Page 93 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
“I’ll inform my sweet of the plans… after her long, hopefully satisfying night. I imagine Jason will make the most of his wedding bed.”
I can see the enjoyment in his eyes, the way he relishes watching me unravel at the edges. My voice doesn’t falter as I reply, though it takes everything in me to keep my tone even.
“I’ll do as you wish, Your Grace.” The bitterness crawls up my throat, but I force myself to swallow it down.
Clyde’s grin widens, pleased with my compliance.
“Good.” He moves back to his chair, settling into it with a casual confidence.
I nod, my jaw locked tight as I turn to leave. The fire crackles behind me, but it does nothing to thaw the ice spreading through my veins. The irrepressible thought of Jason and Lailah together—alone, tangled in each other—grates against my skull like nails on stone. My teeth grind as the image takes root, uninvited and infuriating. His hands on her, his mouth—fuck.
Every step toward the ballroom feels heavier, my boots hitting the stone like a drumbeat. The distant sounds of laughter and music only make it worse, as though the entire castle is mocking me. My hands curl into fists at my sides, the urge to break something still burning hot beneath my skin.
By the time I reach the towering doors of the ballroom, my blood is boiling. I push them open without hesitation, the sound of music spilling out like some twisted reminder of what’s waiting inside. My chest tightens, my rage coiling tighter, and I step into the room with one thought beating through my mind.
Lailah.
19
LAILAH
As the night unfolds, the music swells and the air thickens with desire. The dance floor is alive, every movement a delicate balance between elegance and restraint. But it’s me they watch, their eyes never leaving me, as if I am the entertainment for the evening—a prize to be won. Every gaze is heavy with lust, each of them wanting to hold the king’s daughter, just to say they did.
The vampire holding me is strong, his arms guiding me with a fluidity that none of the others had managed. Unlike the others, there’s no pretense in his movements, no lingering touch meant to unsettle or seduce. If I had to guess, I’m not the one he’s interested in tonight. A small, amused smile tugs at my lips as I catch the refreshing indifference in his attention.
My previous partners, each one masked and impossibly beautiful, their features otherworldly beneath their elaborate disguises. The first wore a black mask adorned with crimson accents, its edges angular and severe. It framed his raven-black hair, which gleamed like polished onyx beneath the chandelier’s glow. His pale skin and crimson eyes, stark against the darkness of his attire, burned through the mask’s slits with an unrelenting intensity. His hold on me feltalmost possessive, his touch lingering too long. Every step felt like a challenge, as though he wanted to unravel me entirely.
The next was shorter but no less striking, his mask a shimmering gold that caught the candlelight with every turn. It was delicate, almost playful, complementing his golden hair that curled softly at the edges. His roguish grin beneath the mask never quite reached his cool blue eyes, which sparkled with calculated mischief. His laughter was soft and smooth as he spun me faster and faster, his teasing words brushing against my ear like a whispered game. His flirtation felt practiced, his charm almost forceful, his gaze assessing me as if searching for the cracks in my composure.
Then there was the third—tall and statuesque, his mask a deep silver adorned with intricate vine-like patterns, framing his chiseled features. His dark curls spilled just slightly over the edges of the mask, and his storm-gray eyes gleamed like steel beneath it. His alabaster skin seemed even more stark against the muted gray of his attire. He moved with an unsettling control, his steps precise, his hand at my waist heavy with unspoken intent. There was no warmth in his touch, no softness in his gaze—only a quiet, predatory focus that made my skin crawl.
But now, in the arms of this partner, it’s different. His mask, bronzed and understated, reflects the warm hues of his skin and the smooth lines of his jaw. His movements are fluid and confident, but there’s no edge, no game. His gaze isn’t on me at all, but on the other men in the room. The faintest smile crosses his lips when his eyes meet theirs, his interest evident without a word.
It’s refreshing, this detachment, and for the first time tonight, I feel at ease. There’s no pressure here, no test to endure or wall to defend. The music swells, his movements natural and unforced, and I let myself relax into the rhythm of the dance. This partner is unlike the others, and I find I prefer it this way.
But then, as the music shifts and I’m spun into another embrace, a scent surrounds me—sweet, laced with leather, darkly inviting. It seeps into my senses as though it’s meant to linger not just on myskin, but within my very soul. A cold, electric quiver races down my spine, both a warning and a promise, daring me to stay.
His grip is strong, his hands commanding as one captures mine, while the other settles at the small of my back. There’s nothing casual about the way he holds me; it’s intimate, possessive, as though the dance is merely an excuse to pull me closer. His warmth surrounds me, overpowering and undeniable. I don’t need to look up to know who it is, but my gaze lifts anyway, compelled by an allure I can’t fight.
My eyes meet his—smoldering with something that feels almost forbidden. His magnetic gaze pulls me into a place where reason falters. His black mask, detailed with intricate, almost thorn-like patterns, obscures part of his face, framing his angular jaw and high cheekbones, curling around him as though he wears the night itself. His hair falls in soft curls, catching just enough light to reveal its depth, like polished obsidian softened at the edges, a delicate contrast to the intensity of his presence. His tan skin glows faintly under the light, as though he carries the last remnants of a fading sunset.
Casper.
There’s a haunting beauty to him, a quiet precariousness that hums beneath the surface, as though his every move is calculated to unravel me. He doesn’t just look at me—he invades me, his gaze sinking into places I thought I’d hidden away. The music becomes a distant murmur, its melody fading into insignificance compared to the rhythm he commands with his nearness.
He tilts his head slightly, his gaze firm. My breath falters, my heartbeat quickening under the weight of his attention. But as my eyes drift away, they catch on a woman across the room. Her dark black hair falls straight and sleek to her waist, a curtain of shadow that gleams under the candlelight. Her dark eyes glint behind her mask, and her smile is almost predatory, as though she and her partner are orchestrating some silent game at my expense. A subtle flutter of her fingers—a gesture so small yet so calculated—sends achill racing through me. My breath hitches and heat blooms across my cheeks, embarrassment rushing forward unbidden.
Casper’s hand tightens on me, his grip firm as if he can sense the strain rippling through the air. Without a word, he pulls me closer. I draw in a steadying breath, straightening my back in an attempt to project calm indifference, though his warm embrace makes it impossible to ignore the effect he has on me.
“Well, well. TheGhostdecided to show,” I say. There’s no warmth in my voice, only thinly-veiled disdain.
Casper grins, that damnable dimple carving into his cheek, and my heart betrays me with a skipped beat. His eyes hold mine before drifting, as if committing every inch of me to memory.
“You’re breathtaking.”
I glance up, confusion knitting my brows as his words catch me off guard. Breaking his gaze, I turn to the room, though the pull between us grows stronger with each passing moment.
“I thought you were supposed to be leaving,” I say, my words edged with bitterness.
