Page 17 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“Oh, thank you, Lyrion!” She throws her arms around me in an excited hug. “I promise you’ll hardly know he’s there.”
“Oh, he’ll know,”Errol remarks smugly in my mind.“I’m hard to miss. And remember, Elf, I’ve got my eyes on you.”
Isobel places Errol into her satchel, his head poking out, looking absurdly dignified for a creature in such a position. Catching my doubtful look, she offers a reassuring grin. “He’s used to traveling this way, aren’t you, Errol?”
The cat meows lazily and gives me a pointed look.“A gentleman would offer to carry a lady’s things.”
Sighing heavily, I must admit that he’s right. “Please,” I tell Isobel as I reach for the satchel. “Allow me to relieve you of your burden.”
She gives me a smile as bright as the sun. “Why, thank you, Lyrion.”
I loop the strap across my shoulders and look down at Errol. “Comfortable?”
He yawns again.“Quite,”he replies.“But mind the steps on the way down; I don’t want to be jostled too much.”
“Of course,” I reply a bit sarcastically.
“Of course, what?” Isobel asks, her small brow furrowed in question.
“I was speaking with Errol.”
Her lips part. “You can understand him?”
“And I prefer chicken and tuna instead of sardines,”Errol adds.“I just thought I’d mention it so you can plan for my meals accordingly.”
I stop short of rolling my eyes at the cat as I reply to Isobel. “My kind—High Elves—are able to commune telepathically with animals.”
“That’s amazing,” she says, smiling brightly.
Is it?I glance again at the tiny furry dictator. Isobel’s eyes are wide, filled with awe. I’m a bit taken aback by her astonishment. “It’s a rather common Elven trait.”
I gesture to the door. “Shall we?”
I follow her down the stairs, already dreading how complicated this day is rapidly becoming, and how this small, scruffy feline has already begun to challenge my patience.
CHAPTER 9
LYRION
Ifollow Isobel quietly through the bustling town center toward the jeweler’s shop.
When we enter, the entire space is filled with the faint, glittering glow of enchanted lanterns, the walls lined with delicate silverwork and shining gems that glint under the magical lights. The scent of metal polish and something sweetly floral lingers in the air.
“Greetings, Isobel.” A Fae male walks up behind the counter—Tressa’s brother, I presume. His silver-white hair hangs down to his shoulders, and his eyes are a brilliant shade of green, matching his vibrant emerald dragonfly-like wings.
His gaze sweeps appreciatively over Isobel and he flares his wings out behind him as Fae males often do when trying to attract a mate.
I grit my teeth, jealousy tightening my chest in a way that’s as alarming as it is unfamiliar when he unfurls them even wider, flashing a charming smile clearly intended to dazzle her.
Vaelar’s blade, why am I reacting this way? Is it merely the potion compelling me to feel possessive, or is it something deeper? This confusion is frustrating. How in the seven hells am I supposed to untangle my true feelings from this cursed enchantment?
Isobel, however, seems completely oblivious to the overt display as she steps forward and places her locket onto the counter. “The clasp is broken, Cyran,” she explains. “It belonged to my mother. Tressa said you might be able to repair it.”
“My sister was right.” Cyran leans forward, deliberately fanning his brilliant wings. “Anything for you, charming Isobel,” he says, his voice smooth as honey. He picks up the locket, carefully examining it under the lantern’s glow. “It will be simple enough to fix. Five silver pieces.”
I’m a bit surprised by his low price. I’d assumed such a repair would cost at least three times as much for such a delicate chain.
“Oh.” Isobel’s face pales instantly, her eyes widening as she twists her fingers nervously together. “Oh, I… I see.”
