Page 46 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)
ISOBEL
M y hands tremble as I smooth the fabric of my Huntress costume, anxiety knotting my stomach. The leather bodice fits snugly, embroidered with delicate silver vines, but I can’t shake the feeling that it looks ridiculous on me.
Cyran stands nearby, utterly calm, every bit the confident Warrior in his own sleek outfit.
His emerald eyes practically sparkle as he stares at his reflection in the mirror, flexing his biceps as he spreads his vibrant green wings in a wide display.
“This costume is perfect.” He grins, flashing two rows of pearly white fangs.
“It highlights all of my best features.”
“Well, I’m glad someone is happy with how they look, because I feel ridiculous,” I grumble.
“Nonsense.” Cyran turns to me. “You are absolutely stunning, Isobel.” He rests both hands on my shoulders as his green eyes meet mine. “Now, repeat after me: I am beautiful and everyone will love me.”
I stop short of rolling my eyes as I repeat the words.
“Good. Now, let’s get out there.” He gestures to the stage and flashes a handsome grin. “Our adoring audience awaits our grand entrance.”
My lips quirk in spite of my nerves as we stand off to the side of the stage, waiting for our cue.
Beside Cyran, Brakkus is urgently whispering to one of the children who has forgotten his lines, the low rumble of his voice hardly discreet. “And then you say, ‘allow me to tell you a wondrous tale of magic and moonlight.’”
The nervous little boy repeats the line in a wobbly voice, his face pale.
“Now smile,” Brakkus murmurs loudly, oblivious to his lack of subtlety.
The child forces an exaggerated grin to his face.
Some of the audience chuckles at the comical expression. Cyran snorts but quickly covers his mouth, and I bite back a laugh as well.
Brakkus shoots us an irritated look and we both straighten.
Another little girl goes onto the stage dressed as a tree. She trips halfway, stumbling forward and then crashes into another little girl who’s dressed as a flower. The kids both laugh and the audience does as well.
More children walk onto the stage, dressed as various plants and animals. When they begin to sing, the one dressed as—what I think is supposed to be—a squirrel, decides to dance.
Brakkus winces as the boy knocks several of the props down on the stage with his overly large fluffy tail.
More laughter erupts and Cyran’s lips twitch in amusement. But when he looks at me, his expression falls when he notices me fidgeting anxiously again. “Don’t worry, Isobel.” He winks. “This isn’t the royal theater. Even if you forget your lines, it will be viewed as comic relief.”
Tressa rushes toward us, her golden eyes bright with excitement. “It’s time,” she whispers.
My pulse thunders wildly as she ushers me toward the stage. I glance at Brakkus and Cyran one last time, and they each offer a reassuring thumbs-up.
With a deep breath, I step in front of the curtain, the wood platform creaking beneath my feet as I take my place beneath the lantern lights.
The village square stretches before me, filled with people gathered for the Celestial Festival. The air is cool, scented with the sweet fragrance of baked goods and cider. My heart leaps nervously as the murmurs quiet, every eye turning expectantly toward me.
My voice shakes as I speak my first line. But as the words spill forth, my nervousness gradually shifts into something else. The Huntress’s tale resonates deeply, tugging at wounds still fresh in my heart.
Every line of this part of the Huntress’s story seems to echo my own sadness. She thought the Warrior did not return her feelings. I understand the despair of her loneliness and longing… of loving someone who was never truly mine.