Page 33 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
CASPER
“ G host,” the king’s voice cuts through the still air, harsh and commanding, sending a chill down my spine.
Lailah steps back immediately, instinctively putting distance between us.
Her hands drop to her sides, clenched tightly, as though bracing for whatever is to come.
The air around her shifts, heavy with something fragile.
I see it—the slight tremble in her frame, the careful stillness of her breathing. She’s scared, but she hides it well.
“Father,” she says, her voice steady, though the undertone betrays her nerves. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
With measured steps, she moves past me. Her movements are controlled, as if each step keeps her emotions locked in place.
I stay where I am, my mask firmly in place, offering nothing—not a glance, not a word.
I can’t protect her here. Not from him. When her eyes dart toward me, seeking reassurance, I force myself to remain stone-cold. She knows better than to linger.
Her gaze shifts back to Clyde, who stands like a predator assessing his domain. His eyes follow her, before resting on me. The weight of his attention is suffocating, a silent declaration of ownership. Everything in this space—his daughter, this castle, the very air we breathe—belongs to him.
“You should hurry along, my sweet,” Clyde says, his tone deceptively soft, though cruelty drips from every syllable. “Your future husband may grow restless, and we both know his wandering eye doesn’t linger for long.”
Lailah’s shoulders stiffen, her head dipping ever so slightly as if to shield herself from the blow of his words.
Her posture, always regal, now feels like armor.
She doesn’t reply. Instead, she turns and walks toward the throne room doors, her steps quick but still composed.
The grand doors close behind her, the sound echoing through the silence.
I watch her go, my jaw tightening. When I shift my gaze back to Clyde, he’s already watching me, his expression cool and calculating.
“Careful, Your Grace,” I say, my tone cool and cutting. “Your mask is slipping.”
He doesn’t falter. Instead, he adjusts the cuff of his sleeve with ease, every movement a calculated display of control.
“Go on, Ghost,” he replies, his tone laced with mockery. “Or have you forgotten whose bed she was promised to warm?”
The venom in his words lands like a physical blow, but I hold my ground. I harden my stare, unflinching, refusing to let him see any hint of the anger threatening to surface. Silence is my shield, and I let it stretch long enough to suffocate his satisfaction.
After a beat, Clyde chuckles and turns toward the throne room, disappearing behind the same doors Lailah just passed through. I release a breath, my nerves easing only slightly.
Turning to the balcony, I let my gaze drift toward the gardens below.
The beauty of the moonlight dancing over the leaves feels hollow.
Lailah’s fear still hangs heavy in my mind, and the memory of her fleeting glance lingers like a bruise that won’t fade.
I run a hand over my jaw, trying to shake it.
She’s a force I can’t escape, no matter how much I try to steel myself against her.
I should leave, but I can’t. Not yet. My eyes drift toward the grand windows overlooking the ballroom. Inside, the golden glow of chandeliers bathes the room in a soft, opulent light.
And then I see her.
Lailah stands near the far side of the room, her back rigid as she speaks with someone. The distance makes it hard to tell, but her discomfort is evident in the way she holds herself—like a bird ready to take flight. I clench my jaw as I track her every move, unwilling to let her out of my sight.
The ballroom doors open, and Jason steps inside. His golden-brown hair catches the light as his polished figure cuts through the crowd. He moves with ease, his expression calm, but when his eyes find hers, something shifts. Lailah turns toward him, and their gazes meet.
She relaxes, just slightly, the rigidity in her shoulders easing as Jason crosses the room to her.
He bows his head in greeting, his lips curving into that warm, practiced smile he always wears.
She doesn’t smile back, but she doesn’t retreat either.
Their exchange is quiet, subtle, but it’s enough to make my heart sink.
I force myself to look away. Frustration churns within me, hot and relentless, as I grip the edge of the balcony railing. I’ve got to get out of here.
Turning abruptly, I leave the balcony, my steps echoing through the stone corridor as I descend the staircase.
The castle halls stretch long and empty, the distant sound of music and laughter fading with every step.
The cool night air greets me as I exit through the grand gates, the shadows of the forest looming ahead.
The path to the royal guards’ camp is narrow and uneven, winding its way through the outskirts of the castle grounds.
The moonlight filters through the treetops, casting dappled patterns on the dirt road.
The forest is quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant call of nocturnal creatures.
Legends say the woods are cursed, a place where men lose their way if they wander too deep.
But I’ve never feared the dark. It’s where I thrive.
Each step pulls me further from the castle, further from Clyde’s suffocating presence and the unbearable sight of Jason at Lailah’s side. The air is cooler here, more crisp, the scent of damp earth grounding.
As I approach the camp, the soft glow of firelight comes into view. Laughter and voices carry through the stillness, far too lighthearted for the gravity of the mission we’ve been tasked with. The guards are gathered around the flames, relaxed and carefree. They’ve forgotten why we’re here.
Lieutenant Jenkins notices me first, raising his cup with a grin.
“Commander! Come join us! Even ghosts deserve a drink now and then.”
I don’t break stride, offering him nothing but a cold glance that silences whatever else he was about to say. My steps carry me past the fire and toward my tent, where solitude waits like a sanctuary.
“Commander, won’t you join us?” The words slither through the night, sweet but laced with something cunning.
Fingers brush my shoulder—soft and venomous.
Turning slowly, I find her standing there. Vanessa. Her dark eyes glint with pleasure, though there’s always a cruelty lurking just beneath. In her hand, she holds a drink, an offering as much as a challenge.
“Join us,” she murmurs, her voice just above a whisper. “There’s always room for one more at the fire.”
“What do you want, Vanessa?”
Her smile widens, slow and sly, the kind of expression meant to unsettle.
“To celebrate,” she says, stepping closer. Her sleek, straight hair falls perfectly around her angular features, catching the faint light from the fires behind her.
“It’s a special night, after all. Surely you’re not avoiding the festivities in honor of our dear princess’s engagement?”
Her words are light, but they twist like a knife. She studies me, tilting her head slightly, her eyes searching for cracks in my composure. Vanessa is beautiful in the way that storms are beautiful—impossible to ignore but certain to leave destruction in their wake .
I take the drink from her hand, more out of irritation than interest, and let the taste brush against my tongue.
Sweet. Too sweet. The cloying flavor clings to my senses, unwelcome and suffocating.
Without a second thought, I discard the glass, the sound of liquid splashing against the dirt breaking the momentary silence.
“Next time,” I say, meeting her gaze, “if you’re trying to seduce me, keep in mind I’m not fond of sweet things.”
Her lips curl, her dark eyes gleaming.
“Oh, Commander, I was counting on that” she murmurs, stepping closer.
My jaw tightens as I hold her gaze, the challenge in her expression sparking something within me. She thrives on this—testing, pushing, always trying to find the limit.
I step in close, dropping my voice so only she can hear.
“Careful, Vanessa,” I say, my tone cold as steel. “If you worked your knives as hard as you do your mouth, you might actually be useful.”
Her composure slips, just barely, and I press the point further.
“But then again,” I add, letting my gaze sweep over her, “If only there were a brain behind that pretty face.”
Her lips part, but no response comes fast enough to fill the silence. I step past her, not sparing her another glance, though I feel her eyes burning into my back.
Vanessa is venom, pure and simple. A warm body, nothing more.
She offers distraction, fleeting and empty, and tonight, even that feels beneath me.
I’m not the kind of man who dulls his mind with cheap comforts or meaningless embraces.
As much as I’d like to bury this night and everything it’s dragging with it, there’s only one woman who fills my thoughts, and she isn’t here.
When I step into my tent, the emptiness that has been gnawing at me all evening intensifies, like claws digging deeper into my chest. The ache, one I’ve carried since the moment I felt Lailah’s touch, refuses to be ignored.
Her absence looms over me, a shadow I can’t escape.
I move to the small table, extinguishing the candle with a quick breath leaving the tent cloaked in darkness and taking with it the last traces of warmth and light from the evening.
In the suffocating silence, everything about tonight—the frustration, the conflict, the unbearable tension—slips away, leaving me alone with only the lingering echo of Lailah’s touch. It’s maddening. Even in solitude, she’s there, filling every void, refusing to let go.