Page 21 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

I sit nervously at the desk in Lyrion’s workroom. Soft candlelight casts dancing shadows across the worn pages of the open book before me. The symbols swim on the parchment, twisting and blurring until they seem little more than delicate ink-stained vines.

Familiar shame burns through me as I try to copy some of the letters and they look more like squiggly lines instead of the elegant script I’m supposed to mimic.

“These are awful,” I groan as Lyrion looks at my work.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs from his seat beside me. “This is new, and you’re doing wonderfully.”

It warms something deep within to know that he sees all of my failings and doesn’t judge me for it.

“I always felt so stupid because I couldn’t read or write.

So many times I felt like I was playing pretend,” I admit, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Worried that I was going to mess up in front of everyone… and prove I don’t belong.

” Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back.

“And now, I’m starting not to feel that way as much anymore. ”

Lyrion takes my hand, his fingers curling around mine, anchoring me.

“You belong,” he murmurs. “Not because you’re pretending, Isobel. But because you care. Because you try. You’re strong, intelligent, and determined. You never give up, no matter how hard things may be. That’s a kind of magic no one can teach.”

His words slip past every wall I’ve built, sinking deep into a part of me I didn’t realize was still so raw. My chest tightens. No one’s ever said something like that to me before. Not like this, not with such quiet certainty. And stars help me, I want to believe him.

“Thank you, Lyrion.” Emotions get stuck in my throat, but I somehow manage to speak around them. “For teaching me to read and for… believing in me.”

A faint smile curves his mouth. “Always,” he murmurs.

A sudden rustle draws my attention to the door, and I glance up just in time to see Errol leap gracefully onto the table. With absolute feline disdain, he bats at the stacked books, sending them cascading to the floor.

Before we can stop him, he flops onto his side and bumps into Lyrion’s half-full teacup, sending it toppling over the edge with a resounding crash.

“Errol!” I gasp in horror, lunging forward to save the parchment.

Lyrion purses his lips. “Was that really necessary?”

Errol gives Lyrion a slow, deliberate blink, utterly unimpressed, and settles himself comfortably in the newly cleared space, tail swishing lazily.

“I understand you prefer clear spaces, Errol, but you need to be more careful.”

I glance between the two of them. “What’s he saying?”

“He says my desk was overly cluttered, and we should be grateful he took the initiative to declutter it.”

I bite back a laugh as Lyrion narrows his eyes at the cat. “Next time, just ask and I’ll move things for you.”

Errol yawns, stretching luxuriously before turning his bright gaze to me.

Lyrion groans in frustration. “No, you cannot supervise her lesson. And I don’t care if you think you can do a better job,” Lyrion mutters irritably. “You’re a cat , Errol, what do you know about letters?”

Now I’m desperately fighting back laughter as Lyrion continues his one-sided conversation, looking utterly exasperated.

“He just wants to help.” I chuckle and reach across to scratch under Errol’s chin the way he likes. “Don’t you, Errol? Because you’re so good. Yes, you are,” I coo at him. “Such a smart and brilliant feline.”

Lyrion rolls his eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”

Errol purrs smugly, curling his tail neatly around his paws, pleased with himself.

Lyrion shakes his head with a resigned sigh, nudging me. “Now, let’s try again.”

He directs me to write out more of the letters. As I do, the symbols slowly start to lose their terrifying strangeness, each one gently coaxed into familiarity by Lyrion’s guidance.

His patience is infinite, his voice never wavering from gentle encouragement, even as I stumble through my lesson.

When I’m finished, I glance down at my squiggly letters compared to the elegant lines of Lyrion’s handwriting and wince. “My letters look so messy compared to yours.”

“It will improve with practice,” he assures me. “My handwriting was atrocious when I first started.”

I’m surprised. “Really?”

“Truly.” He arches a brow. “My old tutor was so strict, he would make me rewrite letters and sometimes even whole words a hundred times over until he deemed them acceptable.”

My jaw drops. “A hundred times?”

“At least,” Lyrion confirms with a faint grimace. “You can imagine how fast I learned to improve. You’re already far ahead of where I was when I first started.” His expression softens. “I imagine you’ll pick all of this up in no time.”

Encouraged by his praise, I trace the next letter with painstaking care. When I lift the quill away, I blink in surprise. The lines are smooth, clean—almost elegant, even.

“Oh.” I smile. “Look, it’s actually—”

“Perfect,” Lyrion murmurs, pride glowing in his violet eyes. “I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

I glance up at him, a smile curving my lips at his quiet praise.

Without seeming to think, he leans forward and presses a gentle, absent kiss to my temple.

My breath catches, warmth radiating from the spot where his lips touched my skin. Bittersweet longing fills me. He kissed me as though it’s the most natural thing in the world… as if we’re in a real relationship.

How in the world am I supposed to guard my heart when I’m not sure if it’s simply the kissing potion making him behave this way, or if these gestures are genuine?

He turns back to the book in front of us. “Now, try this next line,” he directs, entirely unaware of the effect he’s had on me.

I stare down at the parchment, pulse pounding in my ears, my heart utterly and completely lost to this proud, brilliant Elf who’s managed to capture my heart without even trying.

And stars above, I don’t want to be found.