Page 44

Leander watched as she plucked one from the shelf, the delicate fireflies within pulsing like tiny stars.

Their light shifted between hues of gold and silver; their movements impossibly synchronized.

She handed the jar to him carefully, and when he took it, she leaned in, murmuring something that made his ears burn red.

He nodded, gripping the jar as if it held his very fate, then bowed his head in thanks before making his way back to me.

I arched a brow. “That went well, I assume?”

He exhaled slowly, holding up the jar like it might shatter from the weight of the moment.

“Better than well,” he said. “She gave me enchanted fireflies—and an incantation to go with them.”

I blinked, watching the tiny lights swirl and flicker inside the glass.

“So they don’t just spell your message?”

“No,” he said, his voice laced with wonder. “They’ll dance in the shape of the words. Then explode into tiny golden sparks before fading.”

A smile tugged at my lips—slow, warm, genuine.

“Professor Thornbriar really is a romantic at heart.”

Leander raked a hand through his hair, eyes locked on the glowing jar with a look of pure dread and excitement.

“Now I just have to get Lydia to open it.”

I gave his shoulder a pat.

“That’s the easy part.”

The students filtered out of the greenhouse in clusters, the crisp afternoon air a welcome change from the heady scent of soil and herbs. Lydia walked a few steps ahead with Julian, her hands wrapped around her satchel straps as she listened to whatever ridiculous tale he was spinning.

Leander took a deep breath, then called out, “Lydia!”

She turned, blinking at him in surprise. “Yes?”

He caught up to her, gripping the jar tightly. “I—I have something for you,” he said, his voice a fraction steadier than before. He lifted the jar between them, the fireflies flickering within, “but you have to open it outside.

Lydia’s gaze flickered to me, then back to Leander, curiosity sparking in her amber eyes. “Alright,” she said slowly, accepting the jar from his outstretched hands.

I stepped back, suppressing a grin as Julian watched with narrowed eyes, clearly displeased by the sudden shift in attention.

Leander rubbed the back of his neck. “Just—wait until we’re fully outside. Trust me.”

Lydia glanced between the jar and Leander, then nodded. “Okay,” she said, stepping ahead toward the open courtyard.

Leander exhaled sharply beside me. “Oh gods, this is happening.”

I nudged him forward. “Yes, it is. Now go. Before you combust.”

He shot me a half-hearted glare, but there was a spark of gratitude in his eyes before he followed after Lydia.

As I watched them step into the golden light of late afternoon, I couldn’t help but think—this might just be one of the most brilliant things Leander Sterling had ever done.

Lydia stepped into the courtyard, the sunlight casting golden hues in her icy hair.

She turned the jar over in her hands, brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Alright, Sterling,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “What exactly am I opening?”

Leander swallowed hard beside me. “You’ll see,” he managed, his voice tight with nerves.

Julian lingered nearby, arms crossed as he watched with veiled interest. Other students paused in their conversations, sensing something was about to unfold.

Lydia lifted the jar, fingers hesitating on the lid before finally twisting it open.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, like a rush of stardust, the fireflies burst forth. They swirled in a lazy spiral, pulsing with a warm golden glow as they rose above her head. Gasps rippled through the gathered students as the tiny creatures wove through the air, their light shifting, forming delicate shapes—letters.

Lydia’s breath caught as the words took shape in shimmering, golden script.

‘Lydia Westcott, will you go to the Winter Solstice Ball with me?’

A collective murmur swept through the crowd. Julian scoffed under his breath, but I caught the hint of a smirk he tried to suppress. Professor Thornbriar, watching from the greenhouse steps, clasped her hands together in excitement.

Leander stood stiffly beside me, his hands clenched at his sides as if bracing for the worst.

Then, the fireflies swirled again, their lights bursting into tiny golden sparks before fading into the crisp air. Silence lingered in their wake.

Lydia stared at the now-empty jar, then at Leander, her lips parted in astonishment.

“Leander,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. “Did you—did you really do all of this?”

His voice wavered slightly. “With a little help,” he admitted, glancing my way.

I grinned, but Leander barely noticed—his gaze locked onto Lydia’s, vulnerable and unguarded in a way I rarely saw.

For a moment, she said nothing. The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath.

Then, Lydia did something I don’t think anyone—especially not Leander—expected.

She stepped forward, stood on the tips of her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Leander went completely still.

“Of course, I’ll go with you,” she said, her voice warm and sincere.

A whoop of excitement burst from somewhere in the crowd, and the courtyard erupted with murmurs, laughter, and knowing smiles.

Leander stood there, utterly frozen, his freckles stark against his pale skin. He blinked once, twice—then his mouth stretched into the widest, most dumbfounded grin I had ever seen.

“The worst she could say was no, right?” I whispered to him.

He exhaled shakily, dazed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Or she could do that.”

I laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders as Lydia smiled up at him, golden light still dancing in her eyes.

It seemed, for once, the universe was on Leander Sterling’s side.