Page 35 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

M oonlight bathes the gardens in silver. The night air is cool and the entire space is covered in flowers that glow various shades of red, white, pink, and blue.

Lifting my head toward the starlit sky, I sigh in contentment, the tension slowly leaving my body.

Lyrion turns to me. “Is this better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Faint music drifts from the ballroom, blending with the nocturnal sounds of the forest beyond the garden wall. A low howl rises in the distance and I smile, wondering if it’s Nyxus or Asher.

My entire body hums in awareness as Lyrion moves closer to me. “How did you know I needed this?”

He tilts his head to one side, considering. “I think you’re a bit like me. Sometimes, we need the peace and quiet.”

“I just wish—” I sigh and look down at my hands, unsure how to express what I’m feeling as I gaze back at the ballroom through the windows.

“What is it you wish, Isobel?”

“I’ve attended balls before, but only ever as a servant. I’d watch, dreaming of what it must be like to belong. To dance beneath the chandeliers instead of scrubbing the floors.” I sigh heavily. “But being in there… I feel so—” I shake my head, unable to find the words.

“So… what?” he gently presses.

“Human, I guess?” I wince awkwardly.

“What’s wrong with being human?”

“It’s just… you’re people—Elves—are so… so poised and elegant and I’m just…” I sigh heavily. “I’m just me.”

He steps closer and cups my chin, tipping my face up to his. “You are perfect just as you are.” His violet eyes stare deep into mine. “Yes, you are human, but that does not make you less. You are who you are, Isobel. And who you are is enough.”

A smile crests my lips.

Taking a small step back, he holds his hand out for mine and bows. “May I have this dance, Isobel Bramble?”

“Why, yes you may.” My heart flutters as I place my palm in his.

Music drifts in the breeze as we begin to sway beneath the endless stars. Lyrion’s masculine scent—pine and parchment—surrounds and envelops me as he pulls me even closer, my body nearly flush with his own.

A smile quirks his lips as he spins me away, and I laugh softly as he twirls me back to him, dipping me a moment before we straighten once again.

His intense gaze holds mine, and it’s as though he can see all the secrets of my heart, my fears, my hopes, my dreams… laying bare the quiet vulnerability hidden within. The world around us begins to fade, until it is just us.

In this moment, under the stars, I feel seen. Cherished. The ache of loneliness that’s lived within me for so long is replaced by warmth and hope.

Maybe these feelings I have for him are not one-sided. Perhaps he feels something for me in return.

He reaches out, and tucks a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. His eyes are dark and full of emotion as he cups my cheek.

My breath catches as he leans in and brushes his mouth tenderly to mine in a kiss so gentle and achingly sweet it steals the breath from my lungs.

Warmth floods my veins, melting away every lingering insecurity and worry. Nothing else exists outside of this gentle connection between us.

“Ah, there you are!” Rhystan’s cheerful voice shatters the moment. We draw apart as he approaches. “I’m glad I found you.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “I’ve heard rumors that Lady Tayra is going to serenade her fiancé. I think we should observe. Trust me, you won’t want to miss this, Isobel.”

Lyrion groans, eyes narrowing in mock irritation at his brother.

But Rhystan just grins and winks before he turns back toward the manor, expecting us to follow.

I’m nervous about returning to the ballroom, but I remind myself that I’m strong. Errol and I have managed on our own these past few years. If I can endure homelessness and hunger, surely I can withstand embarrassment and judgment.

When we walk back inside, I’m in awe again of the beautiful setting. The entire room seems to sparkle beneath golden chandeliers. Music floats through the air as couples dressed in opulent gowns and elegant clothing whirl across the polished marble floor.

“Lyrion,” someone calls out.

We turn to find a tall Elf with piercing gray eyes and brown hair. It’s Lord Fenrin—the one Rhystan pointed out when we arrived. “Fenrin.” Lyrion dips his chin in a subtle nod. “Congratulations on your upcoming bonding with Tayra.”

“Thank you,” he replies. His gaze flicks to me and he arches a condescending brow. “And I see you’ve brought an interesting guest this evening.”

“Lady Isobel Bramble,” Rhystan provides as he walks up beside us.

Fenrin looks at me once more and then turns his attention back to Lyrion. “We weren’t sure you would come. Last I’d heard you were still chasing your little hobby. Writing some kind of book about herbs or some such.”

Already, I don’t like this man. It’s clear he’s only sought Lyrion out to insult him for some reason.

Lyrion’s jaw tightens. “It’s not a hobby,” he says evenly. “It’s a compendium. I’m updating the Elven index of plant-based potions for the modern age.”

“How noble of you,” Fenrin replies, a subtle hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.

“But I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.

The current compendium has been in use for over three-hundred years.

It’s a tried and true reference for potion making.

Why bother rewriting something that obviously works just to add a few more plants to the list? ”

Lyrion stiffens beside me.

Bolstered by Lyrion’s earlier defense of me, I turn to Fenrin.

“You’re right. It is noble. But I’m not sure the rest of what you said holds up.

Potions can do a lot of good. Treating illness, easing pain…

helping people feel like themselves again.

I would think learning more about them helps everyone in the long run. ”

Fenrin blinks at me, surprised. I’m not sure anyone’s ever talked back to him before.

I take a breath and continue, keeping my voice steady. “And even if it were just a hobby, as you suggested,” I add, “it’s a much better use of his time than loitering around fancy parties like some sort of overdressed peacock.”

Rhystan snorts before catching himself, and Lyrion coughs, trying not to laugh.

Fenrin’s mouth opens, then closes.

Before he can respond, Lady Tayra walks up to us, looping her arm through Fenrin’s.

“You seem to have a staunch defender here, Lyrion.” Her gaze travels over me with thinly veiled disdain.

“She must truly believe in your little project. I didn’t quite believe the rumors when I’d heard you’d brought a human to the ball, but it seems they were true.

” She leans in slightly. “And where might you be from?”

“Oakvale,” I reply.

“Oh, that’s such a quaint little place with simple people,” she says, condescension lacing her tone. “I must admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t realize even humans, as plain as they typically are, could look so... presentable in Elven attire. Don’t you agree, Fenrin?”

“Quite,” he replies.

Lyrion steps forward, ready to defend me, but I place a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It’s alright,” I tell him. “I’ve got this.”

Heat flashes through me. Not shame. Anger. If they think I’m going to shrink beneath their judgement, they’re wrong.

I lift my chin. “You’ve both already tried to insult me, my background, and my friend.” I dart a glance at Lyrion. “Anything else you’d like to sneer at before you fly off in a swirl of lace and self-importance?”

Fenrin gasps, and Tayra’s smile freezes.

“I may not have been born into silk,” I say, lifting my chin, “but I was raised with enough sense not to judge someone by how they pour their tea, or whether they know the proper fork to use for a salad.”

I glance at Lyrion, then add, “And with enough manners not to insult someone who’s trying to do something as noble as sharing knowledge… even if others don’t seem all that grateful for his efforts.”

Fenrin and Tayra blink at me, stunned.

“Well, I wish I could say it’s been lovely speaking with you both, but I’m from Oakvale.” I dip into a mock curtsy. “And us simple folk were taught that if you can’t say anything nice, it’s best not to say anything at all.”

A nearby Elf chokes on his drink, coughing into his hand to mask his shocked laughter at my words.

Without waiting for them to respond, I spin on my heels and start to walk away, but Lyrion’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Isobel?”

I turn back to him. He bows slightly and extends his hand. “May I have this dance?”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Of course.”

When we pass by Tayra and Fenrin, they’re both still staring at me in shock.

As Lyrion and I begin to dance, worry suddenly fills me. “Stars, Lyrion, I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble.” I glance around the room. Several pairs of eyes are watching us. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You were impressive,” he says, eyes shining with a mix of pride and amusement. He arches a brow. “And if I might add, you were also very eloquent.”

I laugh softly as we spin and whirl across the dance floor, beneath golden candlelight, amongst the Elven nobility. And as I gaze at Lyrion, I don’t feel quite so out of place.

After a few songs, Rhystan encourages us to join the crowd gathering in polite anticipation around Lady Tayra. She smiles at her fiancé, clasping her hands dramatically in front of her, drawing a deep breath.

The moment she begins to sing to Fenrin, my lips part in shock. Rhystan was right: She does sound like a warbling bird.

“Oh dear,” I whisper, trying desperately to hold in a grin.

Rhystan snorts beside me, coughing to hide his laugh, while Lyrion bites his lip, struggling to keep his expression appropriately neutral even as he elbows his brother.

As soon as the song is over, Lyrion takes my hand and grips Rhystan’s forearm with the other, practically dragging us back to the stairs and to our room.

We step inside, and he shuts the door behind us, just as Rhystan and I burst into laughter. Lyrion tries but fails to hold back a smile until he finally gives up and starts laughing too.

“Gods above,” Rhystan exclaims. “That was terrible.”

After we’re finished laughing, Rhystan produces several plates piled high with delicate pastries and savory treats pilfered from the ballroom.

I gaze at the veritable feast before us in wonder. “How in the world did you get all of this?”

He shrugs. “When you two were out in the garden, I just took a few things here and there and discreetly brought them back to the room.”

I sit on the sofa and they each take a chair across from me near the fireplace.

“Now this is my favorite part of any ball,” Rhystan declares. He places some more wood in the hearth and then settles comfortably into his plush chair. “Good food, good company, and”—he winks—“no one forcing us to listen to any questionable singing.”

I laugh.

“Ah, they’ve brought the bed already.” Rhystan points to the single bed in the corner.

It’s just as large as the two in the other room, and it appears as plush and comfortable as the one in Lyrion’s guest room back in Oakvale.

“Now,” he says. “What do you say to a game of cards?”

He pulls out a deck and begins to shuffle them expertly.

“I’ve never played cards.”

“Never?” He grins. “Well, then, we’ll just have to teach you.” He looks at his brother. “You two can team up.”

Lyrion sits next to me on the sofa as Rhystan explains the rules.

At first, it seems a bit complicated, but after a few rounds it becomes fun. Especially since I’m teamed up with Lyrion, the two of us whispering quietly amongst each other as we conspire to win against his brother.

Eventually, exhaustion gets the best of me. After a while, I curl onto the sofa, my eyelids drifting open and closed as the sounds of voices, quiet laughter, and the crackling fire on the hearth lull me into sleep.

I’m vaguely aware as Lyrion carefully lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed in the corner. He settles me on the mattress and removes my slippers. Placing a soft blanket over me, he tucks it around my shoulders.

His violet eyes are full of warmth as he brushes the hair back from my face and whispers, “Sleep well, Isobel.”

His lips press against my temple, the gentle caress lingering sweetly for a moment before fading away.

Turning onto my side, I close my eyes and fall away into dreams filled with the beautiful magic of this perfect night.