Page 73 of Kissing Potions and Elves
He reaches out, and tucks a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. His eyes are dark and full of emotion as he cups my cheek.
My breath catches as he leans in and brushes his mouth tenderly to mine in a kiss so gentle and achingly sweet it steals the breath from my lungs.
Warmth floods my veins, melting away every lingering insecurity and worry. Nothing else exists outside of this gentle connection between us.
“Ah, there you are!” Rhystan’s cheerful voice shatters the moment. We draw apart as he approaches. “I’m glad I found you.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “I’ve heard rumors that Lady Tayra is going to serenade her fiancé. I think we should observe. Trust me, you won’t want to miss this, Isobel.”
Lyrion groans, eyes narrowing in mock irritation at his brother.
But Rhystan just grins and winks before he turns back toward the manor, expecting us to follow.
I’m nervous about returning to the ballroom, but I remind myself that I’m strong. Errol and I have managed on our own these past few years. If I can endure homelessness and hunger, surely I can withstand embarrassment and judgment.
When we walk back inside, I’m in awe again of the beautiful setting. The entire room seems to sparkle beneath golden chandeliers. Music floats through the air as couples dressed in opulent gowns and elegant clothing whirl across the polished marble floor.
“Lyrion,” someone calls out.
We turn to find a tall Elf with piercing gray eyes and brown hair. It’s Lord Fenrin—the one Rhystan pointed out when we arrived. “Fenrin.” Lyrion dips his chin in a subtle nod. “Congratulations on your upcoming bonding with Tayra.”
“Thank you,” he replies. His gaze flicks to me and he arches a condescending brow. “And I see you’ve brought an interesting guest this evening.”
“Lady Isobel Bramble,” Rhystan provides as he walks up beside us.
Fenrin looks at me once more and then turns his attention back to Lyrion. “We weren’t sure you would come. Last I’d heard you were still chasing your little hobby. Writing some kind of book about herbs or some such.”
Already, I don’t like this man. It’s clear he’s only sought Lyrion out to insult him for some reason.
Lyrion’s jaw tightens. “It’s not a hobby,” he says evenly. “It’s a compendium. I’m updating the Elven index of plant-based potions for the modern age.”
“How noble of you,” Fenrin replies, a subtle hint of sarcasm lacing his tone. “But I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. The current compendium has been in use for over three-hundred years. It’s a tried and true reference for potion making. Why bother rewriting something that obviously works just to add a few more plants to the list?”
Lyrion stiffens beside me.
Bolstered by Lyrion’s earlier defense of me, I turn to Fenrin. “You’re right. Itisnoble. But I’m not sure the rest of what you said holds up. Potions can do a lot of good. Treating illness, easing pain… helping people feel like themselves again. I would think learning more about them helps everyone in the long run.”
Fenrin blinks at me, surprised. I’m not sure anyone’s ever talked back to him before.
I take a breath and continue, keeping my voice steady. “And even if it were just a hobby, as you suggested,” I add, “it’s a much better use of his time than loitering around fancy parties like some sort of overdressed peacock.”
Rhystan snorts before catching himself, and Lyrion coughs, trying not to laugh.
Fenrin’s mouth opens, then closes.
Before he can respond, Lady Tayra walks up to us, looping her arm through Fenrin’s. “You seem to have a staunch defender here, Lyrion.” Her gaze travels over me with thinly veiled disdain. “She must truly believe in your little project. I didn’t quite believe the rumors when I’d heard you’d brought a human to the ball, but it seems they were true.” She leans in slightly. “And where might you be from?”
“Oakvale,” I reply.
“Oh, that’s such a quaint little place with simple people,” she says, condescension lacing her tone. “I must admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t realize even humans, as plain as they typically are, could look so... presentable in Elven attire. Don’t you agree, Fenrin?”
“Quite,” he replies.
Lyrion steps forward, ready to defend me, but I place a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It’s alright,” I tell him. “I’ve got this.”
Heat flashes through me. Not shame. Anger. If they think I’m going to shrink beneath their judgement, they’re wrong.
I lift my chin. “You’ve both already tried to insult me, my background, and my friend.” I dart a glance at Lyrion. “Anything else you’d like to sneer at before you fly off in a swirl of lace and self-importance?”
Fenrin gasps, and Tayra’s smile freezes.
