Page 34 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

T he High Elf Kingdom of Rivenyl is beautiful. The trees are covered in glowing purple, heart-shaped leaves and the ground is a blanket of thick grass with delicate, glowing white flowers.

Lyrion points out a manor in the distance. “That’s where we’ll be staying.”

The manor sits atop a hill, overlooking the forest below.

It’s magnificent, like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Carved moonstone pillars, wrapped in silver ivy, glitter beneath floating lanterns that bob like enchanted stars.

They cast golden light along the main path as we make our way toward the entrance.

Gold and silver lights dance through the dense foliage. “What are those?”

“Night Pixies,” Lyrion explains. “Don’t worry, they shouldn’t bother us.”

“I’ve heard of Pixies.” I smile, mesmerized as they flit back and forth. “I’d love to see one up close.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Rhystan interjects. “They’re quite mischievous little things and they have tiny, razor-sharp fangs that sting like the devil if they decide to bite.”

“They bite?” My voice comes out as a squeak.

Rhystan nods. “Don’t worry, Isobel. A Pixie’s bite isn’t that bad.” He shrugs. “There are far worse things.”

There are? Terror fills me, and I instinctively lean back against Lyrion. “Is there”—I swallow hard—“anything else here that’s dangerous that I should know about?”

“No,” Lyrion says at the same time that Rhystan replies, “Too many things to mention right now.”

My jaw drops, and I turn back to Lyrion. “Which of you is telling the truth?”

He darts a pointed look at Rhystan that tells me all I need to know before he turns his attention back to me.

“I won’t let anything bother you, Isobel.

” He lifts one hand. Sparks of magic crackle across his fingers like tiny bits of lightning.

“Night Pixies and… other creatures should know better than to cross an Elf.”

My mind snags on the “should” and “other creatures” words in that sentence, but I force myself to push down my fears as I focus on his hand. “Why don’t you ever use magic back home?”

“Oakvale has more humans than Elves.” He shrugs. “And humans tend to get a bit nervous around magic. So I try to remember not to use it while I’m there.”

We grab our packs and dismount from the Wolves. Lyrion whispers something to Nyxus, patting his neck affectionately before the Dire Wolf runs off toward the forest.

“Where are they going?”

Lyrion watches as Nyxus and Asher disappear into the woods. “They prefer to hunt and stay in the wilds while we’re here.”

“Don’t worry,” Rhystan adds. “They’ll remain nearby and we can easily call them back when it’s time to leave.”

I wasn’t quite worried about that. My gaze darts again to the Night Pixies. I’m more concerned for their safety regarding the “other creatures” Rhystan mentioned that they might run into while in the woods. “You’re sure they’ll be okay?”

Lyrion nods.

“There are very few things in the forest that are larger or scarier than a Dire Wolf,” Rhystan adds. “They should be fine.”

Again… Rhystan’s words, although I’m sure are meant to be reassuring, are anything but.

Lyrion rests his hand against the small of my back as he walks beside me, guiding me toward the manor. I lean into his touch and do my best to appear confident.

From what Rhystan told me earlier, I’ll probably be one of the only humans here, besides the servants that is.

A uniformed attendant greets us at the ornate entrance. His eyes drift politely over Rhystan and Lyrion, but when they land on me, his delicate brow arches subtly, expression carefully blank but carrying the weight of quiet judgment.

I tip up my chin, forcing myself to stand tall despite the urgent desire to hide behind Lyrion.

“Lord Rhystan Thornwylde.” Rhystan gestures to himself before pointing to me and Lyrion. “And this is Lord Lyrion Thornwylde, and Lady Isobel Bramble.” He flashes one of his charming smiles. “We’ve had a long journey. If you could please show us to our rooms, we’d be very grateful.”

The servant bows and then leads us up a sweeping staircase lined with glistening white stone and draped in velvet runners. Rich tapestries decorate the walls, with scenes of Elven battles and enchanted forests woven into the vibrant threads.

My pulse quickens as we reach our assigned room—or rather, rooms. The attendant opens the grand double doors, revealing a luxurious suite complete with two plush beds covered in rich, embroidered blankets.

A separate room sits off to the side, furnished with a blue velvet sofa and a fireplace that crackles invitingly.

“We’ll, of course, be needing a third bed to be placed in the sitting room, for Lady Bramble,” Rhystan says smoothly.

The servant’s gaze flicks briefly to me again, lingering just long enough to convey his silent disapproval before he dips his chin in a nod. “Of course, my Lord. We’ll have it brought up shortly.”

My stomach knots anxiously, embarrassment rising, but Rhystan simply grins, entirely unbothered. “Excellent,” he announces brightly. “More than enough room for all of us.”

The servant bows stiffly, departing in silence. Rhystan turns to me, eyes sparkling. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

“ Lady Isobel Bramble? Really? ” I give him a pointed look. “I’m not a member of the nobility, Rhystan.”

“Would you have preferred ‘Research Assistant to Lord Lyrion Thornwylde?’” He crosses his arms. “Because I personally think that would have only led to more gossip and questions.”

I bite back the retort that sits on the tips of my tongue. He’s right. Although it’s a lie, it is much simpler.

But still, I’m a bit nervous. If the servant was looking at me like that, what is everyone else going to think?

“We should get ready,” Rhystan says.

The brothers go into the bedroom to change, leaving me in the sitting room. When I slip into the dress Lyrion had made for me, I catch a glimpse of myself in the gilded mirror and gasp.

The pale blue silken fabric drapes gracefully over my body, shimmering like moonlight on water. A faint smile tugs at my lips as I gaze at my reflection. I look like a princess—like someone who truly belongs at a grand ball.

Lyrion enters the room and then stops in his tracks. His violet eyes widen, and his lips part as his gaze travels over me.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“You—” He clears his throat. “You look radiant, Isobel.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Thank you.”

Rhystan chuckles behind his brother. “Careful, Lyrion, your jaw is practically on the floor.”

Lyrion turns to his brother, and I bite back a laugh. If looks could kill I’m fairly certain Rhystan would be in serious trouble right now.

While he’s distracted glaring at his brother, I take a moment to study the brooding Elf lord. He looks so handsome in his elegant dark blue tunic and fitted pants, understated yet perfectly tailored, highlighting his quiet strength and reserved nature.

Beside him, Rhystan wears a vibrant green tunic, with matching pants, embroidered with intricate silver and gold patterns, a clear reflection of his outgoing personality.

I know they’re identical twins, but they couldn’t possibly be more different in my eyes. My gaze keeps returning to Lyrion, drawn to him as if by an invisible thread.

Lyrion offers me his arm and we make our way to the ballroom. Worry twists inside me as we walk downstairs, but I take a deep breath and lift my chin.

I’ve faced worse than haughty nobles. I survived losing everything. Surely, I can survive a few scathing glances.

As soon as we enter, my breath catches. It’s like stepping into a dream.

Glittering chandeliers cast golden light upon dancing couples dressed in elegant, flowing gowns, and finely tailored tunics, moving gracefully over polished marble floors.

Soft music fills the air, mingling with the low hum of chatter and the clink of delicate glasses.

Rhystan leans in close and whispers conspiratorially in my ear.

“That’s Lord Fenrin.” He subtly points to a tall Elf man in the center of the room with long, brown hair and piercing gray eyes.

“He’s rather full of himself, but harmless enough.

And that is his betrothed.” He gestures to a striking Elf woman with blue eyes, and flowing golden hair, her red gown trailing elegantly behind her. “Lady Tayra, the star of the evening.”

She’s so beautiful. She looks like a princess.

Rhystan smirks, eyes glinting with humor. “She once tried serenading Lyrion. It ended spectacularly badly. Poor thing sounded like a warbling bird.”

Despite his comments on her singing, insecurity tightens my chest as I watch Tayra glide gracefully across the room. Next to her, I feel rather clumsy and plain.

Rhystan continues. “Her voice was so terrible, Lyrion thought she was ill and when he commented on her health, she became offended and stormed off.”

“I wasn’t trying to offend her,” Lyrion says pointedly. “I was merely concerned.”

“And obviously clueless.” Rhystan smirks.

I bite my lower lip to hold back a laugh as they bicker back and forth.

But as we stand there, I feel the curious weight of countless gazes drifting toward me, some openly curious, and others tinged with subtle judgment.

When Lyrion returns to my side, several of them look away.

Rhystan gazes out at the crowd and sighs. “I suppose I’ll go do what I do best.”

“What’s that?” I ask, curious.

“Mingle.” He winks at us. “Do try not to get into any trouble, you two,” he teases before he leaves to go speak with a group of rather snobby looking High Elves.

After he walks off, Lyrion gets pulled into a conversation with two other Elves and I take a moment to duck behind a cluster of flowering urns, pretending to adjust the buckle of my shoe as the swirl of gowns and gilded conversation sweeps past. The ball is dizzying, like stepping into a fairytale that wasn’t written for someone like me.

I just need a moment to breathe—to gather myself before facing further judgment. I already feel like a bug under a glass. But then I hear voices around the corner, low and cutting.

“Honestly, Lyrion, you brought a human ?” The speaker doesn’t bother to hide his disgust. “Is this some sort of statement? A joke?”

My stomach twists.

Another voice joins in, amused. “She looked positively lost. I nearly mistook her for a servant.”

“She’s my guest,” Lyrion says, voice calm yet cold as ice. “And I’ll not have you insulting her.”

“Come now,” the first voice sneers. “Humans don’t belong in our circles. You think dressing one in silk makes her your equal?”

“She is my equal,” Lyrion states firmly. “And far more than that, she’s a better person than most of the scheming sycophants I see parading through these halls.”

I glance around the corner and see Lyrion walking away from the two Elves, a stormy expression on his face. I know I shouldn’t have spied on his conversation, but I’m so glad I did.

He sees me. And I don’t know what terrifies me more: how much I want to believe it… or how much I may be starting to.

When he returns to my side, I have to hold back the thank you that sits on the edge of my tongue, because I don’t want him to know I was eavesdropping on his conversation.

Despite his defense of me, anxiety churns quietly within. Rhystan was right. I’m the only human here who isn’t a servant. I hate feeling so out of place.

As if sensing my mood, Lyrion leans in. “Come. Let’s get some fresh air.”

I nod gratefully, following him out into the moonlit gardens.