Page 90 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“What on earth are you saying to the poor girl?” Cyran says as he walks up to our table, his gaze swinging from me back to Brakkus. “She’s pale as a sheet.”
Brakkus turns to him. “I’m going to need your help taking care of a problem.”
“Oh, really?” Cyran arches a brow. “Does thisproblemhave a name?”
“Aye,” Brakkus snarls. “It’s Lyrion. The fancy High Elf Lord that thinks he can just go around breaking hearts at his whim.”
Cyran’s green wings flutter as he drops into the seat beside Brakkus. “Well, I’ll have to clear my schedule,” he says casually. He looks at me. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him for you. I should have warned you, Isobel. High Elves”—he shakes his head—“all that brooding and cold elegance they have about them. Unfortunately, it’s like catnip for women. Especially humans. No offense.”
Before I can respond, he turns back to the Orc. “What sort of retribution will we be dealing out this time?”
This time?He speaks as if they’ve done this sort of thing before.
Brakkus cracks his knuckles. “The kind that will leave an impression. We’ll take him out to the woods and—”
“No one is taking anyone out to the woods,” I interject. “While I appreciate that the two of you are firmly on my side of things, it truly was a misunderstanding.”
“What sort of misunderstanding?” Cyran asks, eyes narrowed.
As I explain what happened, I notice Tressa not so discreetly walking slowly past the table, pretending to wait on a customer nearby. When I finish my story, she huffs. “The nerve of that Elf.”
I shoot her a sharp look, but she waves her hands dismissively. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear.” She gestures to her pointed ears. “Sharp hearing and all that.”
“It’s my fault.” My voice catches. “He asked to court me, nothing more.” A tear slips down my cheek, but I wipe it away. “He didn’t break any promises. I’m the one who let myself believe that it meant something more than it did.”
Cyran and Tressa exchange a look. “A courtship is no small thing for an Elf,” he says. “Are you sure that’s what he asked you?”
Unable to speak around the lump in my throat, I nod.
Tressa tilts her head, frowning slightly. “I remember when he had all those lovely new clothes, new shoes, and that beautiful cloak made for you.”
I blink. “Made for me? Hilda told me they were just extras she found.”
Her brow furrows. “They weren’t. I was at the clothier’s shop the day Hilda ordered them for you. She explained to the tailor that Lyrion wanted no expense spared and that only the finest fabrics would do. She gave the tailor one of your dresses for the measurements. I thought you knew.”
For a moment, my breath catches. A memory flashes of Lyrion’s eyes softening the first time I stepped out in that cloak, and the faint, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. For one fragile heartbeat, the memory feels like a comfort.
Then it twists like a blade. That smile, that thoughtfulness… all of it existed alongside his silence. Whatever his reasons, they don’t erase the awful truth that he kept from me. He let me believe he cared. But now I know that I never really mattered to him. Not enough, anyway.
“None of this is your fault.” Brakkus’s eyes shine with pity. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Isobel. Lyrion’s a fool for being so careless with it.” He rests his big hand on my shoulder. “And I say good riddance to him. That Elf woman looked cold as ice; I’m sure he’ll get exactly what he deserves with that one. You mark my words.”
“I, for one, never liked him anyway.” Cyran tips up his chin. “The High Elves are rather full of themselves, if you ask me, and he seemed no different.” He looks at Tressa. “Don’t you agree, my dear sister?”
She gives an affirmatory nod.
I open my mouth, about to defend Lyrion, but stop because I cannot. Not after what he did. And just the thought of it breaks my heart all over again.
Brakkus gives me a firm look. “Well, when he gets back, you just say the word and Cyran and I will teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”
“I doubt he’ll be returning anytime soon, if at all.” Especially since he left with his betrothed and Rhystan. “He has no reason to.”
“It’s his loss,” Tressa says. “You’re well rid of him, Isobel.”
Maybe they’re right. Even so, the ache in my chest is almost unbearable. Tears well in my eyes, escaping my lashes faster than I can wipe them away.
Lyrion is gone. Back to his world, where he belongs, and I… I belong here.
“Isobel,” Brakkus says, his deep voice gentle. “You’re not alone in this. You have friends, people who care for you, myself included.” Tressa and Cyran nod as he adds, “We’re here for you.”
