Page 126 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
“Of course, Father,” she says smoothly, though I can see the tension in her shoulders.
I catch a flash of the frustration she tries so hard to mask. For all her strength, there’s still a part of her that feels the weight of his control, the shadow he casts over every choice she makes. Clyde turns his attention to Jason, his tone shifting slightly, more pointed.
“I trust you’ll keep my daughter safe, Striden. She’s a precious thing, after all.”
Jason inclines his head.
“Of course, Your Grace. I will do everything in my power to protect her.”
The subtle edge in Jason’s tone doesn’t go unnoticed—not by me. Clyde smiles as if content with his answer. The moment stretches uncomfortably, the suspense overpowering. Lailah’s hands are still clasped tightly in front of her, and I can tell she’s fighting the urge to say something more, to challenge him. But she doesn’t. Not yet.
Clyde’s gaze shifts back to me, his smile widening slightly as if daring me to react.
“What do you think, Ghost?” he asks, his tone light but cutting. “Surely you agree that the Striden lands are the better choice?”
My lips curl into a tight smile, though inside, my frustration churns.
“I think,” I say carefully, “that the princess’s safety is always paramount. Wherever she goes, it should be with the utmost protection.”
It’s a diplomatic response, but Clyde’s smile tells me he hears the restraint in my voice.
“Then it’s settled,” Clyde says, clapping his hands once, the sound echoing through the hall. “The two of you will leave for the Striden lands with the army. It will be a grand journey, and who knows, Lailah? Perhaps you’ll find it even more enchanting than the Riverlands.”
Lailah bows her head slightly, her voice soft as she replies, “Of course, Father. Whatever you think is best.”
Clyde turns to Jason, his expression shifting into something more serious, though his indulgent tone remains.
“Jason, a word in my office before you leave for the night. There are a few… details to finalize regarding your journey,” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the doors leading to his private study.
Jason hesitates for only a moment before inclining his head.
“Of course, my King.”
Lailah’s gaze follows Jason as he steps toward her father, her hands still tightly clasped in front of her. She doesn’t say anything, but the rigidity in her posture is unmistakable. Jason glances at her briefly, his eyes meeting hers, and for a fleeting moment, something unspoken passes between them.
Then, without a word, he follows Clyde out of the room, the heavy doors closing behind them with a muted thud.
Left in the hall, Lailah’s composure falters slightly, her shoulders stiffening as her eyes linger on the closed doors. The ache of being excluded, of being treated as little more than a pawn, is clear in the way her lips press into a thin line. She takes a deep breath, her chin lifting slightly as if to steel herself. Her gaze darts to me, and for the briefest moment, her eyes meet mine. There’s something there—frustration, vulnerability, and maybe even a hint of trust—but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears.
I hold her gaze, keeping my own unreadable.
Lailah’s eyes drop first, and she turns away, retreating toward the throne room doors. Her hands are clenched at her sides, the agitation radiating off her in waves. The sound of the heavy doors openingechoes through the space, and I watch as she disappears into the shadows of the corridor beyond.
I remain where I am, staring after her, the weight of everything hanging over me like a blade poised to drop. Whatever she’s feeling, whatever she’s planning, I know one thing for certain: Lailah isn’t retreating to lick her wounds.
Even though I would gladly do that for her.
26
LAILAH
As I ascend toward the east wing staircase, a heavy nausea coils in my stomach, a bitter residue of the farce Jason and I had woven tonight. The heavy diamond shawl around my neck feels suffocating, its cold brilliance mocking me. Every glimmering facet feels like a chain, its radiance a cruel reminder of the illusion I’m forced to uphold. I glance down at the gown I wear—exquisite, imprisoning—and my magic stirs violently beneath my skin.
I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that my father would permit Jason and me to travel to the Riverlands for our honeymoon. The thought of being alone with my husband in a quiet, distant palace seemed like salvation compared to the suffocating prospect of traveling to the Striden lands. The idea of Casper being near us—nearme—throughout our entire journey is unbearable.
How could I possibly focus on Jason, my husband, with Casper so close? The longing to be near him—when I should long for Jason—is a truth I cannot reconcile. I hadn’t told Jason why the Riverlands were my priority, hadn’t dared to confess that my selfish need to escape Casper’s presence burned hotter than any desire for the tranquilbeauty of the river palace. How could I admit that the thought of Jason’s hands on me feels like a betrayal, not because of him, but because ofCasper?
My magic churns, mirroring the turmoil within me. As Casper’s gaze pierces through my thoughts, my steps falter. He stood there tonight, his arm draped casually around Vanessa, her laugh soft and intimate as it spilled against him. I recall the way he dismissed me after our kiss, casting me aside like an afterthought. That kiss had unraveled me, broken something deep inside me, yet to him, it was nothing. Rage and jealousy collide, each feeding the other as I picture the way Vanessa kissed him tonight, claiming him as hers, flaunting her possession of him for all to see.
