Page 17 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

LYRION

T he morning is far too bright, and the air is far too cheerful. Birds chirp loudly overhead as we approach the bustling vendor stands set up in the town square, every stall decorated in vibrant colors and flowers, almost offensively festive.

Isobel hums happily beside me, eyes bright with excitement as she carries a woven basket filled with golden-brown pastries.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she asks, smiling up at me like I should be thrilled. “It’s the first weekend of the Spring Festival celebrations. Tressa made some special scones for the occasion.”

I grunt something noncommittal. In truth, the only thing wonderful about this is watching the sunlight catch in Isobel’s hair, making it glow like spun gold.

She’s wearing one of her new dresses today.

The deep green sets off the warm gold in her hair, framing her face in a way that makes it difficult to look away.

I’d worried that Isobel would see through Hilda’s story about “finding” the clothes and shoes in storage—the ones I’d asked her to buy—but it must have held, because she wears them without the guarded look she gets whenever she feels beholden.

A quiet satisfaction stirs in my chest. She no longer has to wear threadbare clothing or a patchwork cloak, and her feet are better protected. That’s all that matters.

The rest of the festival—being out here in the open with crowds and noise—is decidedly less pleasant.

I watch as she arranges the pastries, setting them out with great care. As much as I dislike the idea of being here, I hate feeling useless even more. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thank you, Lyrion.” Isobel gives me a warm smile. “Perhaps you could help me hand these out while I take the orders?”

I nod.

She gestures to the tray of scones on the left. “Be careful with these,” she warns. “Tressa made these special. They have a bit of magic in them to create a feeling sort of like ecstasy.” She points to the ones on the right. “And these are the regular ones.”

I frown, eyeing the trays dubiously. I don’t quite understand why anyone would need magic pastries to enhance their experience at a festival. But Tressa is Fae and only the Fae would come up with something so unnecessarily whimsical.

As if my very thoughts have summoned her, Tressa walks up to us. “Lyrion?” She gives me a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”

“I—”

“Lyrion volunteered to help,” Isobel cuts me off. “He um… wanted to help because he’s interested in becoming more involved in the community.”

Tressa arches a skeptical brow. “Fine. But at least try to smile, will you, Lyrion? I don’t want that Elfy scowl of yours to chase away my customers.”

Elfy scowl? Instantly offended, I move to correct her. “I’ll have you know that—”

“He will,” Isobel interrupts. She smiles. “He just needs a bit more tea. He’s not a morning person, you know.”

Tressa gives me a sympathetic look. “I know the feeling.” She hands me a cup of tea. “Here. You can have this one. I haven’t had any of it yet, but I made it pretty strong.”

As she walks back to the café, I look down at the steaming mug. I glance at Isobel. “You think I scowl?”

Her lips twitch with barely restrained amusement. “I feel like that’s a trick question.”

I purse my lips in mock irritation.

She gestures to the cup and grins. “Now, drink up so you can flash that handsome smile of yours at the customers.”

Isobel finds my smile attractive? My mood brightens instantly. I take a tentative sip and my eyes widen as soon as it hits my tongue. ‘Strong’ is an understatement.

Isobel tries but fails to hold back a laugh.

It’s a bright sound that softens my grumpiness even more.

“The first time I tried Tressa’s morning tea,” she says, “I practically zipped around the café all morning because I had so much energy. You should probably have one of the scones or else it might upset your stomach, Lyrion.”

Taking another drink, I nod, making a mental note to eat something before I finish my cup.

Isobel quickly becomes entirely absorbed in her work, stringing colorful ribbons and smiling at passing villagers. I find myself momentarily distracted, watching her effortless charm, her genuine warmth and kindness drawing others to her like moths to flame.

My chest tightens oddly. I’m certain that if sunshine were a person, it would be her.

A shadow suddenly blocks the light. “Need any help, Isobel?” Brakkus asks cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want you straining yourself.”

I bristle inwardly, annoyed by the Orc’s overly broad smile and how close he stands beside Isobel. He reaches to move a crate for her, but I step in front of him and grab it instead, hoisting it up and placing it where she directs.

If anyone is going to lend her a hand, it’s going to be me. Not some oaf of an Orc.

Moon above, what am I doing? I clench my jaw, wondering again if this jealousy is the result of the potion’s magic or… something else.

It’s strange—this sharp, possessive feeling—but not entirely unfamiliar.

I’d felt something like it before, back when I first noticed Isobel.

I can still picture her clearly: the blush on her cheeks when she brought my tea, the shy, hesitant glances she sent my way when she thought I wasn’t looking.

My lips twitch as I recall the time she tripped over her own feet as she walked past me. Lightning fast, I caught her by the elbow to steady her, tea splashing across the front of my tunic.

Frantically, she began dabbing at the liquid with a towel, apologizing profusely. But as her hands drifted lower, toward my lap, I’d quickly snatched her wrists to stop her. Her cheeks turned an adorable shade of bright red as she gazed up at me, completely mortified.

I’d been intrigued by her warmth, even then. Even before any magical potion turned my world upside down. But now, with every heartbeat, I’m forced to question if this longing is truly mine or merely enhanced by the spell.

“Nice of you to pitch in, Lyrion.” Brakkus grins, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

“And why is that?” I ask, my tone a bit sharper than I intended.

He shrugs. “Most High Elves I’ve met prefer to keep to themselves. But clearly, I underestimated the effect a charming human can have.” His gaze slides to Isobel, who is still setting out pastries.

“Isobel’s a good lass. See that you never give her any reason not to smile, eh?” He gives me a wide-fanged grin that somehow manages to appear both friendly and intimidating.

I’m still debating whether that was a simple reminder or a veiled threat when Isobel calls to me. “Lyrion, could you help me with the signs?”

When I turn back, Brakkus is already gone.

As I carry the signs toward her, voices drift from the village square.

“Do you think they’re a couple?” a woman whispers, her tone conspiratorial.

“I certainly hope not,” a man mutters—one I’ve seen attempting to charm Isobel at the café. “What does she even see in that stuffy Elf? He’s terribly dull and always scowling.”

My jaw tightens. Stuffy? Dull? Always scowling?

“Maybe he’s nicer when they’re alone,” the woman offers.

“I doubt it,” the man scoffs. “You know how High Elves are… they think they’re better than everyone.”

My irritation deflates instantly. They’re not wrong. My people do have a reputation and… unfortunately, it’s not entirely unfounded. I grimace, knowing I’ve been guilty of it myself more than once. But Vaelar’s blade, it stings hearing it said aloud.

Spending so much time with Isobel has made me realize just how harshly I’ve judged humans in the past.

“Lyrion?” Isobel’s voice draws me out of my brooding. She holds out an empty basket, smiling hopefully. “Could you get some more scones from the café, please? The regular ones,” she adds.

After I retrieve the fresh batch from the kitchen, we cut several of them up to distribute as samples. Once we’re done, I arrange the trays carefully around the stall, setting the fresh samples prominently in front.

Isobel steps out unexpectedly, a warm smile lighting her face as she grabs one of the freshly cut scones from the new batch. Before I can say anything, she practically shoves it into my mouth. “I saved a sample for you,” she announces brightly.

Surprised, I take a bite. Instantly, warmth bursts through me, sweetness flooding my senses in a dazzling wave. My vision sharpens; colors are suddenly brighter and more vivid. My lips curve involuntarily into a broad, uncontrollable smile.

Stars above, this festival is amazing!

“Earth and sky!” Tressa exclaims as she rushes toward us with another basket. “I gave you the wrong ones.” She passes me another batch. “Here’s the regular batch.”

“That means…” Isobel’s voice trails off as she turns toward me, eyes wide. “Lyrion, you ate one of the ecstasy scones.”

I laugh, the sound startling me with its own cheerful buoyancy. “I did?”

She nods urgently while Tressa’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “How are you feeling?” Isobel asks a bit cautiously.

Another helpless laugh escapes me. I feel so utterly, inexplicably awed by everything around me. “Amazing,” I assure her brightly. “Absolutely wonderful.”

And I truly do. Raising my arms, I spin in a slow circle as I take in the vibrant colors and sounds of the festival. Wonder fills every corner of my being—warm and delightful—sweeping away all my prior irritation.

Isobel touches my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes are full of worry, but I don’t understand why. A grin spreads across my face. “I’ve never felt better.”

As I gaze down at her, I’m suddenly struck by how ethereal Isobel looks in the morning light.

Gently, I lift a long tendril of her golden hair, fascinated by how shiny and silky it is.

Staring at her in awe, I brush the tips of my fingers across the petal-soft skin of her cheek. “You’re practically glowing.”

I don’t know why I’ve tried so hard to deny it.

She truly is the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.

She’s lovely, radiant, warm, and entirely captivating.

I cup her face with both hands, staring deep into her luminous eyes.

“Vaelar’s heart,” I murmur. “I just want to bask in your glorious presence, savoring this perfect, wondrous moment for all time.”

“Oh, stars,” she mutters. “Just stay close to me, alright?”

“Gladly,” I breathe, unable to keep the delighted smile off my face.