Page 63 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“Come now.” Rhystan’s eyes gleam with amusement. “It’s hardly the most eccentric thing you’ve done. The entire nobility already thinks you’re peculiar. It’s well-known you prefer the company of your books to participating in Elven high society.”
I purse my lips. He’s annoyingly correct. I’ve never been one to mingle with nobility. Rhystan is the one who has served as societal ambassador for our family’s interests due to his natural charisma and charm. But still, I dislike the idea of subjecting Isobel to an Elven ball.
“I don’t even dance,” I say tightly, attempting another angle. “Not well, anyway.”
Rhystan smirks. “I’m aware. But it will be fine, Lyrion. Besides, I’ll be there to look out for her too. I like Isobel.”
“What?” I snap as jealousy surges through me.
“Not in that way, Brother.” Rhystan holds up his hands. “Vaelar’s blade, the look on your face. You’re acting like a possessive mate.”
My jaw tightens. He’s right. I need to get a hold of my emotions. “It’s the blasted kissing potion,” I curse.
Rhystan arches a brow. “I’m not so sure it is. And have you told Isobel about Elyssia yet?”
Dread pools in my stomach. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, if it’s not important, then why haven’t you told her?” he challenges.
“Because it doesn’t concern her.”
“Yes, it does.” Rhystan gives me an incredulous look. “Perhaps you can’t see it, and stars know I don’t quite understand what such a lovely woman sees in your grumpy Goblin self, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s falling just as much for you as you are for her.”
“I’m not falling for her,” I lie.
“I wish you’d just accept your feelings instead of blaming them all on the potion.” Rhystan sighs. “But one thing is for sure. You need to inform Isobel about your betrothal, unless… you want to break your engagement.”
“But how can I make that sort of decision when I’m not even sure if my feelings are my own or if they’re a result of this cursed potion?” Frustration burns through me. It always comes down to the same argument. “I wish I knew for sure what’s real and what isn’t.”
Rhystan rests a hand on my shoulder. “I understand what you’re saying, Brother. But I also believe you need to speak to her about Elyssia. If Isobel were to find out from someone else, like say someone at the ball, it would devastate her. She needs to hear about it from you.”
My brother is right. But how can I explain this to Isobel without also acknowledging the way I feel about her? And if I dothat, what if when the magic wears off, those feelings disappear entirely?
I should have just told her about Elyssia from the start. Once I tell her of my betrothal, she’ll think I’ve deliberately kept it from her. Which, now that Rhystan has pushed me to recognize it, I realize that I have. After that, she’ll probably want nothing to do with me, even despite the potion.
“Do it soon,” Rhystan urges. “Before it’s too late.”
I exhale slowly, anxiety tightening around me like a vise. The thought of losing Isobel’s warmth, her trust, her quiet laughter, sends an unbearable pang through my chest.
Vaelar help me, I fear I’m already in far deeper than I ever intended to be.
CHAPTER 32
ISOBEL
Istand in front of the mirror, admiring the elegant green Elvish tunic dress Lyrion had made for me. A lovely pattern of silver vines is embroidered along the hem, and the fabric is buttery soft against my skin, shimmering like silk in the morning light.
The matching fitted pants are perfectly paired with sturdy leather travel boots. I’ve never worn anything so beautifully crafted and practical.
Worry knots my stomach as I think of the upcoming ball. The only time I’ve ever attended anything remotely close to an elegant Elven gathering was as a servant for my former employer.
Although I was only part of the help, there were so many rules and protocols about placement of silverware and ways to address the guests according to title and status, among many other things.
I’m so worried I won’t fit into Lyrion’s refined world, but I’m just as determined not to embarrass him.
