowers me to my feet. His breathing is ragged as he pulls away, his eyes dark and full of conflict.

“Stars above, I cannot keep losing myself like this,” he mutters, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “This blasted potion is making us both lose our senses. I shouldn’t be drawn to a human in this way.”

His words hit me like a physical blow and I take a small step back, hugging myself tightly as humiliation floods my veins.

His eyes snap to mine, full of shame. “Isobel, forgive me. I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re right.” I struggle to keep my voice even. “I understand. You never wanted this.”

“Isobel.” Regret lines his features. “That’s not what I—”

“It’s okay,” I lie. “You’re right.”

He blows out a frustrated breath. “We just need to break this spell. So that everything can go back to normal.”

I nod. But as we walk home in silence, my heart aches bitterly at the thought. Because normal means no more stolen kisses, no more tender glances, no more breathtaking moments when his arms wrap around me, holding me as though I’m something precious and cherished.

And stars help me, even though it’s only been a few days, I don’t want things to go back to normal.

Not anymore.