Page 49 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)
LYRION
“ H untress,” I speak the lines of the Warrior as I step forward, desperate to win the heart of my Huntress. “I believe you’ve captured something that belongs to me.”
The world narrows sharply around us as Isobel turns to face me, her lips parted in shock.
Time slows as her gaze meets mine. The noise, the festival, even my racing heart all fade away as a gentle warmth blooms deep within my chest. My breath catches sharply, magic tingling across my skin in a rush of awareness.
Stars above, it’s her. Isobel is my fated mate.
My knees threaten to buckle as realization crashes over me, fierce and undeniable. The Heartshade spell—the one designed to dull the recognition of one’s fated mate—dissolved the moment I officially ended my betrothal to Elyssia, finally allowing me to see clearly.
Everything makes sense. Now I understand why my heart had yearned so deeply, why every moment spent away from her felt impossibly wrong.
I always felt inexplicably better whenever I stepped into the café, my headaches beginning to ease the moment I saw Isobel’s smiling face. Perhaps, deep down, my soul recognized her as my fated mate, even though the suppression spell meant to hide her from me.
Isobel. It has always been her. She was always meant to be mine… just as I am hers.
“Why are you here?” she whispers in a voice so low I nearly miss it.
“What is it that you think I’ve captured?” Brakkus interrupts, whispering the line loudly to Isobel, as if it’s not my surprise appearance that’s made her forget her part but instead a simple case of stage fright.
Cyran stops short of rolling his eyes as he elbows the Orc. “Give them a moment,” he hisses, gesturing to me and Isobel.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I wait for her to speak.
“What is it that you believe I have captured, Warrior?” she asks, voice quavering.
Cautiously, I walk toward her. Cupping her cheek, I stare deep into her luminous eyes. “My heart.”
Sadness flits across her expression. “But I thought it belonged to someone else,” her voice wavers. “That it was already promised to another.”
“That’s not the line,” Brakkus whispers. “It’s— Oof!” He lets out a surprised sound as Cyran elbows him even harder this time, while Rhystan covers his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Forgive me, Isobel,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “I should have told you everything sooner. The betrothal with Elyssia was arranged long ago. It was duty, nothing more. My heart—” My voice catches as emotions lodge in my throat. “It belongs only to you, fiercely and irrevocably.”
The villagers have fallen silent, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes and bated breath, but my attention remains locked solely on the beautiful woman standing before me.
“You’re a High Elf and I’m human,” she says, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You’re nobility and I’m not. What we had… how do you know it was real and not because of the potion?”
“Because I know in my soul that what I feel for you is not because of magic… not because of a spell.”
I cup her face with both hands as I stare deep into her eyes.
“You are brilliant, kind, caring, beautifully determined, adorably clumsy, fiercely stubborn, and wonderfully chaotic.” A smile quirks my lips as she slightly narrows her eyes in mock irritation.
“I love you because you are exactly who you are, Isobel Bramble. And who you are is enough.”
Her eyes search mine. “You love me?”
“More deeply than I ever dreamed possible.” I lower myself to one knee. “Please. Marry me, Isobel. Be mine forever, just as I am already completely and utterly yours.”