Page 106 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
“If my memory serves me well,” he says, his tone playful, “we were right back around that corner the first time I kissed you.”
My breath hitches, my mind instantly conjuring the memory of that long-forgotten moment. Jason’s voice draws me back.
“If I come back here,” he continues, his eyes locking on mine, “that’s the first place I’ll look.”
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come. He knows he’s left me speechless. He leans in, his presence warm and steady, and with a tenderness that makes something in me ache, he presses a kiss to my cheek. The moment lingers—too brief to be anything more, but long enough to stay with me.
Then he turns.
“Jason,” I breathe, reaching out instinctively, my fingers brushing his sleeve.
He pauses mid-step, glancing back with a brow raised, waiting.
“The diamond shawl,” I murmur. “It’s... too much.”
His smirk softens as he tilts his head, his voice lowering with something that sounds too much like knowing.
"You were never one to want to stand out," he says, his gaze steady, his voice low and sure. "But you do, Lailah. Even when you don't mean to. You always have."
I look down, unsure what to say, unsure how to hold this part of him he’s still offering so freely. But he doesn't let the silence swallow us. Instead, he takes a single step forward and murmurs, “It’s for you.”
My gaze traces the lines of his face, the calm in his eyes, the quiet curve of his mouth. I search for words, but they vanish before they reach my lips. He notices. Of course he does. And he smiles, slow and knowing, like he’s always been able to read me.
“Happy hunting, wife,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with teasing confidence.
Before I can come up with a reply, he winks, turning on his heel and walking away with an easy, self-assured stride. As Jason disappears through the doorway, the playful smile fades from my lips, and a dull ache settles in my chest. I sink into one of the library’s worn chairs and open a book, letting my fingers trail absently over the fragile pages, but the words blur into nothingness beneath my gaze.
I want towantJason. Ishouldwant Jason. It would be so easy to fall into step with him again, to let his kindness and warmth carry me into something effortless and familiar. But the anger that bubbles within me refuses to be soothed, gnawing at the edges of my resolve. No matter how much I try, I can’t shake Casper’s shadow.
His name lingers in my mind like an unwelcome guest, and the memory of his dark eyes haunts me even now, tugging at places I’ve tried to lock away.Why can’t he leave me? Why does he still occupy the spaces where Jason should stand?
I turn a page, the sound crisp in the silence, but the book offers no escape. Instead, it mocks me with its calm, its stillness, while my thoughts churn restlessly. My frustration spills over as I stare at the inked lines. I want to desire Jason the way he desires me, to let him be enough. But deep down, I know—there’s a part of me that’s stilltethered to Casper, bound by something I can’t name but feel in every stolen thought, every unguarded moment. It infuriates me, this hold he has over me, this constant pull that won’t let go.
I close the book gently, setting it aside as I lean back, letting my head rest against the cool wood of the chair. The quiet of the library wraps around me, but it does nothing to silence the war within.
22
LAILAH
It’s been five evenings since our wedding night, and not once has Jason attempted to sleep in our bed.Our bed.And yet, there’s something soothing about his restraint. Despite the vows we exchanged, the promises made under the force of duty, Jason has not once pushed me. He hasn’t demanded, nor hinted at what might be expected of a wife. And somehow, this only leaves me more unsettled.
He’s a gentleman, I remind myself. A man of patience and respect.More than I expected.
There’s a warmth in his presence, a quiet understanding that makes the space feel...safe.Like a comforting companion who holds back, who is cautious with me, even though I am his now. And that thought alone should make me feel secure. Shouldn’t it?
But it doesn’t. It makes me feel more confused.More conflicted.
The days have slipped by in a quiet haze. No one has come to summon me to my duties. Sera, ever the dutiful handmaiden, hasn’t knocked on my door to prepare me for any royal vampire obligations. The usual tasks I once dreaded are now absent, leaving me with nothing but this strange silence, as if the world itself is giving me a moment to breathe.
I stand at the window of our shared chamber, the night skystretching endlessly before me. I realize with a pang that I might never get a chance to do this again. Never again will I have the freedom to just be… me. Not the princess. Not the pawn in my father's court. But just me. I can almost feel my responsibilities calling me back, dragging me from this strange, fleeting moment of peace. My father will not let me be idle forever.
With a sigh, I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it into a tight braid. But as the dark smoke of magic swirls around me, I feel the familiar weight of my cloak draping across my shoulders. A cloak of shadows, hiding my identity, hiding the woman I am from the world. Beneath it, I pull on the familiar attire—dark slacks and a black shirt—simple, practical, and ready for whatever the night might bring.
I step out onto the balcony of our joined bedchambers, looking for some way to escape, something to climb, something to slip away unnoticed. But the castle walls offer no such reprieve. Frustration bubbles up inside me, and I roll my eyes at the irony. This room—our room—was designed to keep both of us locked in. No one comes in, no one leaves.
I open the bedroom door, expecting the usual quiet hallway. But as I step into the corridor, I am met by the same guard—the one with the bright blue eyes and auburn hair. He stands there, his gaze fixed on me with quiet curiosity. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move as I pass. I narrow my eyes, sensing something different about him.
No other guard has dared to stand so close. They usually avoid making eye contact, let alone openly watch me. But he... he simply observes me with a faint, knowing look. I smile, walking past him slowly, almost daring him to stop me. He doesn’t. I turn to glance back at him down the hallway, and he meets my eyes with a single raised eyebrow, his expression firm, but not hostile. It’s as if he’s waiting for something to unfold. But I don’t wait. I keep moving.
