Page 27 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

“ W ake up, sleepyhead!” Sera’s voice rings through the haze of my pounding headache, pulling me from the restless edge of sleep.

The pain in my head feels like an anchor, a dull throb that refuses to let go, and I know exactly what caused it. I don’t cry often. Not truly. Tears have become more of a tool than a release, a weapon I’ve learned to wield against those foolish enough to believe in my vulnerability.

My father taught me early on that exploiting weakness, especially my own, is a powerful advantage. Real tears, however, come with a cost. The rare times they escape my defenses, they leave me like this. My head pounds, my body feels heavy, and emotions claw at the fragile edges of my resolve.

These tears weren’t planned or calculated; they were raw, driven by the sting of being broken by someone I trusted. And now, in their aftermath, I feel exposed, the pain in my head a relentless reminder of Jason’s betrayal, of the cost of letting my guard down.

The fading light of dusk filters into the room as Sera sweeps back the curtains, flooding the space with a soft amber glow.

Tonight is the night of my engagement hunt.

Invitations have already gone out, preparations are underway, and the weight of expectation presses against my shoulders.

Vampires approach betrothals differently from humans.

Where humans revere modesty and purity, vampires revel in indulgence and spectacle.

My father, ever determined to secure my place in his world, has ensured that I’m treated as one of his own, despite my mortal blood.

But his vision for me has always clashed with human ideals.

Over the years, he sent countless young men to my chambers, each a carefully chosen gift meant to awaken some imagined desire within me.

He wanted me to explore, to experience life in a way only he knew.

Yet, I never let any of them touch me. His persistent efforts only strengthened my resolve, solidifying the walls I’ve built around myself.

Physical touch has always been complicated.

In my childhood, it was absent—or cruel.

Rocks, mud, and fists from children who feared what they didn’t understand were the closest things I had to touch.

No one reached out to comfort me, not until Lucas.

Lucas understood being an outsider. He would share stolen moments of warmth—a shared laugh, a quiet assurance—that made the world feel just a little less hostile.

Even now, I carry those memories with me, small and bright, in a life otherwise dominated by shadows.

When I came here, my father was the next to show me kindness. He brushed my hair, had the servants scrub my skin clean, and stroked my brow until I fell asleep by the fire. Once, he even let me cry in his lap, though he made sure I understood that tears were a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Now, every touch feels amplified, as though years of deprivation have left my skin vulnerable and exposed.

The walls I’ve built keep most people at bay, but there are cracks—Lucas, my father, Sera…

and Jason. He was once a crack I welcomed, his warmth and steady presence something I thought I could rely on. But now, everything has changed.

He doesn’t know that I know, doesn’t know how his choices reshape the way I see him. Now, every memory feels tainted, as if his actions have poisoned the past.

I clench my fists, forcing the thoughts away.

This is not the time for weakness. Tonight, I must stand before a room full of vampires and present myself as the flawless princess, the symbol of my father’s power and ambition.

There is no space for anger, no room for my feelings.

My pain is mine alone to carry, and I can’t afford for anyone—least of all Jason—to see how deeply his betrayal has cut me.

The pounding ache in my head refuses to fade.

With a deep breath, I lift my trembling hand to my temple, allowing a thread of magic to flow through my fingers.

The familiar hum reverberates across my skin, soothing the pain and cooling the heat beneath my palms. The relief is instant.

As I lower my hand, the tips of my fingers feel numb, the cold lingering like frostbite.

I flex them absently, trying to shake the sensation away.

“Lailah!” Sera’s resounding clap jolts me from my thoughts, her voice crisp and full of determination.

There’s no room for hesitation in her tone.

“We need to get you ready!” She’s already moving, heading toward the bathing chamber as if her energy alone can carry me through this night.

The faint scent of lavender and vanilla wafts into the air as she unscrews a jar of salts and pours them into the steaming water, filling the room with an almost intoxicating warmth.

I press my chilled hands to my temples again, more out of habit than need, before letting them drop to my sides.

I take a steadying breath and follow Sera into the bathing chamber, the sheet wrapped tightly around me, my bare feet padding softly against the cool floor.

The bathwater steams, tendrils of heat curling into the air as though they’re alive.

I dip my fingers into the water and wince at the scalding temperature.

Magic thrums at my fingertips as I cool the water.

The sensation leaves my fingers even colder, the faint numbness deepening, but I ignore it.

Behind me, Sera is distracted by my jewelry box, her hands carefully sifting through its contents with an expert’s precision .

The sheet slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet as I step into the bath.

The water envelops me, its warmth soothing the strain in my body.

I sink beneath the surface, letting the world above blur and fade.

The light filtering through the water turns the room into a shifting kaleidoscope of golds and ambers.

For a brief moment, I can pretend this evening, Jason, everything, doesn’t exist.

But the illusion shatters as I break the surface with a gasp, coughing as water slips down my throat. Sera’s gaze is steady, hovering between concern and amusement as she leans casually against the counter.

“Drowning again, are we?” she teases, her tone softened by the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

I wipe the water from my face, forcing a dry laugh.

“Don’t worry,” I reply, my voice light despite the storm brewing beneath. “I won't die before letting you dress me up in whatever gown and trinkets you’ve chosen for this evening.”

Sera smirks but says nothing as she moves closer, her hands automatically reaching for my hair. I let her work, her fingers deftly massaging soap into my scalp, the familiarity of her touch both grounding and bittersweet.

No one touches my bare hands anymore. Not since I learned to shield them.

It’s an unspoken rule that even Sera follows.

She skirts close to boundaries, but never crosses that line.

As she rinses the soap from my hair, her focus intent, I close my eyes, letting the motion soothe the dull ache still lingering in my chest.

The cool numbness in my fingertips remains, a reminder of the magic I used earlier, but I don’t mind. The lingering cold is a small price to pay for keeping my emotions in check. Tonight, I can’t afford to falter.

“Why were you crying?” Sera’s voice is soft but pointed, the words cutting through the quiet like a blade. Her hands still, waiting for a response.

The question catches me off guard. My lips part, but no words come. The truth lingers at the tip of my tongue, bitter and biting, but I swallow it down. Sera waits, her silence gentle but insistent .

“I heard you,” she continues, her tone tinged with hesitation. “I wanted to come to you, but…” Her voice falters, trailing off into a quiet sigh. “Are you okay?”

Her words threaten to crack the fragile shell of composure I’ve worked so hard to rebuild. I glance down at the water, hugging my knees as the bath’s warmth wraps around me. My arms tighten against my legs, and I lean forward, letting the silence stretch.

After a moment, Sera’s hands resume their work, the gentle motion of her fingers rinsing away the last traces of soap. It feels grounding amid the chaos swirling inside me, but her earlier question lingers, unanswered and unavoidable.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says softly, her voice steady and calm. “But you know I’m here, right?”

“I know,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. The words feel meaningless, but they’re all I can manage.

Sera doesn’t press further, her touch remaining steady and familiar as she finishes rinsing my hair. The silence is both a comfort and a reminder of the words left unsaid.

I sink lower into the water, letting the gentle ripples wash over me as Sera’s hands leave my hair.

Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she retrieves a linen cloth.

The cool air brushes against my skin when I rise from the bath, water cascading down in shimmering streams. Without a word, Sera steps forward, wrapping the cloth around me with quick, masterful movements that somehow feel both efficient and tender.

Once my body is dry, she wraps another towel carefully around my damp hair. Her movements are methodical, the quiet between us comfortable, almost meditative. I welcome the stillness.

After a moment, Sera picks up a brush with a knowing smile. My hair, though not thick, seems to defy the laws of reason, a mass of soft waves that refuses to be tamed. She often teases that the gods must have granted me magic just to wrestle with it, and for once, I almost believe her.

“What are you thinking for my hair tonight?” I ask, hoping to ease the tension in the room. This part of our routine has always been Sera’s favorite.