By the time the first gold kissed the horizon, the courtyard had fallen into that sacred, dreamy stillness that only comes with the earliest breath of morning. The lanterns had dimmed, the candle flames gone cold, and the night's laughter had faded into the warm silence of people who no longer needed to speak to feel close.
Camille's shoulder was still warm beside me, and I hadn't moved.
I didn't want to.
There was something indescribably peaceful about sitting there with her, her presence steady and gentle in a way that few people ever saw—beneath all the teasing and graceful charm, Camille was quiet in her devotion. It made my chest ache with something tender, something I didn't know how to name yet.
She shifted slightly, just enough to glance sideways at me, her eyes half-lidded and still a little sleepy. "You know," she murmured, her voice soft in the way dawn was soft, "if you keep leaning on me like that, I might think you like me."
I gave her a look, trying not to smile. "You're impossible."
Camille grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I didn't say I minded," I muttered before I could stop myself.
The smirk that lit up her face was devastating.
Before she could respond with something wicked, a soft rustling behind us made us turn.
Lillian stretched delicately beneath the tree's shade, blinking slowly at the morning light. Her eyes found mine instantly. And when she smiled—still warm with sleep, lips parted in a tiny breath—I felt something in my heart stutter.
She said nothing. Just rose to her feet and walked over with the kind of calm that made her feel inevitable.
Camille stood gracefully, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "Your turn," she said to Lillian, and the smile she gave her was not possessive or jealous, but something shared. Quiet understanding.
Lillian returned the smile. Then she knelt in front of me, taking my hands without a word.
I looked down at her, eyes wide. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," she said gently. "You're always giving. Let someone hold you for once."
And then she pulled me forward into her arms.
I didn't resist.
I melted into her, breathing her in—the faintest trace of vanilla and morning dew and light, as if she were made of spring itself. Her arms were warm around me, delicate yet firm, as though she could keep the entire world at bay if I just let her.
"You've been carrying too much again," she whispered against my ear. "Even when you smile, I can feel it. That worry. That fear."
I held onto her tighter, fingers curling in the soft fabric of her sleeves.
"I'm trying," I whispered back.
"I know," she said. "And that's enough."
I hadn't realized how badly I needed to hear that until I did.
She didn't ask me to be strong. Didn't tell me I needed to choose. She just stayed.
And gods, that meant everything.
Behind us, Claire stirred with a loud yawn, blinking sleepily as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Mornin'," she mumbled.
Tessa, ever watchful, handed her a drink from a little flask she had apparently stashed somewhere. Claire blinked at it, then looked up at Tessa with awe. "You're an angel."
Diana rose last, with all the dignity of a queen returning from a long slumber. "I assume breakfast is being delivered to us?" she asked, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt.
Camille snorted. "Not unless you plan to conjure it yourself."
Diana sighed with faux disappointment. "Tragic. I suppose I'll allow the common experience of walking to the dining hall."
Lillian gently pulled back from me, her fingers brushing across my cheek one last time. "We should go too."
I nodded, but my heart was still wrapped tightly in the cocoon her warmth had left behind.
We gathered the scattered remnants of our little overnight sanctuary—blankets folded, candle holders tucked into Claire's arms, pastries reduced to a few crumbs—and made our way through the quiet courtyard.
We walked side by side, laughter beginning to build again, shoulders brushing, fingers grazing.
The dining hall was quiet when we arrived, most of the academy still slowly waking. Soft clinks of porcelain and the faint hum of morning chatter filled the air, but it all felt distant—like we were moving in a slower, warmer rhythm that didn't quite belong to the rest of the world.
Claire made a beeline toward the buffet with the focus of a woman on a mission, stacking her plate high with eggs, toast, and something that looked suspiciously like leftover cake. Camille trailed after her, collecting tea and fruit with far more restraint, though the slight smirk on her lips said she was enjoying every bit of Claire's enthusiasm.
Diana, of course, didn't even pretend to wait in line. She gave the kitchen staff one look and suddenly, a fresh plate of smoked salmon, poached eggs, and fruit appeared at her chosen table.
"Abusing your station?" I asked as I slid into the seat across from her.
Diana sipped her coffee with regal indifference. "Exercising it, darling."
Tessa arrived a moment later with two trays—one for herself, one for Claire—and quietly placed them down. Claire paused mid-bite, blinked up at her, and gave a sleepy, grateful grin. "You're literally the best person here."
Tessa sat without replying, but her faint smile said enough.
I didn't even notice Lillian was missing until her voice floated up from beside me, soft and playful. "You didn't get a drink."
Before I could respond, she set down a delicate porcelain cup in front of me—tea, perfectly steeped, with just a hint of honey. She took the seat beside me and folded her hands primly in her lap, watching me with that gentle smile that always made my chest flutter.
"Thank you," I said, trying not to sound too breathless.
"It's nothing," she replied, voice smooth and quiet. "I like looking after you."
I didn't respond to that—mostly because I couldn't. My heart was already tying itself in knots just trying to stay in my chest.
The meal passed slowly, comfortably. Laughter came easily. Even Diana looked more relaxed than usual, her sharp edges softened by the warmth of the morning and the closeness around the table.
It was so normal.
And maybe that was what made it feel so unreal.
Because normal didn't used to exist for me. Not like this.
Not filled with affection and warmth and teasing and love disguised as casual touches and quiet glances.
Not with girls who carved out space for me in their hearts and never once asked me to be anything but me.
After breakfast, none of us wanted to part ways immediately, so we lingered outside beneath the flowering arch of the courtyard trees. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in dappled gold, and the air carried that crisp kind of spring promise—the kind that felt like beginnings.
Claire pulled out her notebook, flipping through the pages as she launched into some overly ambitious plan about decorating the garden club with string lights and enchanted butterflies. Camille listened with half-lidded eyes, offering suggestions that Claire either took or dramatically rejected. Diana and Tessa stood to the side, speaking in low voices about upcoming class schedules and academy events, though Diana's gaze kept flicking toward me whenever she thought I wasn't paying attention.
And Lillian…Lillian reached down to adjust the sleeve of my uniform, brushing imaginary dust from my shoulder, her fingers lingering a second too long.
"Sera," she said quietly, catching my eye.
"Yes?"
She hesitated. And in that pause, the air changed. Stilled.
"There's something I want to ask you," she said.
I blinked, heart lurching a little. "Alright...?"
She took a small breath, steadying herself, and then smiled—not playful this time, not teasing. But soft. Hopeful.
"There's a formal coming up soon. A school event. A spring celebration."
I knew of it. It was the first major academy gathering of the season, usually hosted in the central ballroom. Students dressed up. Professors pretended not to see anything scandalous. The magic in the air always shimmered just a little brighter that night.
"I know you're not fond of attention," Lillian said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I'd like to ask you something selfish anyway."
She looked at me then, truly looked.
"Will you go with me?"
The world blurred for a second—not from shock, but from the emotion that hit like a soft, unexpected wave.
Not a demand.
Not a manipulation.
Just a request. A hope.
She could've asked in front of everyone, could've made a scene of it. But she didn't. She asked me quietly, respectfully, when she had me all to herself. She gave me the space to say no.
And maybe that was why I didn't want to.
Maybe that was why I couldn't.
"I'd like that," I said softly.
Lillian smiled—and gods, I didn't think it was possible for someone to glow that much in the sunlight. She reached for my hand, laced our fingers together gently, and gave it a single, grounding squeeze.
From the other side of the courtyard, Diana raised a brow.
Camille chuckled under her breath.
Claire stormed toward us dramatically, flailing her notebook in the air. "Ahem! Excuse me, excuse me—what was that?"
I blinked, pretending innocence. "What was what?"
"Don't play coy!" she pointed, utterly betrayed. "Did you or did you not just agree to go to the Spring Formal with Lillian without consulting your ever-devoted, exceptionally dazzling student council president-slash-garden club co-member?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Lillian, beside me, simply smiled. "She did. Very sweetly, too."
Claire gasped, scandalized. "Unfair! How long were you planning this?!"
Camille strolled up behind Claire with the most nonchalant grace possible, biting into an apple like she hadn't just watched the whole thing from a distance. "About time someone made a move. Honestly, I was starting to worry we'd need to choreograph a public confession or something."
"You were rooting for her?" Claire turned, betrayed again.
"Not exclusively," Camille said smoothly, then winked at me. "I like a good competition."
Tessa had approached silently, arms crossed, but the look in her crimson eyes was hard to mistake. Protective. Watchful. But not upset.
She gave a small nod. "As long as Sera's happy."
My heart stuttered at that. Tessa rarely said what she felt directly, but when she did, it hit harder than any grand speech. I managed a small smile in return, one she met briefly before turning her eyes elsewhere again, as if embarrassed by the sentiment.
Diana, of course, arrived last, languid and smug. "So it begins," she said with a light sigh. "The claiming."
"Claiming?" I asked, half-amused, half-wary.
She stepped in front of me, reaching down with two fingers to lift my chin gently—bold, elegant, maddening.
"Just remember, dear Sera," she murmured, her emerald eyes glittering, "Lillian may have secured the first dance... but the night is long."
I flushed. Of course I flushed.
Diana stepped back, smiling like she'd won something, even though nothing had technically started.
Camille leaned toward Lillian, amused. "You know she's going to try to upstage you, right?"
Lillian tilted her head, perfectly composed. "She's welcome to try."
The tension between them sparkled—cold elegance against coiled intellect, gentle defiance against teasing confidence—and for some reason, they both turned to look at me at the same time.
I suddenly felt like I was the prize in an invisible game I hadn't agreed to play, but also… didn't quite want to leave.
Claire let out a long, defeated sigh. "Fine. But I get to help you pick your dress, Sera."
"Seconded," Camille added.
Lillian smiled. "Only if she agrees."
Five pairs of eyes turned to me—each one expectant, each one too close, too much, too them.
And somehow, I laughed.
A full, unrestrained laugh. It surprised even me.
"Fine," I said breathlessly. "But only if we don't spend four hours arguing over color schemes."
"No promises," Claire grinned.
The others smiled too—smiles that warmed me all the way to my fingertips. Not one of them looked disappointed. Not one of them stepped away. They were all still there. Still close.
Still mine.
And as we walked back toward the main building together, sunlight painting the garden gold around us, I thought—
This spring was going to be full of love.