Page 50 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
Lucas raises both hands in exaggerated surrender, biting back a grin. But then, the mischief softens. He steps forward, leaning in as his hand lifts gently to cup Sera’s face.
“I missed you too,” he says, his voice quieter now—without jest, without armor.
His gaze lingers on hers, the warmth in his eyes softening theirprior banter. Before she can respond, he leans in and presses a swift kiss to her cheek, the barest brush of lips against flushed skin. His grin returns the moment she swats at him, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like his name laced with a curse.
But even as she glares at him, her smile betrays her. Lucas steps back and, without warning, spins Sera beneath the soft lantern light. She lets out a breathy giggle, her golden hair flaring like spun fire as she twirls back into him.
“Come now, my sweet maiden” he says, catching her with ease. “Let me escort you to the ballroom before you find another braid to fix.”
With a playful huff, Sera loops her arm through his—still smiling as he turns to me and offers his other arm with a wink.
“You too, Lailah. Let’s make an entrance, shall we?”
Sera casts me a knowing look as I hesitantly take his offered elbow. We begin walking together, steps echoing softly in the corridor. Sera leans into Lucas, her shoulder brushing his in a way that speaks of years—not just of time, but of shared mischief and stubborn affection.
“Do you remember the first time we danced?” she asks, her voice lilting with amusement, the kind that comes from remembering exactly how ridiculous it all was.
Lucas lets out a low chuckle.
“You mean when you spilled wine all over my boots and then called me a ‘brooding bloodsucker’ loud enough for half the court to hear?”
“You deserved it,” she replies smoothly, swatting his arm without missing a beat. “You mistook me for a servant.”
“In my defense,” he says, lifting a brow with mock solemnity, “you were barking orders at the flower seller like a war commander preparing for siege. I heard nothing but talk of symmetry and color balance for what felt like an age. Forgive me for not realizing you were the Riverlord’s niece—let alone the handmaiden pacing behind my sister like she was yours to command.”
Her laughter spills into the corridor, unforced and full of warmth.
“And yet,” she muses, “you still helped me carry those ridiculous vases. Even though you were late to Lailah’s coronation, confused and wandering the halls like a lost puppy.”
Lucas shrugs, his arm moving subtly around her waist as they continue walking.
“You were too beautiful to walk away from.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, more for her than anyone else.
“Little did you know, I wasn’t even a vampire. Just a human. Poor, hopeless, and smitten human.”
Sera lifts a brow, feigning disdain, though the blush rising to her cheeks ruins the act entirely.
“Hopeless is right,” she mutters, but her smile says otherwise.
The last time the three of us walked these halls together was on the night of my coronation. I remember how my hands trembled beneath the heavy silk gown, how fear sat like a stone in my chest. Lucas had whispered foolish things just to make me smile, nudging my shoulder with that familiar, lopsided grin. Sera trailed behind, pinning back loose strands of my hair with fingers far steadier than mine, determined to make me look like something worthy of a crown. In that moment, I felt anything but.
Now, we walk the same path again—toward music and laughter and a ballroom full of eyes that will no doubt be glued to me all night long. Sconces cast warm light across polished stone, and the scent of sugared citrus and spiced cakes lingers in the air. But even with their laughter beside me, even with Lucas’s grounding presence and Sera’s graceful quiet, the memory clings like frost. That night, as the crown neared my head, I saw a shadow slip through the crowd—gone before I could name it. I feel it again now, lingering at the edge of my thoughts like a warning.
I force myself to focus. My role tonight is clear, and the games are about to begin. Lucas’s arm tightens slightly around mine, as ifsensing my hesitation. His warmth steadies me, if only for a fleeting moment.
The ballroom doors loom ahead, ornate and imposing. As we approach, the low murmur of voices crescendos, the promise of a long night waiting beyond the threshold.
“Ready?” Lucas asks, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
I nod, drawing a deep breath and straightening my shoulders as the doors swing open.
9
LAILAH
The engagement ball was a masterclass in opulence, designed to dazzle and intimidate in equal measure. The banners of black and gold hung proudly from the high walls, a stark reminder of my father’s dominion. Below them, the grand hall shimmered in shades of champagne, an elegant contrast that softened the room’s severity without diminishing its grandeur.
