Page 76 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
LAILAH
T he next day arrives with a flurry of movement, the castle alive with the noise of preparation.
Servants glide between carts and carriages, their arms burdened with bolts of wool and dyed linens, carved chests filled with clay vials of healing balms, and bundles of lavender sachets tucked beside smooth blocks of soapstone.
A wooden tub—battered, iron-banded, and far too heavy—is hauled onto one of the wagons with strained grunts, its presence a silent testament to just how little of this journey belongs to me.
One of the trunks opens briefly in the morning light, revealing layers of silk and embroidered velvet.
I catch a glimpse of jeweled fastenings and intricate stitching before the lid closes again.
I shake my head. All this time, all this effort, just to bring the illusion of comfort to a journey that will be anything but.
The clatter of hooves rings through the stone courtyard as the horses are brought forward, their manes braided with black and gold thread, the royal colors stitched even into the reins.
Every detail—from the threadwork on the velvet sleeping rolls to the careful placement of my carved wooden wash basin—has been overseen with obsessive precision.
A stark reminder that this journey, no matter how far it takes me from the castle, is not freedom.
It’s theater. A traveling throne room beneath the stars.
I stand at the edge of the commotion, watching the servants with a detached air, my arms folded tightly.
Despite the urgency surrounding me, I feel an aching stillness.
This isn’t an escape; it was a performance, one carefully orchestrated by my father, Jason, and Lord Striden—everyone but me.
My input had been neither requested nor required.
Sera appeared briefly, her usual lightness replaced with a rare solemnity as she embraced me tightly.
Lucas had already departed, his duties pulling him away before the night’s end—and that left her alone.
Sera never said she needed anyone, but now, her silence felt too loud.
“Be careful,” she whispers, her voice low enough that only I could hear.
I return her embrace, my fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, but I don’t reply. What could I say? That I don’t even know what I’m walking into? That the very people I’m supposed to trust are the ones hiding the most from me?
The castle gates loom ahead, and with them came the weight of what lay beyond. My father’s parting words echo in my mind, his mask of reassurance unable to hide the reluctance in his eyes.
“You have a duty to uphold, my sweet. Don’t forget what’s expected of you.”
He had ensured Jason and I would travel with the protection of his army—a fortress on the move—but his overbearing concern feels less like care and more like control. I’m not na?ve enough to believe his motives were entirely pure.
When the time comes to board the carriage, Jason offers me a polite smile, one so practiced it feels insincere.
“I’ll be riding with my father,” he says, his tone calm but distant. “There are matters of council we need to discuss.”
I don’t reply immediately, only nodding as I step into my carriage alone.
The silk-lined interior is luxurious, the cushions plush, but none of it brings me comfort.
Instead, I watch through the window as Jason climbs into his own carriage alongside Lord Striden.
Their silhouettes blur as the procession begins to move, the rhythmic clatter of wheels filling the air.
The landscape outside shifts slowly, the rolling countryside giving way to dense forests as the castle disappeared behind us.
I lean against the window, the glass cool against my temple, and let my gaze wander to the riders flanking the carriages.
On one side, Callum rides tall and vigilant, his dark eyes scanning the horizon.
On the other, Malachi mirrors his posture, stone-faced as always.
Their presence looms like an invisible cage, a constant reminder that I’m being watched, guarded, and contained.
The solitude of the carriage amplifies the irritation simmering beneath my skin.
Jason’s absence is expected, but it doesn’t make it any less infuriating.
While he sits with his father, plotting and scheming, I’m left to languish in silence, excluded from whatever plans they deem too important to share.
My fingers tap against my thigh, the rhythm uneven as my thoughts spiral.
I shift against the cushions, the opulence of the carriage doing little to quell my frustration.
Riding in this stifling box feels like an insult to everything I am—someone who was trained to fight, to wield magic, to take control.
Instead, I’m being paraded like a prize, stripped of my agency and left to guess at the next move in this game.
Even as the minutes drag on, my thoughts drift toward him—relentlessly, like a tide that refuses to recede.
The faint glow of dawn stretches across the horizon, its warmth muted by the steady fall of rain.
Light bleeds into the dark sky, softened by the mist that clings to the earth.
The caravan should soon come to a halt, the guards taking refuge from the sun’s harsh glare.
We’ve been traveling for hours, the rhythmic creak of the carriage wheels blending with the muffled sounds of hooves against the dirt road.
I shift in my seat, the book in my lap forgotten as my attention wanders to the world outside.
Peering through the small window, my gaze rests on Callum riding alongside the carriage.
Something about his demeanor catches my attention.
Beside him rides the woman from the other night—the stranger whose face has lingered in my thoughts longer than I care to admit.
Her tan skin glows faintly under the soft light of dawn, her brown hair pulled back into a severe braid that frames her striking features.
Everything about her seems orchestrated, from the way she holds herself in the saddle to the subtle flick of her eyes as she scans the horizon.
Even the way she moves is precise and planned, as if every facet of her existence has been crafted for a purpose.
They are deep in conversation, their voices low, their expressions guarded. My unease grows as I watch Callum with her—his usually impenetrable demeanor softened just enough to be unsettling. The easy way they speak, the faint curve of his mouth as he listens, sets my teeth on edge.
Then, as if sensing my gaze, Callum turns toward the window.
His dark eyes meet mine and my heart stutters; I quickly avert my gaze, pretending to busy myself inside the carriage.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment at being caught, but I can still feel his stare as if it’s left an imprint on my skin.
A soft chuckle drifts through the air, low and dark, carrying an edge that makes me tremble.
It isn’t loud, but it reaches me all the same, curling into my thoughts.
My jaw tightens as I stare at the empty pages of my open book, knowing full well that Callum is amused by my discomfort.
Before I can dwell on it any further, the carriage jolts to a stop, the sudden motion pulling me from my thoughts.
The faint creak of leather and the soft murmur of voices reach my ears.
The sound of the door opening is quiet, almost hesitant. And then—he’s there .
The sight of Casper steals the breath from my lungs, the world narrowing until all I can see is him.
The faint light of dawn plays against his commander uniform, the dark fabric clinging to his broad frame with a rugged elegance.
His hair, slightly disheveled from travel, frames his face with an almost careless perfection, and his piercing eyes bore into mine with a quiet intensity that leaves me undone.
I clench my fists, willing myself to remain composed.
He stands there for a second longer and I hold his gaze, my heart pounding, as if daring him to say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps aside, making way for Jason to climb into the carriage.
Jason settles across from me, a faint weariness on his face betraying the long hours he’s spent with his father discussing council matters.
He doesn’t speak immediately, instead taking a moment to adjust the map he carries, spreading it across the seat.
The soft rustle of paper fills the silence, and though he says nothing at first, his presence shifts the atmosphere in the small space.
His gaze finally lifts to meet mine, warm and searching.
“How are you?” There’s no pretense in his tone, no formality—just genuine care.
I hesitate, caught off guard by the tenderness in his question.
“I’m fine,” I say, though the words feel empty as I speak them. I shift my focus to the map, tracing the outlined routes with my eyes, desperate for something else to anchor me.
Jason doesn’t press, but his brow furrows slightly as he studies me.
“We’ve been traveling for over half a day's ride,” he says softly, almost to himself.
“The caravan will stop soon, near the river. It’s a good place for the guards to rest and regroup before the final stretch.
” His fingers brush the edge of the map as he speaks, tracing the route with precision.
“Two more days,” he adds, glancing back up at me. “And we’ll reach Striden territory.”
Two more days. The words settle heavily in my chest, but I nod in response, unwilling to voice the unease twisting inside me. Jason’s gaze lingers, and his next words are careful, as though he can sense my discomfort.
“When we set up camp tonight… we’ll need to share a tent.” He pauses. “I just thought you should know.”
I stiffen slightly. It’s not unexpected—we are husband and wife, after all—but the reality of it feels far more complicated.