Page 81 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“Wait.” My brows knit together in confusion. “You’re happy?”
“Of course I am!” She wraps her arms around me in a fierce, motherly hug. “I never really cared for Elyssia, truth be told.”
“But… you always seemed so pleased when you saw her. I—I thought you approved.”
“Because I wanted you happy, Lyrion. You’d agreed to it, so I assumed you must’ve seen something in her. But that Elf”—she grimaces delicately—“is colder than a winter frost.”
Rhystan snorts out a laugh.
Hilda’s expression softens. “I’ve never seen you so happy as you’ve been these past few weeks since Isobel came into our lives.”
My brother’s expression turns serious. “Did you receive Mother and Father’s acknowledgment yet of your intent to break the betrothal? Or Elyssia’s?”
“Not yet.” Frustration tightens my chest. Breaking such an engagement formally isn’t as easy as sending a single message. There will be consequences, expectations, formalities to navigate.
“I doubt our parents will simply accept your decision quietly. Nor will Elyssia’s family, for that matter,” Rhystan adds. “They’ll expect you to return to Rivenyl and handle the matter officially, in person.”
“I know,” I confirm bitterly. “A raven was merely the first step. It’s a declaration of intent, but it does not yet set me free.”
There are negotiations, formal hearings, and perhaps repercussions from Elyssia’s family. It’s not a swift or simple process.
Hilda squeezes my hand. “You need to tell Isobel, Lyrion. She doesn’t know about Lady Elyssia.”
“I intend to,” I promise. “But first, I must fully understand what I’m facing. I need confirmation from our parents and Elyssia’s family that they’ve received my message before Iburden Isobel with this.” I sigh heavily. “I plan to return to Rivenyl next week to sort this out.”
Rhystan nods slowly. “I’ll go with you.”
His support touches me. “Thank you, Brother. Once it’s done, I’ll be free.”
“I knew it.” Rhystan grins. He looks at Hilda, and she nods. I narrow my eyes in mock irritation, knowing they’ve been discussing my personal life behind my back. “We both called it the moment we saw the way you look at her, Lyrion.”
Despite my feigned annoyance, my chest warms at their unexpected support.
“Now,” Hilda says, “I’ll ask again: What are your intentions with Isobel?”
I lift my chin, meeting her eyes evenly. “I’m going to ask her permission to court her, Hilda.”
In my culture, formally requesting to court someone is no small matter. It’s a commitment, a promise of intention, if not yet a formal betrothal.
A bright smile lights her face. “Oh, Lyrion, that’s wonderful.”
“But I’m not sure she wants this.” I rub the back of my neck awkwardly, vulnerability clawing at my chest. “I don’t know if—”
“Come now, Lyrion, don’t be daft,” she says exasperatedly. “Isobel is in the garden. Get out there and tell her how you feel.” She starts shooing me toward the door. “If you wait too long, mark my word, someone else—perhaps that charming Fae jeweler—will snap her up and she’ll slip right through your fingers.”
“I agree.” Rhystan nods, a teasing grin curving his lips. “And I’m sure the Fae is much more charming than you, Lyrion, so you’ll want to listen to Hilda.”
“He most certainly is not.” I scowl at him as I think of Cyran. “Are you two seriously teaming up against me?”
“Yes,” they both reply in unison, their expressions identical in their stubborn insistence.
“Now, go on.” Hilda makes another shooing motion toward the door. “You’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to claim your happiness.”
“Alright.”
I rise from my desk, my heart thundering as I stride from the study and make my way toward the garden. The cool night air greets me as I step outside.
My pulse quickens when I spot Isobel beneath the cherry tree, moonlight casting an ethereal glow over her delicate features. Something tightens in my chest—a bittersweet awareness of the vast differences between us.
