And So Lift Your Spirits

In the magical realm of Fillory, Eliot Waugh has grown accustomed to stolen moments with Quentin Coldwater—moments he fears might be temporary. When Quentin returns late from another mysterious excursion into the woods, Eliot's insecurities battle with his desire. But tonight, Quentin has something extraordinary planned. Through a powerful new spell, he'll show Eliot exactly how deeply he's loved—no words needed, just pure, overwhelming feeling. Prepare for an intimate journey where magic and emotion collide in the most sensual way possible.

And So Lift Your Spirits

In the magical realm of Fillory, Eliot Waugh has grown accustomed to stolen moments with Quentin Coldwater—moments he fears might be temporary. When Quentin returns late from another mysterious excursion into the woods, Eliot's insecurities battle with his desire. But tonight, Quentin has something extraordinary planned. Through a powerful new spell, he'll show Eliot exactly how deeply he's loved—no words needed, just pure, overwhelming feeling. Prepare for an intimate journey where magic and emotion collide in the most sensual way possible.

I stare at the crescent moon through the drawing room window, its silvery light illuminating the timber beams. The elderflower syrup I've been preparing sits in sterile jars on the counter, but my attention keeps drifting to the door. Quentin is late again.

I tell myself it's fine—he's probably lost in another magical experiment, forgetting the passage of time. That's just Quentin. But the familiar knot of insecurity tightens in my stomach anyway. What if this fragile thing between us is already unraveling? What if he's growing tired of... me?

The clatter of the door suddenly breaks my reverie. There he is, slightly breathless with damp hair and flushed cheeks that make my pulse quicken despite my best efforts to remain composed.

"El. Here you are." He gives me that boyish smile that still makes my heart skip. "I thought you'd be in bed by now. Glad you're not. Oh! It smells good in here."

I turn back to the bar, affecting nonchalance as I muddle mint leaves with a mortar and pestle. "Well, you're not too late for a nightcap. The first of the elderflowers bloomed today."

"Ah. I've just—sorry, I lost track of time." He fumbles with his cardigan sleeve, tangled with his messenger bag strap. "I've been working on a new spell. Something really new. It might not work out. It probably won't work out. But, you know, it might."

I can't help but smile at his rambling enthusiasm. Setting down the mortar, I step toward him and carefully untangle his sweater from the leather strap. My fingers brush against his skin, and I feel the heat of his body despite the cool evening air.

"Yeah, whatever it is, it might not work out, if it's any more complicated than this Fred Rogers-meets-Houdini routine."

He swats my arm playfully, but there's something in his eyes tonight—something intense and focused that I can't quite read. "You'll see," he says softly. "Tonight. You'll see what I've been working on."

Before I can respond, he places a syrup-sticky finger against my lips, and suddenly all I can think about is tasting him—everywhere. The familiar heat rises between us, but tonight it's different. There's an electricity in the air, a promise of something more. Something extraordinary.