Page 81 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

Casper’s focus shifts to Jason, his eyes flashing with thinly veiled frustration. His voice cuts through the sound of the rain, low and firm.

“Go to your tent. I want to speak with the Princess alone.”

Jason’s jaw tightens, his defiance simmering just beneath the surface.

His posture remains unyielding, a silent challenge to Casper’s authority.

But the tension between them is palpable, and Jason knows well enough who holds the reins here.

His reluctance is evident as he steps forward, casting me one final glance before turning toward our tent.

Celaena reaches for Jason’s arm, but I don’t linger on the interaction. My attention is pulled away by another voice cutting through the storm.

“Yeah, that isn’t happening,” a man says as he steps in front of the tent, blocking the way with an air of casual authority.

His hair is cut short, his tan skin accentuated by the faint gleam of rain. Markings snake up his muscular arms and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt, hinting at a story written in ink. His piercing gaze locks onto Jason and Celaena, his arms crossed as he silently sizes them up.

Celaena glances at Jason as he takes a step forward.

“Get out of my way, guard,” Jason growls, his voice low and commanding.

The man’s lips curl upward, then part in a cruel, almost mocking laugh. He tilts his head at Jason, his confidence unwavering.

Before the standoff can escalate further, the chestnut-haired woman from earlier steps forward, her presence quiet but formidable. She rests a hand on the man's arm—a calming touch that stills him—and then lifts her gaze to Celaena.

“You can come with me,” she says warmly, her smile genuine as she nods toward her tent, offering guidance rather than a suggestion.

She intrigues me. There’s a quiet strength in her demeanor, an effortless grace that draws people in. She seems so at ease with both Casper and Callum, fitting seamlessly into their world—a world I am still trying to navigate. I wonder who she is and what role she plays in all of this.

Celaena stiffens, her shoulders drawn tight, but after a brief glance from Jason, she finally nods.

Jason’s approval is subtle, yet unmistakable.

He knows the situation must remain discreet.

The rest of the camp cannot suspect that Jason has taken comfort in another woman within our tent.

It is a fragile truth—one that protects not only Jason’s lover, but all of us.

If my father were to learn of this, he would demand my return, believing it necessary to mend my so-called broken heart.

The man with the short hair steps aside, bowing mockingly as Jason moves past him into the tent.

There’s no mistaking his defiance, but he obeys with a lingering smirk.

These must be members of Casper’s trusted guard.

Callum, Malachi, the man with the shorn hair, and the woman with the long braid.

A close-knit group bound by loyalty, their presence is both protective and suffocating.

I glance back at Casper. His expression softens as his eyes meet mine, the harsh lines of his face easing. His breath becomes more labored, betraying an unease he hasn’t voiced. I take a step toward him, feeling the familiar pull, but before I can speak, he turns away abruptly.

“Come,” he says, his tone steady but firm as he gestures toward his tent.

Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back, forcing calm into my frame. Whatever lies ahead, it promises to be anything but simple.

This should be interesting.

As I step into Casper’s tent—the one I’d been daydreaming about since arriving—I’m met with a surprising warmth and coziness that instantly puts me at ease.

The space is far more inviting than I expected.

His bed is draped in dark burgundy sheets, topped with a soft woolen blanket.

The tent itself feels just as spacious as the royal one, though still intimate.

On one side, a desk is cluttered with maps spread out across its surface, and a cart beside it holds a decanter of amber.

To the side, mirroring our own tent, stands a wooden tub, waiting to be used.

As I take in my surroundings, I’m startled by a soft cough beside me. I turn to find Callum, who chuckles low and deep, a breathy sound that catches me off guard.

“If only I had that collar,” he says with a playful wink, his gaze flicking to my neck before he moves to the desk.He perches atop it casually, his left foot resting on the chair in front of him.

Casper moves to the center of the tent, his focus shifting to me. He removes his cloak and lays it across the chair near his bed. His movements are calm, measured, as he walks over to the cart, pours a drink, and hands one to Callum. Then, without a word, he approaches me and offers me a glass.

I take the drink cautiously, unsure of what’s to come.

I hadn’t expected the situation to unfold smoothly, but the way everyone seems so at ease with it—so at ease with the plan Jason and I had put into motion—throws me off.

The amber liquid burns as it slides down my throat, and I wait in silence, hoping someone will speak.

But the seconds tick by, and both Callum and Casper fix their eyes on me intently, as though they’re waiting for me to break the silence.

Then, a soft rustle signals the entrance of someone else. I feel the air shift as Malachi steps beside me, looking me over with a steady, assessing gaze.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle and sincere.

It’s not a question born of fear for my safety—more of a simple check-in, a silent offer of comfort. I nod, appreciating the quiet gesture, feeling the pressure release just a fraction.

But the moment is short-lived. Another member of Casper’s group suddenly breezes past me and flops down onto Casper’s clean sheets.

His close-cropped hair is damp from the rain, and he carries a green apple in one hand, a knife in the other.

Expertly, he peels the fruit, the skin falling away in long, thin strips.

His eyes flick to me as he slices a piece of the apple, his lips curling into a grin.

He tilts his head slightly, sizing me up as if I were the punchline to some unspoken joke.

“So, you’re the infamous Vampire Princess,” he drawls, pointing his dagger at me.

His tone carries a teasing edge, though it doesn’t feel entirely hostile. I glance at him, unsure of how to respond, when a soft, steady voice interrupts.

“Don’t mind him; he’s always cranky when he hasn’t eaten,” the woman with the chestnut braid says as she steps forward.

Her hair gleams in the warm firelight as she takes in my soaked, shivering form. Without a word, she steps forward, a thick, dry cloak already in her hands, offering it to me with a small, knowing smile.

“Here,” she says simply.

“Thank you,” I reply, taking the cloak with one hand and shedding my damp one with the other.

Malachi steps forward to take the soaked cloak from me, hanging it carefully on a rack near a small bundle of heated coals.

“I’m Gwyn,” the woman says, nodding toward the man still reclining on Casper’s bed, casually slicing his apple with the dagger. “And that’s Alias.”

Alias raises the apple in a lazy gesture of acknowledgment before taking another bite.

He doesn’t say anything, but his slight grin remains, as if he finds me amusing.

I glance at Gwyn again, intrigued by her calm presence and the way she seems to fit into this group seamlessly.

There’s something captivating about her—her poise, her quiet confidence, the brightness in her eyes that suggests she sees more than she lets on.

As I shift my gaze to Alias, my thoughts turn to the others missing from this moment.

My stomach tightens slightly as I think of the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman I’ve seen too many times to forget.

I remember the royal ballroom vividly. She kissed Casper there, not once but twice, her confidence unshaken.

And in the throne room, the image of Casper drinking from her, his words cutting through me as he told her she was the only one he desired, is still fresh in my mind.

“Where’s the other one?” My voice is calm, though I feel a prickle of curiosity beneath my words.

Gwyn arches a brow at my question, a wicked smile tugging at her lips as though she finds my inquiry amusing.

“I like her,” she says lightly, her tone tinged with approval.

Turning back to Alias, she plucks the apple from his hand and takes a playful bite.

Alias rolls his eyes, sheathing his dagger at his thigh.

I pull the cloak tighter around me, shifting my focus to Casper, who has remained quiet throughout.

His silence feels intentional, a choice to let the moment linger.

“What does the stone do?” I ask.

Casper takes his time responding. His eyes linger on me a while before he turns to pour himself another drink. The slow pace grates on my nerves, though I keep my composure despite every eye in the tent lingering on me.

“Is anyone going to say anything, or are we just going to stand here?” My tone turns incisive, impatience creeping in.

Casper finally turns back, taking a smooth leisurely pull of his drink before setting the glass down and walking toward me.

“The stone is said to hold a power no human, creature, or vampire should possess,” he begins, his voice calm but heavy with significance. “It can create as it pleases... and destroy as the beholder chooses.”

“What do you mean by ‘destroy’?”

“It’s said to hold the power of darkness,” Casper explains, his voice low. “It can turn anyone to ash. To dust, as if they never existed.”