Page 9 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

LYRION

I follow Isobel quietly through the bustling town center toward the jeweler’s shop.

When we enter, the entire space is filled with the faint, glittering glow of enchanted lanterns, the walls lined with delicate silverwork and shining gems that glint under the magical lights. The scent of metal polish and something sweetly floral lingers in the air.

“Greetings, Isobel.” A Fae male walks up behind the counter—Tressa’s brother, I presume. His silver-white hair hangs down to his shoulders, and his eyes are a brilliant shade of green, matching his vibrant emerald dragonfly-like wings.

His gaze sweeps appreciatively over Isobel and he flares his wings out behind him as Fae males often do when trying to attract a mate.

I grit my teeth, jealousy tightening my chest in a way that’s as alarming as it is unfamiliar when he unfurls them even wider, flashing a charming smile clearly intended to dazzle her.

Vaelar’s blade, why am I reacting this way? Is it merely the potion compelling me to feel possessive, or is it something deeper? This confusion is frustrating. How in the seven hells am I supposed to untangle my true feelings from this cursed enchantment?

Isobel, however, seems completely oblivious to the overt display as she steps forward and places her locket onto the counter. “The clasp is broken, Cyran,” she explains. “It belonged to my mother. Tressa said you might be able to repair it.”

“My sister was right.” Cyran leans forward, deliberately fanning his brilliant wings. “Anything for you, charming Isobel,” he says, his voice smooth as honey. He picks up the locket, carefully examining it under the lantern’s glow. “It will be simple enough to fix. Five silver pieces.”

I’m a bit surprised by his low price. I’d assumed such a repair would cost at least three times as much for such a delicate chain.

“Oh.” Isobel’s face pales instantly, her eyes widening as she twists her fingers nervously together. “Oh, I… I see.”

Unease curls in my chest, and I step closer, confused by the sudden shift in her demeanor. “Isobel?”

She looks at the Fae male. “I’m sure it’s a more than fair price, but I… can’t afford that right now.” Her cheeks burn with humiliation, and her voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time, Cyran.”

My heart squeezes painfully as I glance at the jeweler.

“It’s alright, Isobel.” He smiles, wings wilting slightly. “I don’t normally offer them, but I know you and… we can work out a payment plan if you’d like. I can have the repairs done in a few days and you can simply pay me back when you can.”

As much as I initially disliked him, his kindness seems genuine.

“Thank you, Cyran, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking you for something like that.”

“Are you sure?” He gives her a warm smile. “I don’t mind.”

She nods.

“Then, perhaps, Brakkus could help you. It may not be as refined, but he’s a blacksmith and he’s used to working with a variety of metals. He should be able to repair the clasp.”

“Thank you, Cyran.”

I’m not one to normally get involved in the affairs of others, but it’s not as if it’s a great sum of money, and the necklace must be important for her to want to have it fixed.

I linger for a brief second, torn between concern and irritation before I finally step forward. “I’ll pay,” I tell the jeweler as I reach for my coin pouch. “Just fix it.”

“No.” Isobel’s voice rings sharply behind me, her face flushed as she looks at me with wide, anxious eyes. “Lyrion, please. I can’t accept your money either.”

“Why not?”

She swallows hard, gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know when I could repay you, especially with winter coming. I have to save up for firewood, and supplies, and a new coat.”

“Consider it a gift,” I offer at the same time that Cyran says, “I’ll do it for free.”

“Thank you for your kind offers,” she says, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “Both of you. But I wouldn’t feel right accepting.”

Cyran and I exchange a look and we nod.

I don’t know how she can remain so bright and cheerful when her life seems to be such a struggle. Memories of her apartment surface as I think of the threadbare blankets and worn furniture—every meager possession carefully preserved and cherished.

She has nothing, yet she always seems to have a smile on her face whenever I see her.

She bites her lip, gaze pleading. “Let’s just go to Brakkus, Lyrion.”

I hesitate, then nod stiffly, emotions coiling uncomfortably inside me.

“I’m sorry,” Isobel says, breaking the strained silence as we walk.

“I know this is inconvenient for you. I'm sure you'd rather just get home.” She looks down, twisting her fingers anxiously. “But this locket… it’s the only thing I have left that belonged to my mother. I used to wear it every day because it made me feel close to her, like a part of her was still with me, you know?” She sighs softly. “You probably think that’s silly.”

“No.” My voice emerges gentler than intended, but I don’t regret it.

“It’s not silly at all.” Reaching into my pocket, I pause briefly, then pull out the worn silver pocket watch.

“This was my grandfather’s. After he passed, my grandmother carried it with her as a way to keep him close.

Before she died, she gave it to me. She always said I reminded her of him. ”

Isobel studies the watch resting in my palm, something tender flickering across her expression. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” I swallow hard as I carefully slip it back into my pocket. “I think of them often. It’s nice to have something to remember them by.”

She smiles, and my heart lifts inexplicably, warmth spreading through my chest as I walk beside her. I wouldn’t normally feel compelled to share something so personal, but there’s something about her presence that simply puts me at ease.

Up ahead is the clothier’s store. It’s on the way to the blacksmith. My gaze lingers on the frayed hem of Isobel’s cloak, her worn leather shoes, and the way her dress hangs a little too loosely on her frame.

Judging by how she refused the Fae jeweler’s offer to repair her mother’s locket for free, as well as mine to pay for it, I doubt she’ll accept any charity. But I decide to try anyway.

“I’ve been meaning to visit the outfitter.” I gesture to the shop. “You could come along, pick something you like. Perhaps a warmer cloak, sturdier shoes, and—”

“No.” She freezes, then shakes her head. “I don’t take handouts.”

“It’s not a handout,” I counter. “It’s—”

“It is,” she states firmly, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. “My clothes and shoes are fine, Lyrion. I’ll manage. I always do.”

“But I don’t mind—”

“I said ‘no.’”

I bite back the urge to press the point.

She’s stubborn, and I worry that I’ve insulted her.

But the thought of her walking home in thin soles and a patched cloak settles in my chest like a stone.

She may refuse now, but I’ll find another way to see she has what she needs, whether she realizes it or not.

It doesn’t take long to reach Brakkus’s blacksmith shop. I’ve been here once when I needed something repaired. It’s a sturdy stone building with thick wooden beams, the air around it filled with the sharp tang of metal and the comforting warmth of the forge.

Ember, Brakkus’s orange tabby cat, lounges lazily near the anvil, her fur glowing warmly in the forge’s flickering light.

Brakkus himself is an imposing Orc, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled like most of his kind. He has light green skin and golden eyes. His thick, dark hair is tied back loosely, and he gives us a welcoming grin as we approach.

“Hello, Isobel. Lyrion.” His deep voice rumbles pleasantly. He reaches down, stroking Ember affectionately behind the ears.

Errol leaps from the satchel and greets Ember, rubbing his face against hers. I look at Isobel’s cat. “I assume you two know each other?”

“Yes.” His voice slips easily into my mind. “Ember and Brakkus helped me and Isobel when we first came into town. He’s the one who told her about the job opening at the café and put in a good word with Tressa.”

Interesting. I eye the Orc, wondering if he was just being kind or if he perhaps may be interested in Isobel.

Ember looks at Errol. “Why are you with the Elf? Is he courting your human?” She glances at Brakkus. “I hope not. Brakkus would be much better for her.”

I would be insulted, but Brakkus is her owner after all, so of course his cat would think such things about him.

“Why doesn’t Brakkus ask to court her?” Errol asks, completely uncaring that I can hear every word of their conversation.

Ember sighs as she sits down on her haunches. “He probably believes she would think him too brutish to even consider. He’s very self-conscious about his size, you know. It’s the reason he’s hoping for a fated Orc mate.”

“I suppose that’s understandable,” Errol replies. “Still. If things don’t work out with this Elf, I’ll let you know. Maybe you could urge him to reconsider.”

“What?” I give Errol an incredulous look. “There is nothing to work out. Isobel and I are not courting.”

“Maybe not yet.” He shrugs . “But I can see the way you look at my mistress.”

“He seems a bit snooty,” Brakkus’s cat says, speaking about me as if I’m not standing right here. “I personally think Isobel is too good for him.”

“I can still hear you, you know,” I say pointedly .

They both look at me, slowly blink, and then turn back to their conversation, dismissing me entirely.

I stop short of rolling my eyes, trying to tune out their feline commentary so I can focus instead on Isobel and Brakkus.

“Cyran said you might be able to fix this.” Isobel holds out the broken locket. “Do you think you can? It was my mother’s.”

The sight of her vulnerability nearly undoes me. If he cannot fix it, I’m going to insist that we return to the jeweler, and I’ll pay for the repair.

Brakkus takes the locket, examining it closely before giving her a reassuring smile. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But, I must warn you: It won’t be as fine or polished as it would be if the jeweler did the repair.” He cocks his head to one side. “I can do it for free though.”

“Oh, no,” she replies. “I don’t want you to do that. I can pay you, Brakkus.”

“Nonsense.” He waves her off. “You came to visit me every day for a week to tend my wound a few months ago. I owe you. It’s the least I can do.”

I frown at his comment, wondering just how close the two of them are.

Isobel smiles. “Thank you, Brakkus.”

When she steps outside, an older woman calls out to her in greeting. I’ve seen her at the café many times, but her name escapes me at this moment.

Taking advantage of Isobel’s momentary distraction as she talks with the woman, I walk back inside to speak to Brakkus. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a pouch of gold coins, far more than enough to cover the repairs.

Brakkus arches a curious brow. “What’s this for?”

I press the pouch firmly into his large palm. “Please take the necklace to the jeweler,” I say in a low voice, for only his ears. “Make sure it’s repaired properly. Spare no expense. I’d prefer this remain between you and me. You may keep the extra for your time and trouble.”

Brakkus studies me closely, eyes narrowing. His gaze flicks to Isobel, outside, and then back to me. “Why are you doing this, Lyrion? Are you and Isobel…” His voice trails off, waiting for me to fill in the rest.

“We’re friends,” I tell him. “Nothing more.”

It’s a bit of a stretch. We were mere acquaintances before last night, but I don’t tell him that. Besides, we’ve kissed, so we’re definitely no longer strangers to one another.

He crosses his arms and levels an assessing glare at me. “Are your intentions toward her honorable, Elf?”

I stiffen, a bristling retort rising swiftly to my tongue at his audacity. But as I meet his steady gaze, my defensiveness melts into respect. It’s good that he’s protective of her. I’m glad she has someone looking out for her interests.

“My intentions are honorable. You have my most solemn vow.”

“Good.” Brakkus nods. “Because she deserves nothing less.” He pockets the coins. “I’ll return the difference to you.”

“There’s no need.”

“I insist.”

I nod in agreement and then glance at the counter. Errol is still speaking with Ember. “Errol,” I call out. “It’s time to go.”

He exchanges another friendly head rub with Brakkus’s cat, bidding her farewell, before he saunters back over to me and climbs into the satchel.

When I step outside again, Isobel’s laughter rings through the air, warm and carefree as she hugs the older woman goodbye.

She turns to me, eyes bright with a lovely smile on her face, and it’s as if I’m staring into the sun.

An unbidden thought crosses my mind: I’d do anything to see that smile every day.

In truth, it’s part of the reason I frequent The Enchanted Teacup Café so often. Just being near Isobel somehow lessens the intensity of my headaches, even without Tressa’s magical tea.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve been attracted to Isobel since the moment I first entered that place. But I quickly dismissed the attraction. After all, she’s human and I’m a High Elf. We’re from two different worlds.

But stars help me, if we don’t find a way to undo the potion’s effects, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to ignore the pull I’ve felt toward Isobel since the first time I saw her.

Clenching my jaw, I resolve to do whatever it takes to break this spell. The last thing I need is a distraction. I glance at Isobel once more. Even if it is a very lovely one.