Page 45 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

ISOBEL

I t’s been three days since I left Lyrion’s manor. I move through the café like a ghost, my heart still raw and aching. Focusing on my work, I set cups of steaming tea onto delicate saucers, forcing a brittle smile on my face as I serve each customer.

But my gaze keeps darting to the door every time it chimes. Each time it swings open, a mixture of hope and dread fills me as I half-expect Lyrion to walk inside.

My chest tightens at the memories of the warmth of his touch, the quiet intensity of his eyes. How could I have been so foolish? He asked only to court me, not marry me.

I was so na?ve. I believed courtship meant something deeper… something permanent.

“Isobel, could I get more blueberry scones, please?” Tressa’s gentle voice pulls me from my dark thoughts.

She eyes me in concern. I’m sure she can tell something is wrong, especially after she asked if I expect Lyrion to come by and I told her no.

She’s a good friend, but I’m not ready to talk to anybody about what happened. Not yet, anyway. The hurt is still too fresh.

“Of course.” I turn away, blinking back tears as I make my way to the kitchen. When I return, I busy myself arranging the scones onto a fresh tray.

The door chimes once more, and my traitorous heart leaps yet again. I glance up sharply and see Brakkus’s familiar broad form filling the entrance.

The Orc gives me a friendly smile, his large frame weaving through the café. “Isobel,” he greets in a deep voice. “Can we speak for a moment?”

“Of course.” I guide Brakkus to an empty table tucked away in the corner.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small cloth bundle, placing it into my hands. When I unwrap it, my breath catches.

It’s my mother’s locket. The delicate silver chain has been repaired so well you’d never know it had ever been broken. I smile. “Oh, Brakkus, you did such a lovely job. Thank you so much.”

“I wish I could take credit for this, but it’s Cyran’s work.”

“Cyran?”

“Aye. Lyrion asked me to have the jeweler do the repair.” He shrugs. “He didn’t want you to know. He even gave me a few coins for my trouble.”

He pulls out a small pouch and sets it on the table. “But I didn’t feel right taking it from him. It was no hardship to deliver it to Cyran. He and I are good friends, and I see him oft enough in the tavern.”

I frown. “But… why would Lyrion do this?”

“I believe it was a kindness.” A faint smile tugs at Brakkus’s mouth. “I’ve never found High Elves to be the sentimental type, but I think when he heard it was your mother’s and how much it meant to you… well, it’s easy to see that Elf has a soft spot for you.”

My heart cracks, emotions swirling painfully within.

He pushes the coin pouch toward me. “Will you give this to him?” I start to tell him that he’ll need to return it to Lyrion himself, but he adds, “When he returns from his trip.”

I blink. “His… trip?”

“Aye. I saw him and his brother leave with an Elf woman a few days ago. I asked where they were going and he said they had business back in Rivenyl.” Brakkus’s brow furrows. “I thought you would have known this. Aren’t the two of you—”

“No. Not… anymore.”

“I don’t mean to pry”—Brakkus’s frown deepens—“but did something happen?”

“No,” I reply, unable to hide the quaver in my voice. “It was just… a misunderstanding.”

Brakkus’s expression darkens. “What sort of misunderstanding?” he growls. “You just say the word and that Elf will be”—he glances around the room and then leans in—“ disappeared into the woods,” he says in a voice so low only I can hear.

I blink several times, wondering if he means what I think he does, when he confirms it by adding, “Permanently.”

My jaw drops.

“What on earth are you saying to the poor girl?” Cyran says as he walks up to our table, his gaze swinging from me back to Brakkus. “She’s pale as a sheet.”

Brakkus turns to him. “I’m going to need your help taking care of a problem.”

“Oh, really?” Cyran arches a brow. “Does this problem have a name?”

“Aye,” Brakkus snarls. “It’s Lyrion. The fancy High Elf Lord that thinks he can just go around breaking hearts at his whim.”

Cyran’s green wings flutter as he drops into the seat beside Brakkus.

“Well, I’ll have to clear my schedule,” he says casually.

He looks at me. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him for you.

I should have warned you, Isobel. High Elves”—he shakes his head—“all that brooding and cold elegance they have about them. Unfortunately, it’s like catnip for women. Especially humans. No offense.”

Before I can respond, he turns back to the Orc. “What sort of retribution will we be dealing out this time?”

This time? He speaks as if they’ve done this sort of thing before.

Brakkus cracks his knuckles. “The kind that will leave an impression. We’ll take him out to the woods and—”

“No one is taking anyone out to the woods,” I interject. “While I appreciate that the two of you are firmly on my side of things, it truly was a misunderstanding.”

“What sort of misunderstanding?” Cyran asks, eyes narrowed.

As I explain what happened, I notice Tressa not so discreetly walking slowly past the table, pretending to wait on a customer nearby. When I finish my story, she huffs. “The nerve of that Elf.”

I shoot her a sharp look, but she waves her hands dismissively. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear.” She gestures to her pointed ears. “Sharp hearing and all that.”

“It’s my fault.” My voice catches. “He asked to court me, nothing more.” A tear slips down my cheek, but I wipe it away. “He didn’t break any promises. I’m the one who let myself believe that it meant something more than it did.”

Cyran and Tressa exchange a look. “A courtship is no small thing for an Elf,” he says. “Are you sure that’s what he asked you?”

Unable to speak around the lump in my throat, I nod.

Tressa tilts her head, frowning slightly. “I remember when he had all those lovely new clothes, new shoes, and that beautiful cloak made for you.”

I blink. “Made for me? Hilda told me they were just extras she found.”

Her brow furrows. “They weren’t. I was at the clothier’s shop the day Hilda ordered them for you. She explained to the tailor that Lyrion wanted no expense spared and that only the finest fabrics would do. She gave the tailor one of your dresses for the measurements. I thought you knew.”

For a moment, my breath catches. A memory flashes of Lyrion’s eyes softening the first time I stepped out in that cloak, and the faint, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. For one fragile heartbeat, the memory feels like a comfort.

Then it twists like a blade. That smile, that thoughtfulness… all of it existed alongside his silence. Whatever his reasons, they don’t erase the awful truth that he kept from me. He let me believe he cared. But now I know that I never really mattered to him. Not enough, anyway.

“None of this is your fault.” Brakkus’s eyes shine with pity.

“You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Isobel. Lyrion’s a fool for being so careless with it.

” He rests his big hand on my shoulder. “And I say good riddance to him. That Elf woman looked cold as ice; I’m sure he’ll get exactly what he deserves with that one. You mark my words.”

“I, for one, never liked him anyway.” Cyran tips up his chin. “The High Elves are rather full of themselves, if you ask me, and he seemed no different.” He looks at Tressa. “Don’t you agree, my dear sister?”

She gives an affirmatory nod.

I open my mouth, about to defend Lyrion, but stop because I cannot. Not after what he did. And just the thought of it breaks my heart all over again.

Brakkus gives me a firm look. “Well, when he gets back, you just say the word and Cyran and I will teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”

“I doubt he’ll be returning anytime soon, if at all.” Especially since he left with his betrothed and Rhystan. “He has no reason to.”

“It’s his loss,” Tressa says. “You’re well rid of him, Isobel.”

Maybe they’re right. Even so, the ache in my chest is almost unbearable. Tears well in my eyes, escaping my lashes faster than I can wipe them away.

Lyrion is gone. Back to his world, where he belongs, and I… I belong here.

“Isobel,” Brakkus says, his deep voice gentle. “You’re not alone in this. You have friends, people who care for you, myself included.” Tressa and Cyran nod as he adds, “We’re here for you.”

Warmth fills my chest at his words, gratitude swelling within. “Thank you.”

Before I can say anything else, Tressa smiles at me. “I know just the thing to cheer you up.”

“What is it?”

“The celestial festival is coming up.”

“What is that? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“It only happens once every three years, when the blue moon falls during the spring months,” Cyran explains. “It celebrates the story of the Warrior and the Huntress—when their constellation is perfectly visible in the night sky.”

My heart clenches. I remember Lyrion telling me the story behind this constellation when we lay on a blanket in the garden, beneath the stars.

“I already have Cyran playing the part of the Warrior, but we still need someone to play the part of the Huntress.” Tressa smiles. “What do you say?”

I look up at them, suddenly determined. I’m stronger than this heartbreak. “Yes.” I smile despite my tears. “I’ll help.”

I clutch the repaired locket in my hand, vowing silently to myself. I’ll survive this. It’s not as if I’m the first person to ever have their heart broken. Lyrion may be gone, but I still have friends who care about me, and I’m strong enough to heal.