Page 12 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

H ours had passed since Sera’s attempts to make me ready—her fingers weaving through my hair, her voice a gentle hum meant to steady my nerves.

But no amount of soft hands or whispered reassurance could prepare me for this.

Now, seated beside my father on the throne, the weight of eyes and expectations pressing in from all sides, my fingers toy with the edge of my gloves, the satin pulled taut beneath my restless grip.

A wave of nervous energy surges through me, making it impossible to stay still. The thought of seeing Jason again—of standing before him, not as the girl he once knew but as his intended wife—unsettles me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Memories surface, vivid and haunting. Before Sera, Jason was the first human I was ever permitted to truly know within the Vampire King’s court.

In a world dominated by vampires, where elegance veiled danger and every interaction was a calculated dance of power, Jason had been a rare source of light.

He didn’t belong in the shadows, and yet he navigated them with surprising ease, never afraid to approach me when everyone else kept their distance.

He was different. He never feared me the way the others did.

He didn’t flinch at my gloves or whisper about the scars they concealed.

Instead, he was curious, earnest, and unrelenting in his efforts to draw me out.

He treated me like I wasn’t some rare creature to be revered or avoided. He treated me like I was human.

I remember slipping away from my lessons, restless and frustrated with the endless expectations placed on me.

The tutors droned on about history, diplomacy, and the intricacies of court politics, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I’d retreat to one of my two favorite hiding places—the underground library with its labyrinth of bookshelves and hushed silence, or the willow tree in the farthest corner of the garden, its drooping branches forming a sanctuary where the world couldn’t reach me.

But Jason always found me.

“You’re hiding again,” he’d say, his voice warm as he stepped into view.

“I’m not hiding,” I’d retort, glaring at him even as a small smile tugged at my lips. “I’m avoiding.”

“Avoiding is just a fancy way of hiding,” he’d reply, settling beside me with an easy grin. “What are we avoiding today? Diplomacy? Proper posture? Or the entire court?”

“All of it,” I’d mutter, plucking at a blade of grass or tracing the spines of books in the library. “They stare at me like I’m some sort of… thing.”

“You’re not a thing,” he said firmly, his grin softening into something more serious. “You’re Lailah.”

His words always disarmed me, cutting through the layers of frustration and loneliness I carried. He made it seem so simple, as if my existence didn’t have to be weighed down by power or duty. As if just being me was enough.

Jason wasn’t just kind. He was daring in ways I hadn’t realized until much later. He’d pluck flowers from the meticulously maintained vampire gardens, the thorns cutting into his hands, and hand them to me as if they were treasures.

“They’re beautiful,” he’d say, holding up a rose with a bloody finger. “But not as beautiful as the girl I’m giving them to. ”

I’d roll my eyes and laugh, shaking my head. “ That may be the most pathetic attempt at charm I’ve ever witnessed.”

“And yet you’re smiling,” he’d counter, his grin infectious.

We spent hours like that, escaping the world together.

He’d talk about his dream of becoming a knight, even though it was impossible for someone like him.

The heir to House Striden wasn’t meant to wield swords or ride into battle.

His path was already set—lands to manage, alliances to uphold—but that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

“I’d be the best knight,” he’d declare, puffing out his chest dramatically. “And I’d protect you from everything.”

“You think I need protecting?” I’d challenge, arching an eyebrow.

“No,” he’d admit, his voice softer, his golden-brown eyes meeting mine. “But I’d like to protect you anyway.”

Those moments had meant more to me than I ever admitted, even to myself. He made me feel safe—not because he could shield me from the world, but because, with him, I didn’t have to be the Vampire King’s daughter or a monster. I could just be Lailah.

Now, standing on the edge of this new chapter, these memories feel almost fragile, as though they belong to a different world. The boy I knew is gone, replaced by a man I barely recognize. Who is he now? And will he still see me the way he once did?

Lost in thought, I’m startled when my father’s cold hand settles over mine.

The gesture is uncharacteristically tender, a subtle acknowledgment of my unease.

I glance up at him, taking in his regal, unyielding presence.

He has always kept me close, treating me like his most cherished treasure.

And yet, here he is, ready to entrust me to someone else.

The idea feels foreign, impossible even.

My black-gloved hand tightens around his as he leans down, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

His piercing gaze lingers on our entwined hands, a silent reminder of who I am: the daughter of the Vampire King, the most powerful witch of this generation.

Raised for strength. Honed for purpose. Cherished, yes—but always for what I could become .

And yet, even this power can’t quiet the doubt gnawing at the edges of my mind.

Jason.

The name has lived tucked away in my heart for years, quiet but present. But those were the years of childhood—before I accepted the heavy mantle of who I was meant to be. Before he disappeared without a word.

I remember the day I wanted to tell him how I felt.

It took every ounce of courage I had, but I finally decided.

I rehearsed the words over and over in my mind, determined to say them aloud.

But when I arrived at our usual spot for lessons, his seat was empty, his books gone.

No explanation, no goodbyes. His father had taken him back to their human territory the night before.

I spent weeks hoping he’d return, the ache of his absence settling deep within me. But he never came back. So I buried the feelings, letting them harden into something unspoken. Impenetrable. Something no one could reach, not even him. And now, here he is, about to step back into my life.

My chest tightens, nerves twisting themselves into knots. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he looks at me now and sees only the monster I’ve become?

“Something troubles you, my sweet,” my father observes, setting down my hand.

I glance up at him, startled out of my thoughts. “I’m fine,” I reply too quickly, more callous than intended.

His brow lifts ever so slightly, his mouth curling into a knowing grin.

“You’ve never been a convincing liar,”

I take a breath to steady myself, lowering my gaze to the polished floor. “It’s nothing, Father. I’m just… nervous.”

“Nervous?” He tilts his head, studying me. “You’ve faced wars, assassins, and councils of men who would have gladly seen you dead. I find it hard to believe a meeting with an old friend could unsettle you. ”

“It’s not the meeting,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “It’s everything that comes after.”

He pauses, his gaze unwavering. Then he nods, as though understanding more than I’ve said aloud.

“You are my daughter,” he says finally, his tone firm but not unkind. “You carry power unlike any I have seen, and you will wield it wisely. Have I ever asked something of you that you could not achieve?”

“No,” I admit softly.

He lifts my chin with a single finger, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And you will not falter now, my sweet.”

Before I can respond, the heavy wooden doors creak open, the sound reverberating through the throne room. My breath catches, and my father straightens beside me, his commanding presence a reminder of the image I must uphold.

The soft light of dawn spills through the doors, casting an amber glow across the dark stone floor. My heart stirs, beating faster with each step that echoes through the room.

Lord Jeffery Striden is the first to enter.

His broad frame, once robust and imposing, now carries the weight of age and indulgence.

His skin is pallid, his once-proud jawline softened by years of luxury.

Sparse gray hair struggles to hide his scalp, and his ornate robes strain slightly at the seams. Despite his appearance, there’s still a trace of the man who once commanded respect—his posture is straight, and his gaze is calculating.

Beside him, Lady Elenor Striden follows with measured steps, her delicate frame enveloped in an opulent gown of emerald silk.

Her golden hair, streaked with silver, is swept into an intricate twist, though she wears it like a mask rather than a crown.

Her downcast eyes, framed by soft wrinkles, avoid my gaze entirely, as though my presence is too much for her to bear.

But it is Jason who commands my full attention, as if the rest of the room dissolves into shadow.

The boy I once knew—the one who chased me through hidden corridors and tenderly placed roses into my hands—has grown into something remarkable, almost otherworldly. It feels almost cruel, the way time has carved away his boyish softness and replaced it with sharp edges and effortless grace.