Page 45 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

T he heavy doors to the throne room creak open, the sound reverberating through the vaulted ceiling like a war drum.

As I step inside, the low murmur of voices stills.

Conversations die mid-sentence. Laughter fades.

A hush settles over the gathered court as the crowd begins to part, a path forming down the center of the great hall—one lined with stares honed by curiosity and hunger for spectacle.

My footsteps echo as I cross the threshold, each step measured. Behind me, I hear Jason’s approach—the sound of his boots trailing mine like a shadow I cannot shake.

At the end of the aisle, the raised dais looms beneath the glittering light of a thousand candles.

My father stands behind the grand table, cloaked in power, the crimson cloth that drapes it catching the firelight like spilled blood.

He lifts his goblet high, his grin cutting through the room with a kind of violent satisfaction.

Pride and menace, carefully interwoven. A puppet master delighting in his puppets.

Jason catches up to me at the base of the steps, his hand reaching toward mine—not tentative, not pleading, but rehearsed, as if this gesture had been expected of him all along. For a moment, I don’t move. But the eyes of the court are sharp and unforgiving.

So I let him take my hand. His fingers are warm. Familiar. But the warmth means nothing now.

Together, we ascend.

He helps me up the final step, steadying me with a touch that lingers longer than it should.

When I reach the top, I release him. My hand falls to my side, and I move toward the empty chair beside my father, taking it with confidence as if I hadn’t just unraveled behind a door moments before.

Jason moves to stand behind me, his gaze flickering over the court as he resumes his role—the devoted betrothed, the golden son, the man who is exactly where he belongs.

Clyde’s voice rings out, smooth and theatrical, rich with the kind of authority that turns silence into obedience.

“Tonight, we celebrate the union of my daughter and her beloved,” he says, the word coated in mocking delight.

“A bond of loyalty, power, and shared blood. Though...” His grin widens as his crimson gaze sweeps over the gathered crowd.

“Since my dear daughter is mortal, we’ll have to settle for food instead of the more. .. intimate traditions.”

Laughter ripples through the crowd, low and indulgent. It’s a cruel kind of humor, one I’ve grown used to but never comfortable with.

Jason takes his seat beside me, the fabric of my gown whispering against the chair as he settles in.

The space between us feels both too close and impossibly distant.

Jason turns toward me, his hand lifting slightly, almost hesitantly, to rest on mine where it rests on the table.

The touch is fleeting, but I pull away softly, my gaze fixed ahead.

His hand retreats slowly, stiff but controlled, as though he’s trying not to make a show of it.

Everything around me fades into a muffled hum as my father’s voice crescendos, filling every corner of the room.

“Let us toast to this new bond, to the promises made tonight. And to seal this moment, with a drink,” he declares, his goblet raised high.

His fangs glint as he slowly hands the goblet to Jason, every movement meant to draw the room’s attention. The crowd murmurs in approval, their eyes darting between Jason and me like spectators in a grand play, eager for the next act to unfold.

Jason takes the goblet with both hands, dipping his head toward my father in a show of respect before raising the cup to his lips.

His golden eyes flick to mine for a fleeting moment, his gaze unspoken, before he lowers the goblet.

Without a word, Jason turns toward me, the goblet extended in his hands.

I take it from him, my gloved fingers brushing against the cool metal as I lift it carefully.

The crowd’s gaze settles over me, and it feels suffocating.

The scent of the wine is sharp and metallic as I raise the goblet to my lips. I drink slowly, aware of every eye in the room. The taste is rich and heavy on my tongue. When I lower the goblet, the air seems to shift around me, the murmurs of approval rising from the gathered crowd.

My father claps his hands together, silencing the room once more as he looks between Jason and me, his crimson gaze gleaming with something almost cruel.

“The wine is only the first step in sealing this union,” he announces, his voice rich and commanding. “To truly seal this union, the couple must share sustenance. A symbol of trust, of connection—of devotion .”

Jason shifts slightly beside me, as he reaches for a strawberry from the ornate platter before us.

He lifts it slowly, his eyes darkening as they meet mine.

When he offers the fruit, there’s a new tautness in the air, something deeper, almost palpable.

His hand is steady, but there’s an intensity in his gaze.

Slowly, I lean forward, my lips brushing against the fruit as I take a bite, the sweetness bursting on my tongue.

Jason doesn’t look away. His eyes stay locked on mine, burning with something deeper than just longing— regret, thick and unspoken, coiling beneath the surface like a wound he can’t stop reopening.

The mask of composure he wore so carefully begins to crack, and through the fractures, I see it. Desire.

His fingers linger on the fruit, trembling slightly, like he’s not sure if this is a gesture of peace or penance. His breathing hitches, just enough to give him away. As if the simple act of feeding me—something so small, so tender—has awakened a fervor in him that he no longer knows how to quiet.

And still, he looks at me like he’s searching for the girl who used to laugh at his side. The one who once reached for his hand without flinching. The one who loved him before all of this.

I reach for a small piece of bread from the table, my fingers trembling faintly under his attention.

Turning toward him, I offer it with the same care.

His gaze doesn’t falter as he leans in—lips parted, the corner of his mouth still bearing the raw sting of a split.

The graze of his lips against my gloved fingertips is featherlight, yet it draws a breath from somewhere deep in me.

A faint shiver courses through my spine, invisible to all but myself, as the quiet intimacy of the moment presses in, heavy and suffocating.

Clyde raises his goblet once more, his booming voice cutting through the air.

“And now, the union is complete. A bond forged in trust, sealed with shared sustenance. Let us all raise a toast to their future.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and clinking glasses, their voices swelling with approval, but I barely hear it.

Jason and I remain still, caught in a silence that feels more like a performance than a pause.

My hands fold neatly in my lap, the lingering sweetness of the strawberry still on my tongue, but it's his gaze I feel most—pressing in, expectant.

As the music begins to play, I try to steady myself, forcing breath into still lungs. My cheeks warm under the pressure of so many eyes, but it isn’t flattery that causes it—it’s the overbearing choreography of this moment.

I glance at Jason.

His brows are drawn, jaw tight, and his eyes drag across my features before resting on my mouth. It makes my breath catch, not out of want, but out of the uneasy realization that he still believes this is real. That I might return that look.

But I don’t. I can’t .

I force myself to look away, searching the crowd for a distraction. That’s when I see them—dark evergreen eyes burning into me from across the room. Casper’s stare is deadly, every muscle in his body taut with barely restrained hunger.

My heart stutters, a betrayal I can feel in every rapid beat.

I start to rise, drawn to him without thinking, but then she appears.

The dark-haired woman from before glides up beside him, her lips curling into a knowing smile, her arm brushing his as she steps closer.

Still, Casper’s eyes never leave mine, blazing with something dangerous.

His jaw tightens, his hand flexing at his side as though holding himself back from something reckless.

And then, almost reluctantly, his gaze shifts to her.

Her smile widens as she whispers something in his ear, her lips curving in satisfaction when he doesn’t pull away.

With a slow, calculated motion, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, her hand lingering on his arm as if staking her claim.

My breath falters, the sight cutting through me in a way I can’t control.

My pulse thrums in my ears as I force myself to remain still, gripping the edge of the table beneath my gloves.

Casper doesn’t react to the kiss, but there’s a rigidity in the way his jaw clenches, his hand flexing again at his side. He doesn’t look at her. Instead, his gaze lifts past me, landing on my father as though I no longer exist. The shift is so calculated that it feels like a blow.

With measured steps, he begins to approach the table, the woman trailing beside him, her smile still plastered on her face like a victory only she thinks she’s earned.

My stomach tightens as he moves closer, and I can’t look away. My father watches Casper approach with a keen grin, his pale eyes gleaming as he leans back in his chair, lifting his goblet to his lips.

“Ah, Ghost, so good of you to join us,” he drawls, his voice cutting effortlessly through the hum of the room.

A pause, then a pointed glance at the woman at Casper’s side.

“I was beginning to think you were keeping this delightful companion all to yourself. I had hoped to find some time to get to know her better. ”

Laughter ripples through the crowd, low and indulgent, as if they’re all in on some private joke.