Page 54 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
The transition was brutal. Most who were turned perished in agony, their bodies rejecting the change in violent, unforgiving ways. When King Clyde rose to power, he outlawed the practice entirely. No one could be turned without his permission—a rare thing to grant—and even then, most who attempted it didn’t survive.
The idea that Casper grew up in Astral under those conditions doesn’t make sense. He had to have been one of the rare few who survived being turned—or he had a family. A vampire birth under human rule was almost unheard of, rare enough to be considered sacred. It would mean his bloodline was strong enough to endure, to defy the odds. And yet, here he stands, a contradiction to everything I thought I knew.
“This kingdom holds more secrets than you think, Princess,” he adds, his voice almost a whisper, like he’s letting me in on something that shouldn’t be shared.
The implication makes my chest tighten, but I push forward.
“Your family—are they still…” I trail off, unsure how to phrase the question without sounding too intrusive.
His gaze suddenly grows distant, like he’s sifting through memories he doesn’t want to revisit. Then he looks back at me, his expressionsofter, vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual calm.
“No,” he says finally, almost like a confession. “My mother died when I was young.”
He pauses, and I see something flicker in his eyes—a shadow of grief that hasn’t faded with time. “She was my only family.”
The sharp edge of his usual demeanor dulls. For a moment, it feels like he’s let me see a part of him he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
It feels small, insignificant compared to everything he’s shared, but it’s all I can offer in this fragile space. Casper nods slightly, his expression blank, but there’s a softness in his eyes now, something that tells me he’s not as untouched as he wants me to believe.
“It’s in the past,” he replies, his voice tinged with a quiet sorrow. The distance in his tone speaks volumes, like he’s long since made peace with the hurt, but it still lingers.
I hesitate, my genuine curiosity gnawing at me.
“Why do you stay, then?” The words escape before I can stop them, more direct than I intended. I hesitate, then soften my voice, trying again. “Why not go somewhere else and begin anew?”
He looks at me, his gaze steady.
“Why do you stay?”
The question catches me off guard. I glance away, eyes sweeping the quiet around us, my arms curling in gently, like I’m trying to hold something steady inside myself. My brows knit, caught between what I feel and what I can’t bear to say.
“Because I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
There’s a vulnerability in my voice, raw and unintentional, but it feels like the truth. Casper studies me for a long moment, his lips pressing into a faint line. Then, his voice breaks the silence, steady but layered with something deeper.
“Then I suppose we have more in common than you think.”
His clarity catches me off guard. The noise from the throne room fades into the background, and for a fleeting moment, the world feelssmaller, quieter—just the two of us on the balcony, sharing something neither of us can fully name.
“Is there anything else, Princess?” His voice dips low as he steps closer.
I hesitate, the quickening of my pulse betraying the calm I try to hold. The distance between Casper and I feels suffocatingly small, and yet I make no move to widen it. My gaze locks on his, the dark intensity of his eyes keeping me frozen. Slowly, my focus drifts to his mouth, where his breath stirs the charged air.
When he leans closer, the faint warmth of his breath brushes against my lips. A tightness curls deep within me, and I find myself leaning into the stillness, my defenses slipping, drawn into his gravity.
The spell breaks abruptly with the crash of shattering glass from the ballroom.
I flinch, my eyes snapping open as I instinctively step back at the sound, the fragile tension dissipating. The weight of his presence lifts just enough for me to catch my breath. His expression doesn’t change, his piercing gaze steady as if the interruption were a nuisance, nothing more. The subtle shift in his posture—his shoulders tightening, his jaw clenching—sets me on edge.
Needing distance, I turn and move to the edge of the balcony, my gloved fingers brushing the cold stone. The climbing vines curl around the railing, their delicate purple flowers glowing faintly in the moonlight, their scent a soothing balm against the nerves still coiling inside me. I trace their fragile shapes, grounding myself in their softness as I draw in slow, deliberate breaths.
One inhale.
One exhale.
Each breath stretches longer, loosening the knot in my chest.
