Page 9 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

Barefoot, the dirt road rough beneath my feet, I ran after him. My cries broke through the still air as I begged him to stop. I didn’t care what I risked. I was desperate to show him what I was—what I could do.

He stopped. Slowly, he turned, his dark hood obscuring his face. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t acknowledge me at all. Then his gaze dropped to my trembling hands, and I lifted them, letting the power spark and crackle between my fingers. The air seemed to hum as I waited for his judgment.

The soldier studied me in silence, his face indecipherable. Finally, he spoke. “Wait by the watchtower tonight,” he said, his voice calm, almost gentle. “I will come for you.”

That night, I pretended to sleep, lying still and quiet as the house settled into uneasy silence.

I counted every creak of the floorboards, every muffled sigh from my stepmother’s room.

When the last candle was snuffed out and her snores drifted faintly through the thin walls, I crept out of bed.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I clung to the soldier’s words: “I will come for you.”

But when the knock came, it wasn’t at the watchtower.

It was at my front door.

My stepmother opened it, and there he stood—the Vampire King.

He was nothing like I had imagined, yet somehow exactly what I had feared.

His long white hair was tied back in a sleek knot, the chiseled angles of his face both regal and predatory.

His teeth glinted faintly in the dim light, a reminder of what he was.

But it was his eyes—icy blue and piercing—that held me frozen.

They didn’t look at me with malice, but with a calculated intensity, as if he could see every fractured piece of me.

When he stepped inside, his imposing presence filled the room, making the air feel thinner.

Then he knelt before me. My breath caught.

I was trembling—whether from fear or something else, I wasn’t sure.

His cold hand reached out, steadying mine with a surprising gentleness.

When he turned my hands over, examining the scars, I realized I was crying—silent, shamed tears slipping down my cheeks.

One tear fell onto his hand, and I looked away, unable to meet his gaze, overwhelmed by my own vulnerability.

He didn’t scold me. He didn’t recoil. Instead, he took me aside, sitting me on his lap like I was something delicate and irreplaceable.

His cold fingers brushed through my hair, the touch oddly comforting despite the chill.

My stepmother stood rooted to the spot, her fear so palpable it seemed to hang in the room like smoke. She didn’t move, didn’t dare intervene.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the effort of saying those words aloud.

A monster sat before me—no, held me—and yet all I felt was tenderness.

The villagers had feared me, treated me like a contagion, but to him, I was not a thing to fear.

I was something else entirely. That night, he negotiated for my life.

My stepmother accepted the king’s offer—a sum so generous it melted the tension from her face.

She let me go without protest, barely sparing me a glance.

I never asked the Vampire King why he took me in or how he learned of my magic. Maybe he pitied me—a child marked by darkness, discarded by the world. Or maybe he saw himself in me, a fellow monster bound by the weight of what others couldn’t understand.

But some truths unravel slowly, like threads you didn’t know were loose.

I loved him. I still do, in the way a child clings to the only warmth they’ve ever known.

But I learned, eventually, that I would always be alone.

There is only one witch born each generation.

And though he called me daughter, though he gave me a place beside his throne, I always knew why.

It wasn’t because of who I was. It was because of what I was.

Magic.

Power.

The one thing he could never claim for himself—unless he claimed me first.

The only thing I will ever be.

Frustration wells up inside me as I slip the gloves back onto my scarred hands.

The fabric hides the evidence, but it doesn’t erase it.

Hiding doesn’t change the truth, I remind myself.

It never has. The darkness he saw in me, the darkness he said he understood—how much of it did he create?

How much did he exploit? My father’s face flashes in my mind, his gaze just as sharp now as it was when I was a child trembling in his presence.

I clench my fists, the fabric of the gloves taut against my skin. I can’t shake the need to know. The fragments of my past feel more jagged now than ever, cutting into me at the worst times, leaving me raw and uncertain.

“You’re doing it again,” Sera’s voice cuts through my thoughts, teasing, but not unkind.

My head snaps up, and there she is, sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed.

Her golden hair shines in the soft candlelight, framing her face like sunlight spilling through a crack in the darkness.

Her bright blue eyes are fixed on me, narrowing slightly as though she can see the turmoil written all over me.

“Doing what?” I ask, my voice coming out more clipped than I intended.

“Brooding,” she says, dragging the word out as she swings her legs off the bed and stands. She crosses the room with the effortless grace I’ve always envied, her skirts swishing softly around her ankles.

“Honestly, Lailah, you might as well brand ‘troubled heroine’ across your forehead. It’s exhausting watching you sometimes. ”

I huff out a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“And yet you stick around.”

“Because you’d fall apart without me.” She grins, but there’s something gentle in her tone, a softness that keeps her words from cutting too deep. She steps closer, her gaze flicking down to my gloved hands. “Are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you, or do I have to guess?”

“It’s nothing,” I say, but the words ring hollow, even to me.

Sera doesn’t buy it, of course. She never does. She sighs and folds her arms, tilting her head as she studies me.

“For someone who can literally make the world bend to her will, you’re terrible at lying.”

I glare at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I’m not lying.”

She arches a brow, unconvinced, and steps even closer, close enough to tug gently at one of the fingers of my gloves.

I instinctively pull my hand back before she can slip it off, the movement abrupt.

Her expression softens, but she doesn’t back away.

Instead, she kneels in front of me, her golden hair spilling over one shoulder as she meets my gaze head-on.

“You know,” she says softly, her tone more serious now, “it’s okay to be excited about seeing him… without feeling like he’s going to be ripped away from you.”

Her words settle between us like dust, too gentle to brush off entirely.

Of course she would assume my thoughts had wandered to Jason.

And maybe they had. Just a little. There was comfort in the thought of him—steady, familiar, soft in the way the world rarely was.

He helped me to hope, to dream. But it wasn’t just him that haunted me—not entirely.

It was the idea of being alone in a world that always seemed one step from forgetting me.

That was the part she didn’t see. The part no one ever did.

The sincerity in her voice threatens to crack something in me, but I hold firm, forcing the emotions back down where they belong. I glance away, focusing on the candlelight to steady myself.

“I don’t want to change,” I say finally, my voice softer now, almost a whisper .

Sera doesn’t respond right away. She just watches me, her gaze unwavering.

Then, without a word, she reaches for her wrist and unclasps her silver bracelet—the one she’s worn for as long as I can remember.

The delicate filigree catches the light as she slips it around my wrist, fastening it with care.

Her fingers linger briefly, and when she pulls back, the bracelet feels like both a gift and a promise—one her father gave her before she was sent to the castle to become my handmaiden.

“There,” she says, standing and brushing off her skirts as though she’s just solved the world’s biggest problem. “Perfect.”

I arch a brow at her, trying to fight the small smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. “Perfect?”

“Perfect,” she repeats firmly. “And before you argue, no, you don’t get to take it off. You need it more than I do.”

I shake my head, but the smile slips free anyway. “If you say so.”

“I do,” she replies, her tone as light as her grin is wide. She loops her arm through mine, pulling me toward the door. “Now, come on. Your father’s waiting, and we both know he’s not the patient type.”

The mention of my father sends a cold prickle down my spine, but Sera’s warm presence keeps me from spiraling.

I glance at her as we walk, at the way her hair bounces with every step, and the spark of determination in her eyes.

She’s always been my anchor, the one person who refuses to let me sink beneath the weight of everything I carry.

As we approach the heavy oak doors leading to my father’s office, Sera slows her steps, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll wait here,” she says, her voice softer now. “Good luck.”

Her words echo in my mind as I step forward, her comforting touch lingering like a warm ember against my skin. The hallway feels colder without her by my side, the chill sinking into my bones as I approach the door.

Pausing before my father’s office door, I take a deep, steadying breath. The significance of the moment presses against me like an invisible force. “ You can do this ,” I tell myself, adjusting the silver bracelet on my wrist—a subtle gesture that gives me a fleeting sense of control.