Page 44 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at me at first. His eyes are locked on Jason, burning with a ferocity barely held in check.

But slowly, agonizingly slowly, the rage starts to dull at the edges.

He draws in a breath, steadying himself, though the restraint radiating from him is still a live wire beneath his skin.

And then, finally, he looks at me.

His eyes—haunted and vacuous, yet somehow still full of every unsaid thing—soften just enough to break me.

And in that fragile, blinking moment, I see it all: the regret, the ruin, the terrible realization that he let himself slip.

That he let me see the man beneath the mask.

That he let me touch something that was never meant to be touched.

And that, more than anything, was the mistake.

He doesn’t speak for a long time, but when he does, the words fall from him like ash.

“I’m sorry, Princess.”

I don’t know what hurts more—hearing him say it, or knowing he means it.

I open my mouth, unsure what I’m reaching for—an answer, a question, an anchor—but before I can speak, the clinking of glass echoes from the throne room beyond, a metallic thunder that fractures the moment in two. My name follows it, tossed carelessly into the air like it belongs to someone else.

Casper’s jaw tightens, and for a short while, he doesn’t move. I can see him fighting it—the pull of duty, the weight of all we’ve done, all we never said. His hand clenches at his side again, and there’s something in his eyes that pleads for forgiveness without ever asking for it.

Another call—louder this time. More urgent.

Casper steps past Jason without another glance, disappearing into the light and sound as if he had never been part of the dark. Jason watches him go, blood still fresh on his lip, his breath shallow and uneven. He looks broken—not just from the blow, but from something deeper.

“Lailah.” His voice is low, rough—cracking at the edges like something barely held together.

I move past him, unwilling to stop, but he rises quickly, closing the distance, and his fingers wrap around my wrist before I can slip away. The hold isn’t harsh, but it halts me, pulling me back into everything I tried to leave behind.

“I have nothing to say to you,” I say, my tone clipped, more blunt than I intended, but I don’t take it back.

When I turn to face him, the words have already carved the space between us. He recoils, not just in his eyes but in the way his body falters, like the blow landed deeper than he expected.

“Lailah,” he says again, this time softer—defeated, almost. “Please… ”

I freeze.

There’s something about the way he says it—some crack in the armor, some ache buried in the syllables—that makes my pulse stutter and my breath catch in a place I thought had long gone cold.

It settles in my spine, heavy and aching, a cruel reminder of everything he was supposed to be, of everything I was supposed to be beside him.

“We should go back inside,” I murmur, though the words feel false, like a lie I’m not even trying to believe.

“Tell me what he is to you,” Jason says, and though he keeps his voice low, the words like a gauntlet thrown at my feet. It’s not a question—it’s an accusation cloaked in desperation.

“Tell me what the hell I just walked in on.”

I turn slowly, deliberately, the motion controlled like every ounce of fury I don’t let rise to the surface.

“He’s not the one who betrayed me.”

Jason flinches again, the truth of it hitting harder than the silence that follows. His mouth opens, and I see it—the scrambling for excuses, for some version of the story that makes him look a little less guilty.

“I didn’t—” he begins, stepping toward me, but I lift a hand to stop him.

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, the words trembling at the edges, but refusing to waver. “Don’t you dare stand there and try to twist it into something it wasn’t. Not now .”

His shoulders sink, and I almost see the boy I used to know. The one who used to chase after me beneath the willow trees. But he’s not that boy anymore—and I’m not the girl who believed his promises.

“Let me explain,” he says.

“You were supposed to be mine ,” I whisper, and though the words come quietly, they cut deeper than anything else I could have said. “But you gave parts of yourself away—to someone else. And now you want what? My silence? My forgiveness? A kiss before the court so your pride remains untouched?”

He doesn't respond. Doesn’t move. His throat bobs with the weight of what he can’t say, and what he knows I won’t believe even if he did. I take a step closer, the air crackling with the truth we’ve both tried to bury.

“You had me. All of me. And still… that wasn’t enough.”

His jaw clenches, and I see the guilt creep in like a tide he’s too tired to resist.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did,” I say, and this time, my voice shatters with it—quiet, broken, but resolute. “And I can’t forget that. Not just because the hall is waiting for a performance we no longer deserve to give.”

“I have always loved you, Lailah,” he breathes, as if those words are enough to repair what’s already burned.

I meet his gaze without flinching.

“No,” I answer, calm now, and merciless in the way truth sometimes is. “You love the idea of me. The princess who makes you feel powerful. The woman who gives you something to control.”

I step back, my hands falling to my sides, my heart heavy with the finality of it.

“I thought you were different from the rest of them.”

Jason moves again, as if some invisible thread has yanked him forward—desperate to close the space, to grasp something already slipping through his fingers.

“Lailah, please,” he murmurs. “I know I messed up. Gods, I know. But don’t look at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m one of them .”

I inhale slowly, forcing the air into lungs that feel too tight. My eyes close just long enough for me to brace myself for what I already know I must say. When I open them, my gaze finds his—and this time, there’s no trembling.

“I don't know you,” I say softly. Not cruelly. Not biting. Just… final.

He falters.

“We have a ceremony to attend,” I continue, each word measured, like a crown settling on my head. “You and I both know what they expect from us. And I will not be the one who ruins the illusion.”

His face twists, pain rippling through it like he’s just now realizing the mask he’s begged me to wear comes at a cost .

“Lailah…” His voice breaks on my name.

I smooth the front of my gown, the movement slow, intentional, like I can gather myself into someone untouchable if I just keep my hands busy.

“You’ll take my hand in front of the court,” I say, lifting my chin as the distant sound of music hums through the stone corridor, mocking in its joy. “You’ll smile like a man who’s won.”

He swallows hard, but doesn’t interrupt.

“And when you feed me the ceremonial bite,” I continue, “you will not look like a man who’s haunted by the taste of regret.”

A silence stretches, fragile as glass.

Then I meet his eyes again—calm, composed, cold only because it has to be.

“Because after tonight, there is nothing left for you to lose that wasn’t already broken.”

Jason says nothing. He just stands there, watching me slip further and further away.

And I let him.