Page 49 of Raising the Sun

Everything was hazy, my laser focus on situating the flowers so perfectly that their plainness would be overlooked. I fluffed out the arrangement with greenery, aiming for a more rustic, forest-fairy beauty instead of the classic refinery. I’d restarted twice, first unhappy with the shape, then angry that the petals weren’t falling in the direction I’d wanted them to. I got myself on track eventually, but I’d wasted so much time, and there were still so many flaws.

Maybe I could borrow some spares from a neighbouring stall, replace the lilies with literallyanythingelse, or add in a few—

“Time’s up!” the host called, and I recoiled in alarm.

The timer had crept up on me, and as I stood there with a white lily between my fingers, staring down at my piece—barely finished and not at all what I’d envisioned—I felt my whole body drain of energy.

It’s not enough.

This time, when the judges did their inspections, it felt like hours instead of minutes. All I could do was disappear into my head, listen to the voices scrutinising my work, criticising everything I’d missed, and finding fault. It had only taken one hurdle to sweep my feet out from under me, to topple the illusion of smooth sailing. Anyone else would’ve had backups, would’ve shrugged and moved on without spending so much time faffing around over details that didn’t fuckingmatter. I shouldn’t have chosen simplicity. I should’ve gone all out and piggybacked off the vibes of my last piece—the reason they’d put me through.

Why, today of all days, had I decided to be such an idiot?

My feet were restless with the wait, tapping out a rhythm as my eyes tracked the judges like a hawk’s, stomach twisting as spot after spot for the final was filled, but not by me. Ash laced his fingers through mine, a silent reassurance, though a tally from the host had my anxiety rising.

There was one space left, and when the judges drifted closer to my table, my breath caught in my lungs. They seemed to be debating between three of us, humming and hawing as if we weren’t all dying for the results. None of our arrangements were similar, not even the general shape, and mine was, without question, the simplest. One lass had gone for a tropical theme, all yellows, blues, and pinks, while the other had captured full glamour with glitter-dipped petals and gold accents—probably something Ash would have created.

I stood no chance.

Except, defying all rationality, one of the judges broke away from the group and strode towards me, a friendly smile on her face, her hand extended. It genuinely felt like a dream, and the relief that swept through me once her fingers uncurled from mine had my knees buckling, the thundering applause a distant warble in my ears.

I may have teared up.

Sagging onto the table like a puppet without strings, my head fell into my hands, and Ash rubbed soothing circles on my back, cooing softly.

“Well done, pet,” he said before fetching a bottle of water and urging me to drink. I did so on autopilot, parched yet barely registering the coolness sliding down my dry throat as I keenly observed the unsuccessful participants packing up their stalls with dejected expressions before leaving the tent.

That could have been me.

What if I’m next?

I’d scraped through by the skin of my teeth, and highly doubted I’d be so lucky a second time, especially when I hadn’t yet decided on the design for my showpiece and only had two hours to pull it off. I’d brought all of my supplies with me, every last flower and stand, in the hopes that something would spark in the moment. That I’d have this great epiphany and it would all work out fine.

But even as the crowd and official counted down from three, the alarm blared, and the other finalists got stuck in, I was completely blank.

Pressure built, the feeling of being way out of my depth crushing against my chest. I hadn’t prepared for this to be so frantic and fast paced. I hadn’t really prepared at all.

People studied me from the sidelines, spectators gawking at my inaction as they chatted among themselves, snacks in hand like they were at the pictures. The judges watched me andwhispered, probably wondering why the hell I was the only one just standing behind my table like a deer in headlights.

What was it I’d said about believing in myself?

Was it too late to reconsider?

“I lied,” I mumbled to no one in particular, taking slow, steady breaths so I didn’t hyperventilate. “I can’t do this. I really can’t do this.”

Ash was there in an instant, guiding me into a chair at the side as he crouched between my legs. He had that look in his eyes again, the one I’d noticed the other day but hadn’t dared to hope meant anything. His hands were warm and gentle as they stroked my thighs, the touch distracting enough to curb the welling panic. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

“You can do anything, petal,” he said once I was more aware, the world around us no longer muddled and foggy as if underwater, but still narrowed down to him and me. “I do not throw my belief around blindly. If you were not capable, you’d have received no lies from me, but Isaac…” He cradled my hand in his, caressing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “You are the most impressive little creature I have ever met. You have managed to astound me at every turn, and have become something of great importance to me.”

There was a brief pause before a soft laugh escaped him, as if he’d come to some sort of internal conclusion. He entwined our fingers, bringing them to his lips. “Be it by mistake, fate, or intention, I am glad that you summoned me.”

I shook my head, a stray tear rolling down my cheek. “You’re only saying that because you have no choice. Once you’re free, you’ll forget me.”

An alien expression flickered over Ash’s face. Was that… guilt? “The spell is already broken,” he admitted, lowering our hands but not letting go. My brow furrowed. “You freed me the moment you realised your worth, and I’m still here, exactly where I want to be. With you, my darling.”

My chest was tight for another reason entirely now, my heart threatening to leap straight out of my throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“This is new territory for me,” he said, and it was a shock to see him deliberately being so vulnerable, laying his emotions bare out in the open for anyone to see—cameras, contestants, everyone. I bit my tongue to stifle even my weakest of breaths. I didn’t want to miss a single word, or cause him to stop. “I had to be sure that my feelings for you weren’t a product of the spell. I now know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they are not.”

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