Page 76 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
His jaw clenches, and I see the guilt creep in like a tide he’s too tired to resist.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did,” I say, and this time, my voice shatters with it—quiet, broken, but resolute. “And I can’t forget that. Not just because the hall is waiting for a performance we no longer deserve to give.”
“I have always loved you, Lailah,” he breathes, as if those words are enough to repair what’s already burned.
I meet his gaze without flinching.
“No,” I answer, calm now, and merciless in the way truth sometimes is. “You love the idea of me. The princess who makes you feel powerful. The woman who gives you something to control.”
I step back, my hands falling to my sides, my heart heavy with the finality of it.
“I thought you were different from the rest of them.”
Jason moves again, as if some invisible thread has yanked him forward—desperate to close the space, to grasp something already slipping through his fingers.
“Lailah, please,” he murmurs. “I know I messed up. Gods, Iknow.But don’t look at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m one ofthem.”
I inhale slowly, forcing the air into lungs that feel too tight. My eyes close just long enough for me to brace myself for what I already know I must say. When I open them, my gaze finds his—and this time, there’s no trembling.
“I don't know you,” I say softly. Not cruelly. Not biting. Just… final.
He falters.
“We have a ceremony to attend,” I continue, each word measured, like a crown settling on my head. “You and I both know what they expect from us. And I will not be the one who ruins the illusion.”
His face twists, pain rippling through it like he’s just now realizing the mask he’s begged me to wear comes at a cost.
“Lailah…” His voice breaks on my name.
I smooth the front of my gown, the movement slow, intentional, like I can gather myself into someone untouchable if I just keep my hands busy.
“You’ll take my hand in front of the court,” I say, lifting my chin as the distant sound of music hums through the stone corridor, mocking in its joy. “You’ll smile like a man who’s won.”
He swallows hard, but doesn’t interrupt.
“And when you feed me the ceremonial bite,” I continue, “you will not look like a man who’s haunted by the taste of regret.”
A silence stretches, fragile as glass.
Then I meet his eyes again—calm, composed, cold only because it has to be.
“Because after tonight, there is nothing left for you to lose that wasn’t already broken.”
Jason says nothing. He just stands there, watching me slip further and further away.
And I let him.
15
LAILAH
The heavy doors to the throne room creak open, the sound reverberating through the vaulted ceiling like a war drum. As I step inside, the low murmur of voices stills. Conversations die mid-sentence. Laughter fades. A hush settles over the gathered court as the crowd begins to part, a path forming down the center of the great hall—one lined with stares honed by curiosity and hunger for spectacle.
My footsteps echo as I cross the threshold, each step measured. Behind me, I hear Jason’s approach—the sound of his boots trailing mine like a shadow I cannot shake.
At the end of the aisle, the raised dais looms beneath the glittering light of a thousand candles. My father stands behind the grand table, cloaked in power, the crimson cloth that drapes it catching the firelight like spilled blood. He lifts his goblet high, his grin cutting through the room with a kind of violent satisfaction. Pride and menace, carefully interwoven. A puppet master delighting in his puppets.
