Page 59 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

W aking up feels different this time. Normally, Sera’s loud, vibrant energy pulls me from sleep, but today, I wake to silence.

No noise, no demands, just an eerie stillness.

It’s as though the world stopped turning and everyone has frozen in place.

Confusion jolts me from the bed, and I move toward the door to Jason’s private chamber.

But as my hand reaches for the handle, I stop.

Reality sinks in, and the reason for the silence hits me.

No one had to wake me—it’s our honeymoon, after all.

A deep sigh escapes my lips, and panic begins to set in.

I step toward the window and pull back the curtains, only to see the sun low on the horizon—it's already the golden hour of sunset.

I glance toward my husband's room again, this time lingering a little while longer.

My gaze drops to the ground, and I take slow, deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

I know I need to quiet the chaos in my mind, so I move toward the bathing chamber to prepare myself for the night ahead.

An hour passes, and I realize just how simple it is to get ready when I’m not worried about anyone else’s pretentious expectations of how I should look.

I bathe quickly, drying and styling my hair into a thick, long braid.

I choose a dark leather skirt with high slits and a black, satin-like top that covers my chest, creating a high-neck effect that feels like armor, both bold and empowering.

I hadn’t realized how freeing it was to dress for myself, to dress only for my own satisfaction.

I smile to myself as I slide black leather gloves onto my hands, pulling them up to my elbows.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and raise an eyebrow.

This is not what’s expected of me at the vampire court, where showing skin is encouraged.

But now that I’m a free woman, married to a human, I realize I can do whatever I want.

The only person I’m called to please is my husband.

And while I know my loyalty will always belong to my father, it's still comforting to know that I’m a married woman now, and no one—no one—can tell me what to do except for Jason. And I have some ideas about how to handle that.

As I turn to leave, something catches my eye—a small parcel resting neatly on the corner of my desk. It’s wrapped in soft black linen, tied with a crimson ribbon. I step closer, a subtle furrow forming between my brows, and lift the folded parchment resting atop.

For you, wife. From my mother’s private jewel box.

The words pull a breath from me, quiet and unsteady. I loosen the ribbon and peel the cloth away, revealing what lies within.

A shawl—no, a constellation draped in fine, sheer fabric—glitters beneath the dying light. The diamonds are like captured moonlight strung together with delicate silver thread. They shimmer softly, not with grandeur or arrogance, but with the quiet majesty of stars—distant, untouchable, eternal.

I’ve worn black diamonds. Deep garnets. Jewels with edges as cold and cutting as the court that demanded them.

But this… this is different.

There is no darkness in it. No warning in its gleam.

Just light. Pure and brilliant. It looks like it was made for someone gentler than I—someone unmarked by fire or blood.

And as I lift it, letting the soft fabric spill between my fingers, I know I’ve never owned anything like it.

It’s too beautiful. Too soft. Too bright for a soul like mine.

And still, I can’t look away.

A small, startled smile curves my lips. I set the shawl down gently, fingers lingering just a moment longer than they should.

With purpose, I move toward the door to my husband's private chambers, knocking three times, waiting for his response.

But when no answer comes, when no sound follows my knock, I push open the door.

His room is empty. The bed is neatly made, untouched.

Curiosity sparks in my chest, quickly replaced by a small, knowing smile. The man I married has duties to attend to—duties given only by the king—while his darling wife rests.

Today is my day off.

The thought brings a sense of freedom I hadn’t expected to savor so much. I have no responsibilities to fulfill, no expectations to meet. Today is for me. No one will demand my attention, not the court, not my father, and certainly not the obligations that come with my title.

I turn and head for the main doors, feeling a sense of playfulness rising. My guard stands tall at his post, eyes keen as he watches me approach. As I draw near, I stop in front of him, letting my smile stretch wider.

“Where is my husband?” I ask, a coyness creeping into my voice.

I clasp my hands behind my back, feeling them twitch as I wait for his response.

The guard eyes me carefully, his blue eyes narrowing.

His auburn hair curls slightly over his forehead, and his gaze lingers on me as if he knows something I don’t.

His large frame looms over me, unshaken by my presence.

There’s something in his stance, the way he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t avert his eyes like most do. I don’t know this man.

“Well… if anyone asks, you didn’t see me,” I say, holding his gaze. To my surprise, he stares right back, watching me like I’m something to be understood , not feared .

I suppress a smile, biting the inside of my cheek, and wink at him before turning toward the library. I walk away from the guard, my smile widening as I leave him behind. His gaze still lingers, but I am already moving forward, out of the reach of any lingering questions or duties.

Today, I am not a princess, not a wife, not anyone’s responsibility. I am simply me. And that alone feels like a victory.

As I walk down the hall, the thought of being hidden fills me with a quiet sense of awe.

It’s an unusual feeling, one I haven’t experienced in a long time.

My husband, of course, must be seen—his presence, his responsibilities, his duties.

But me? I am not meant to be found. Not today, at least. I have no desire to seek him out, to be drawn back into the expectations of wife and princess.

I’m not a treasure hunter, and I’ll make no effort to uncover what’s not meant for me.

If my husband wishes to find me, let him search.

I’ll take no part in guiding him, no part in leading him to where I wish to stay hidden.

For once, I am tucked away from the world that demands so much of me.

In this moment, the silence around me is a sanctuary, and I will not disturb it.

As I make my way to the east wing staircase, shadows shift across my vision.

I press my hand against the hidden passage leading below the library—my sanctuary.

There, my research and my quiet moments of solitude are waiting for me.

I’ve been searching for hours, scouring every corner of the library for any clue about the great ancient language carved into Casper’s knife.

Though he had told me its meaning, there’s still a haunting uncertainty about the words, a sense that there’s more to them than meets the eye.

Each translation only deepens the mystery, like there’s something waiting beneath the surface I’m not yet meant to understand.

As I make my way back toward the front of the library, the scent of parchment and dust heavy in the air, I pause in front of a towering stack of books.

My fingers graze each spine, until one smaller tome catches my eye.

A peculiar little book, wedged between others, almost as if it were hidden on purpose.

The Book of Nighttime Legends

I glance around, wondering who could have placed this here. But the library is still, no one in sight. My senses heighten, the pull of something familiar tugging at the back of my mind.

Then it hits me—I had pulled this book the night I saw Casper. At the time, I thought it was nothing more than a simple children’s tale, the kind that’s told at bedtime to coax young minds into sleep. It seemed insignificant then, a distraction at best.

But now, something feels different. As I open the cover, my fingers tremble slightly, as I turn to the chapter I vaguely remember—the one about the Forbidden Forest.

The words swirl before me, describing a witch coven that once lived there, hidden from the world. Protecting their own, and perhaps something more—something connected to vampires. I feel the weight of the page in my hands, as if the book itself holds the key to a long-forgotten truth.

Opening the worn pages, my eyes are drawn to the story of a child—a young witch—who, lost and frightened, steps beyond the boundaries of the forbidden forest. Her journey, one of longing and desperation, begins when she is torn from her coven and cast into the human world, where she is held captive by the harsh realities of that realm.

The witches and vampires who had once been her family were now only distant memories, ghosts of a life she could never return to.

But something stirs in the girl. A yearning. A pull to return home, to reunite with her kind, to walk once more beneath the canopy of her ancestors' magic. And so, she sets forth, drawn back to the forest that had once been her sanctuary, her true home.

My eyes skim the pages quickly, hunger driving me forward, desperate to uncover what fate befell the poor child.

Each word feels like a pull, dragging me deeper into the tragic story.

However, the story shifts, its tone darkening as the child ventures deeper into the woods.

The plot grows, and it is then that the villagers, ever watchful, begin to follow .

Silent in their hatred, they creep behind her every step, intent on her destruction. The witch’s return had awakened a fury in their human hearts. And when they catch up to her, they do not spare mercy.

What follows is a massacre.