Page 11 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
My eyes drift toward the northern edge of the map, where the ruins of Castle Astelis are marked with a faded ink star—barely more than a smudge on parchment, as if time itself tried to forget it.
A knot coils in my stomach, slow and sickening.
The shame is instant and searing, wrapping its fingers around my chest, clawing higher until it presses against my throat.
That place is ash now. A ghost. And yet, it’s where my story began—where magic first tore through flesh and blood, where a child’s scream turned a kingdom to dust .
I don’t remember it. But it haunts me just the same.
My breath catches, something like grief stirring inside me before I can lock it down. Clyde steps forward, his silhouette severing the map in two, casting Castle Astelis into shadow. As if he knows. As if he’s always known.
“Eyes on the living, Lailah,” he says, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet. “You’ll be standing beside Jason soon enough.”
Jason.
The name strikes something deep within me, stirring a flood of memories I can’t suppress.
His deep laughter, the way his warm brown eyes would light up when we debated over ancient texts in the library.
The way he used to look at me, as if I were more than a weapon, more than a witch.
We met when Clyde issued the summons, opening Duskmere’s gates to the noble houses of men, cloaking his ambition beneath the veil of unity.
Even then, Jason stood apart—steady, inquisitive, his gaze never flinching from mine.
My voice is barely above a whisper. “Jason…”
“Yes,” Clyde continues, his tone measured, as though allowing me a moment to absorb the news.
“He is loyal. Strong. A man of honor and conviction. He will not only ensure your happiness but solidify the kingdom’s strength.
I have chosen him carefully , my sweet, just as I have chosen every step of your path. ”
I know he believes this. To him, this isn’t just an arrangement; it’s another piece of his carefully crafted strategy, another move in the endless game of power. And yet, there’s something softer in his tone, something almost tender.
“This union is for the kingdom,” he says, his words laden with purpose. He pauses, letting the silence stretch before continuing, “but it is also for you.”
Another pause. His gaze lingers on me, searching, measuring.
“Jason has loved you for years, Lailah,” he continues. “Just as I believe you once cared for him.” A beat passes. “Perhaps you still do.”
The words strike deeper than I expect, and I struggle to find my voice. The boy I once knew, full of dreams and unshakable determination. The way he made me feel less alone in a world that has always feared me.
The question slips out before I can stop myself.
“Is that why he’s here?”
My father’s brow lifts, just slightly, the faintest hint of amusement touching his features.
“You are as perceptive as ever,” he says, his tone smooth, almost indulgent. “And here I thought I’d managed to keep that particular detail from you.”
I tilt my head slightly, meeting his gaze with feigned ease, though my pulse quickens.
“I have my ways,” I reply lightly, a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips.
He smiles, approval mingling with intrigue. “Indeed.”
“When will I see him?” I ask, my voice steady, though my heart is anything but. My pulse thrums in my ears, and I force myself to hold his gaze, refusing to give away how the question burns inside me.
Clyde’s smile deepens, his amusement now fully formed.
“You’ll see him soon, my sweet,” he says smoothly. “Our meeting with him and his family is set for later today.”
The sudden certainty of it sends a rush of heat to my cheeks, and I turn away to gather myself. My fingers curl slightly at my sides, the parchment still held loosely in my grasp. I step closer to him, and before I can overthink it, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his cool cheek.
“Thank you, Father,” I say, the words quiet but genuine, as I feel the heat rising to my face again.
His gaze softens briefly, a whisper of warmth cutting through his icy demeanor.
“You are most welcome, my sweet,” he replies, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement he's made. But his keen eyes don’t miss the flush of my cheeks, and his smile tilts into something teasing.
“Though I must say, if you intend to greet him looking so…” He gestures vaguely toward my attire, his tone turning dry.
“ Practical , it might send the wrong message. ”
I raise a brow at him, my lips twitching at the corners.
“You know, most fathers would rather their daughters be more… prudent or modest.”
Clyde’s chuckle is low and rich as his eyes narrow slightly.
“I am a vampire, my sweet,” he says, his tone carrying a playful edge. “Indulgence is in our blood.”
His approval is rare, and though I bristle at the idea of bending to anyone’s expectations, I know there’s truth in what he says. I raise my chin, my voice steady but tinged with mock solemnity. “I’ll make sure I’m properly indulgent, then.”
“Very good, my sweet.”
I can feel his gaze lingering as I reach for the door.
My fingers grip the cool handle, and I glance back one last time.
His expression has softened, a rare showcase of paternal warmth breaking through his usual stoicism.
For a moment, I feel the heaviness of his expectations settle on my shoulders—not crushing, but constant.
“Remember, my sweet,” he says, “power is as much about presence as it is about action. Make them see what you are.”
I acknowledge the unspoken command behind his words.
“Of course, Father,” I reply steadily.
With that, I open the door and step into the corridor, letting it close softly behind me. The cool stone walls seem to hum around me, but for the first time in what feels like years, my heart feels light. I lean back against the wall, letting out a deep breath. Jason Striden’s wife .
The thought sends a rush of warmth through me that unfurls like a flower in bloom. I’ve wanted this for so long, to see him again, to have the chance to be something more than a fleeting memory to him. And now, it’s happening. My excitement swells, a giddy energy I can barely contain.
Lost in the whirlwind of possibilities, I barely notice where I am until a soft cough pulls me back to the present. I turn abruptly to see a guard standing nearby, his posture stiff and his face pale, as though he’s caught in a moment of pure panic.
A mischievous grin spreads across my lips as I take a step toward him, tilting my head.
His gaze flits nervously from my face to the floor, and I revel in the tension hanging in the air.
Slowly, I lift my hand and point two fingers at my eyes, then at him, holding the motion for a beat.
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.
“Boo,” I exclaim softly, the single word breaking the silence like a spark in dry kindling.
He flinches violently, stumbling back a step, and a bright, unrestrained laugh bursts from my lips. It spills into the corridor, echoing off the stone walls in melodic waves. Without thinking, I give him a playful slap on the shoulder.
“Oh, Gerald,” I laugh. “You know I like you!”
His lips part as though he’s about to respond, but I don’t give him the chance.
I skip away down the hall, my steps light and filled with a sense of joy I haven’t felt in ages.
My laughter trails behind me like a ribbon caught in the wind, filling the corridor with warmth and lightness.
The excitement surges with every step, spilling into the spaces where doubt used to linger.
Turning the corner, I spot Sera leaning casually against the stone wall. Her eyes catch mine instantly, and her lips pull into a knowing grin. She straightens as I approach, looping her arm through mine without a word.
“What did I miss?” she asks, curious, though the grin on her face tells me she already has a good idea.
“Oh, just Gerald being Gerald,” I reply lightly, glancing over my shoulder.
Gerald, still looking pale and flustered, watches us with wide eyes as Sera gives him a playful, flirty wave. She wiggles her fingers at him, her expression nothing short of mischievous. His face flushes crimson, and he stiffens further, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“You’re going to give him a heart attack,” I murmur, biting back a laugh as we walk away.
Sera leans in, her grin widening. “He’s a vampire. He’ll live,” she says breezily, radiating confidence.
Her nonchalance is infectious, and soon, my own laughter rises again, spilling into the air as we skip down the hall together, arm in arm. The energy between us is light and carefree, a perfect balance to the thrill coursing through my veins.
Jason Striden. The boy I once knew. The man he’s become. The man who will soon be my husband. The words repeat themselves in my mind, not as a duty or expectation, but as a promise of something I’ve wanted for longer than I can admit.
I glance down at the parchment I’m still holding in my hand, its edges slightly crumpled from my grip, and the realization strikes me again: I’m going to see him. Today.