Page 16 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

“I like libraries,” I counter, raising a brow at her reflection. “Books don’t judge me.”

“True,” Sera quips, twisting a section of my hair with ease. “But books also don’t gasp in awe when you walk into a room.”

I huff out a laugh, trying to keep my head still as she works. Her fingers move quickly, weaving intricate patterns that sweep the hair at my crown into elegant braids. Loose waves tumble down my back, softening the complexity of the style.

“There,” she announces, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Gorgeous and intimidating. Just how I like you.”

I glance at my reflection, tilting my head to the side.

“I have to admit, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Sera beams, plucking a jar of rouge from the vanity.

“Of course I have. Now hold still.”

She dabs a swipe of deep red onto my lips, leaning in to perfect the edges with her fingertip. The bold color contrasts against my pale complexion, commanding attention. She turns next to the jewelry box, her hand hovering over several options before plucking out a pair of diamond drop earrings.

“These will do,” she says, holding them up for my approval.

I give her a faint nod, letting her fasten them in place. She adds the final touch—a long diamond necklace that drapes backward, its brilliance catching the light as it cascades down my spine.

“Perfect,” she declares, stepping back with an air of triumph. Her grin widens as she crosses her arms, her satisfaction written all over her face. “You’re ready to steal the breath from every soul in that room.”

I stand, turning slowly in front of the mirror. For a fleeting moment, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. There’s a quiet power in her, an elegance that feels both foreign and familiar. Discomfort creeps up my spine, but I push it aside.

I reach for the pair of black silk gloves lying neatly on the vanity and slip them on, letting the fabric over my fingers, smooth and cool, as though sealing me into the image of the woman I’m supposed to be.

I flex my hands briefly, the silk molding to the contours of my fingers, offering both a barrier and a comfort I’ve come to rely on.

“Ready?” Sera asks, her voice gentler now.

My gloved fingers drift to my wrist, the motion instinctive. They pause. Even through the silk, I feel its absence like a missing piece. My brows draw together. The bracelet.

I turn toward the vanity, where it rests exactly where I left it—out in the open, as if waiting.

I lift it carefully and fasten it over my glove, smoothing it into place.

The silver catches the light, delicate but certain.

When I glance up, I catch her reflection in the mirror.

Her smile soft, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Not from sadness. Something warmer, fuller.

I turn and step toward her, wrapping my arms around her before I can change my mind. She exhales softly, surprised, then leans in without hesitation, hugging me tightly. When I step back, I draw a breath, steady and slow, and let it settle the nerves rising beneath my skin. My shoulders straighten.

“I’m ready.”

The corridors stretch before us like a labyrinth.

The cool air brushes against my face, carrying with it the faint scent of wax from the candles in their sconces.

My steps are steady, the sound of my heels echoing in the vastness of the space around me.

Beside me, Sera moves with the same quiet precision, her presence reassuring as we navigate the castle’s cold, silent grandeur.

As the double doors of the dining hall come into view, Sera slows. Her steps falter ever so slightly, and though I don’t turn my head, I feel her gaze linger on me. Then she leans in, her voice low and steady.

“You don’t have to be perfect tonight. Just be yourself. ”

A hint of a smirk touches her lips as she pulls back, her eyes gleaming with quiet confidence.

“You don’t have to prove anything to them.”

I clench my jaw and give her a small nod. I don’t trust my voice to answer, but she seems to understand. She always does.

Sera steps away, leaving me vulnerable to the magnitude of the duty ahead. I keep my chin high, my stride unbroken, each step carrying me closer to the inevitable.

The grand doors loom ahead, their intricate carvings telling the stories of a kingdom forged in blood and ambition. Candlelight dances across the surface, illuminating the gilded edges with a faint, almost sinister glow. As I push them open, the low murmur of conversation within fades.

When I enter the dining hall, silence greets me like an old adversary.

My father and Jason’s family are already seated, their heads turning as one to watch my approach.

Jason rises from his seat as I enter. Naturally, I am the last to arrive.

A princess should never wait on others—it would be impolite.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Jason says, kind and warm, though there’s a stiffness in his posture that betrays an inner apprehension.

“I’m glad you approve,” I reply with a faint smile. My gaze lingers on him as I study the quiet conflict beneath his composed exterior.

My father chuckles, his deep voice commanding as he pours himself another glass of blood.

“You’ll find that my sweet here rarely requires anyone’s approval, Jason. That’s what makes her so... effective .”

Jason’s father leans back slightly, his eyes sweeping over me with something between amusement and disdain. “Effective, perhaps. But I can’t help but wonder how... revealing such boldness can be. The court will certainly be talking about her for days.”

“They already do,” I say lightly, lowering myself into the seat across from Jason. “Though I doubt it’s always kind.”

“Kindness is overrated,” my father remarks, swirling his goblet lazily. “Power commands respect, and respect lasts far longer.”

Jason’s father smiles faintly, his tone clipped as he responds .

“Respect may last longer, Clyde, but propriety ensures stability. Too much... openness can invite speculation. One must be cautious of what’s put on display.”

My father leans back, a grin spreading across his face, his tone taking on a mockingly casual air.

“Propriety? Speculation? You sound like someone who’s never attended one of our parties, Striden. Let me tell you something about vampires—our court isn’t built on shame or modesty. Skin, indulgence, and a bit of debauchery? That’s just a good old-fashioned evening in our court.”

The table falls quiet for a beat, his blunt humor cutting through the tension like a knife. Striden’s expression falters slightly, but he doesn’t respond, clearly caught off guard. My father presses on, his grin turning sharp.

“If you’re planning to join this family, you’ll need to learn to loosen that tight collar of yours. We live longer than you humans do—it’s only right we enjoy it. Passion keeps us alive, Striden. You should try it sometime.”

Jason shifts slightly across from me, his lips pressing into a faint smile, clearly trying to suppress his enjoyment of his father’s discomfort.

His gaze meets mine, and the humor dancing in his eyes catches me off guard.

I quickly look away, focusing on my goblet as though the rim of the glass holds some profound secret.

Lady Elenor clears her throat delicately.

“Customs differ greatly between courts,” she begins smoothly, her voice calm but tinged with formality. “Speaking of which, Clyde, I hear the hunt is one of... particular significance.”

My father’s grin widens, clearly delighted by the mention.

“Ah, yes—the engagement hunt. It’s one of my favorite customs. Nothing quite like a good chase to remind everyone of what’s at stake.”

Lord Striden straightens, his brow furrowing.

“As I understand it, the groom hunts for a stag while vampires... hunt his bride. Seems a rather grim sort of tradition.”

My father chuckles, utterly at ease .

“Grim? Not at all. It’s symbolic. The groom proves his worth by providing for his bride, and the vampires—well, we remind everyone that there’s always something lurking in the shadows. The quicker the groom finds the stag, the quicker he can return to his bride and claim her.”

“But let me be clear,” he continues. “A groom’s devotion to his bride is far greater than a wife’s devotion to her husband. A wife is expected to honor her vows, but a groom must show he can protect and provide for her in the face of danger. It’s a test of his instincts, determination, and love.”

My cheeks warm under this pointed gesture, and I focus on the table in front of me, hiding a smile. Despite everything, excitement stirs deep in my chest—a hesitant bloom of something I haven’t dared to feel in so long.

Three days of binding. That’s what they call it—an ancient practice meant to tether two souls together through trial, union, and love.

The first day, the engagement ball, where the groom proves his worth by hunting a prize, a test of strength. It’s more than tradition; it’s a moment for the couple to face trials together.

The second evening marks the couple’s first meal together as an official pair.

A dinner shared before the court, where they sit side by side, eat, and dance.

This is the moment when the court sees their unity and their harmony, a reflection of the strength they are expected to embody as husband and wife.

And then, the third and final night: the wedding itself.

A night steeped in mysticism and magic, where masks conceal identities and the vampire waltz brings the bride and groom together one last time.

Each masked dancer represents a possibility, a choice, tempting them, pulling them apart.

Only when they find each other through the sea of masked strangers can their union be considered complete.

It’s a story of love, destiny, and trust—one meant to celebrate not just the couple, but the bond they’re forging for their kingdom.