Page 74 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“I may not have been born into silk,”I say, lifting my chin,“but I was raised with enough sense not to judge someone by how they pour their tea, or whether they know the proper fork to use for a salad.”
I glance at Lyrion, then add, “And with enough manners not to insult someone who’s trying to do something as noble assharing knowledge… even if others don’t seem all that grateful for his efforts.”
Fenrin and Tayra blink at me, stunned.
“Well, I wish I could say it’s been lovely speaking with you both, but I’m from Oakvale.” I dip into a mock curtsy. “And us simple folk were taught that if you can’t say anything nice, it’s best not to say anything at all.”
A nearby Elf chokes on his drink, coughing into his hand to mask his shocked laughter at my words.
Without waiting for them to respond, I spin on my heels and start to walk away, but Lyrion’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Isobel?”
I turn back to him. He bows slightly and extends his hand. “May I have this dance?”
A grin tugs at my lips. “Of course.”
When we pass by Tayra and Fenrin, they’re both still staring at me in shock.
As Lyrion and I begin to dance, worry suddenly fills me. “Stars, Lyrion, I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble.” I glance around the room. Several pairs of eyes are watching us. “I shouldn’t have—”
“You were impressive,” he says, eyes shining with a mix of pride and amusement. He arches a brow. “And if I might add, you were also very eloquent.”
I laugh softly as we spin and whirl across the dance floor, beneath golden candlelight, amongst the Elven nobility. And as I gaze at Lyrion, I don’t feel quite so out of place.
After a few songs, Rhystan encourages us to join the crowd gathering in polite anticipation around Lady Tayra. She smiles at her fiancé, clasping her hands dramatically in front of her, drawing a deep breath.
The moment she begins to sing to Fenrin, my lips part in shock. Rhystan was right: She does sound like a warbling bird.
“Oh dear,” I whisper, trying desperately to hold in a grin.
Rhystan snorts beside me, coughing to hide his laugh, while Lyrion bites his lip, struggling to keep his expression appropriately neutral even as he elbows his brother.
As soon as the song is over, Lyrion takes my hand and grips Rhystan’s forearm with the other, practically dragging us back to the stairs and to our room.
We step inside, and he shuts the door behind us, just as Rhystan and I burst into laughter. Lyrion tries but fails to hold back a smile until he finally gives up and starts laughing too.
“Gods above,” Rhystan exclaims. “That was terrible.”
After we’re finished laughing, Rhystan produces several plates piled high with delicate pastries and savory treats pilfered from the ballroom.
I gaze at the veritable feast before us in wonder. “How in the world did you get all of this?”
He shrugs. “When you two were out in the garden, I just took a few things here and there and discreetly brought them back to the room.”
I sit on the sofa and they each take a chair across from me near the fireplace.
“Now this is my favorite part of any ball,” Rhystan declares. He places some more wood in the hearth and then settles comfortably into his plush chair. “Good food, good company, and”—he winks—“no one forcing us to listen to any questionable singing.”
I laugh.
“Ah, they’ve brought the bed already.” Rhystan points to the single bed in the corner.
It’s just as large as the two in the other room, and it appears as plush and comfortable as the one in Lyrion’s guest room back in Oakvale.
“Now,” he says. “What do you say to a game of cards?”
He pulls out a deck and begins to shuffle them expertly.
“I’ve never played cards.”
