Page 18 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

A tense silence blankets the table. Striden leans back in his chair, unimpressed, and speaks with the disinterest of a man swatting at a fly.

“An impressive analysis,” he says, voice cool.

“Particularly from someone who, as I recall, was found outside the city gates with nothing to her name” He turns to swirl the wine in his glass, adding almost idly, “Your grasp of diplomacy is surprisingly well-developed... for someone with no lineage to inherit it from. ”

The insult coils through the air like smoke. I meet his gaze now, calm but unyielding.

“I may not have had an inheritance to define my place in this world, Lord Striden,” I say, my voice smooth but pointed. “But let’s not forget, I was given a crown. I didn’t take one.”

Jason’s father’s lips press into a thin line, his silence a tacit acknowledgment of my retort. Across the table, Jason’s gaze shifts to me, his expression softening.

“Spoken like someone who knows how to navigate a room,” Jason says, his tone pointed enough to draw the focus away from the clash between his father and me.

Clyde chuckles, the sound low and amused as he leans back in his chair, the room already bending around the weight of his voice.

“Right you are Jason!” he says, his eyes sliding to me with something between pride and possession. “She could silence a room with her face alone, but lucky for us—her mind’s even sharper than her tongue.”

Striden lifts his glass with a small smirk.

“Sharp tongue, indeed.”

I nod slightly in acknowledgment, grateful for Jason’s intervention. In this room, the dinner may be a game, but Jason and I are not opponents. We’ve just begun to play, and it’s clear we’re on the same side.

As my father sets his glass down, I reach out and place my hand over his.

His grip is firm, steady, and his gaze drops to our joined hands.

His eyes catch on the silver bracelet at my wrist, narrowing slightly, his proud expression faltering for the briefest breath.

Still, he looks up at me with a rare smile.

It’s a fleeting moment of tenderness, calculated, as his affection so often is.

Still, when he leans over to press a kiss to my temple, it stirs a sense of safety I can’t quite explain.

And deep inside, the part of me that once cried in the dark—small, scared, and desperate to be seen—feels, for just a moment, held.

“I believe the sun is about to rise, Lord Striden,” my father announces, his commanding tone slicing through the waning conversation.

“It’s time for us to depart. However, I look forward to the hunt.

It will be a fitting celebration of the union between my daughter and your son.

” He raises his glass, his eyes briefly flashing with something that might be pride.

I rise with him, slipping my arm through his, ever the obedient daughter, and together we head toward his study.

“Goodnight, Princess,” Jason calls softly from behind.

Pausing, I glance over my shoulder to meet his steady gaze. A blush creeps unbidden across my cheeks, and I nod quickly, unable to summon a reply. Turning away, I let my father lead me forward, leaving Jason—and the quiet understanding between us—behind.

Inside the study, the air shifts, now heavier and charged. My father moves with purpose, gliding over to his imposing desk and lowering himself into the grand chair behind it. His elbows rest on the polished surface, fingers steepled as he studies me. A sly, curious smile tugs at his lips.

“What’s making you smile?” I ask, easing into the chair opposite him, the weight of his scrutiny settling on my shoulders.

He chuckles, a low, indulgent sound that echoes off the dark-paneled walls. “I’m simply wondering why you’re still here, my sweet, when your prince charming waits just beyond those doors.”

I shake my head, glancing toward the fireplace. The flames sway and crackle, and I lose myself in their hypnotic dance before forcing my focus back to my father. He hasn’t stopped watching me, his expression expectant.

“Why him?” The question escapes before I can rein it in, my own doubt woven into every syllable.

His eyes narrow slightly, the tension in the air growing. He leans back, his chair creaking faintly under his movements. The silence that follows is as calculated as every other decision.

“Are you not pleased with my choice?” he finally asks flatly, betraying neither irritation nor concern.

“Why him?” I repeat, my voice firmer now, refusing to let the moment dissolve without an answer.

He rises slowly to stand beside me, his shadow stretching long and ominous in the firelight, but I hold my ground, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

The faint satisfaction glinting in his eyes sets my teeth on edge.

He has always nurtured my curiosity, relished in my questioning nature—yet only when it suits his agenda.

With a slight tilt of his head, he gestures toward the wall behind his desk.

“What do you see?”

I follow his gaze to the sprawling map of our kingdom.

The intricate markings charting every border and territory feel like chains, binding me to a legacy I never asked for.

My attention is drawn, almost unwillingly, to the Castle of Astelis—a desolation that haunts me, its fall an unintentional consequence of my magic.

“ Ruin .”

My father watches me intently, his expression as stoic as ever, save for the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. To him, the kingdom is a puzzle yet to be solved, an empire waiting to be seized. To me, it is a tapestry of sins—his and mine—woven so tightly they are indistinguishable.

He steps closer, his hands cupping my face with a gentleness that feels more calculated than kind. “I need you to marry Jason Striden of Alystan, because there is something only he can offer me,” he says, his tone cutting through the haze of doubt with surgical precision.

My breath catches, but I don't let the silence linger this time.

“And what might that be?” The question slices through the air and I see the shift in his eyes—mirth, or perhaps a warning.

He merely smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting as he steps even closer. With a single finger beneath my chin, he tilts my face up to his, a mockingly tender pout playing on his lips.

“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, my sweet,” he murmurs, his voice soft like silk wrapped around thorns. “You’re getting everything you ever wanted.”

I search his eyes, still desperate for clarity, for something that might ground me.

But all I find are layers of veiled intent, each more impenetrable than the last. My breath hitches as I consider pressing further, but I know better.

Pushing him will yield nothing but more deflection and manipulation .

Instead, I nod—small, resolute, and entirely empty.

“Excellent,” he replies, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he turns back toward his desk. The conversation, in his mind, is over.

I rise, making my way toward the door with slow, measured steps. Pausing at the threshold, I glance back at him, his figure framed by the warm glow of the firelight. His attention is already elsewhere, his focus on the map that looms over the room.

“Goodnight, Father,” I say quietly, the words slipping out with rehearsed ease.

He doesn’t look up, but the faintest smile touches his lips. “Goodnight, my sweet.”

I turn and step into the corridor, the heavy door closing softly behind me.

The echoes of our conversation linger, unspoken questions swirling in my mind.

Whatever plans he has set in motion, I know they will not reveal themselves easily.

Still, as I walk away, I can’t help but feel that the answer is already within reach—just waiting for the right moment to be uncovered.