Page 3 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

“ T his is bullshit,” I mutter to the hulking blonde beside me. The words hit the air like a slap, petty and sharp.

Sam huffs through his nose, the closest he will get to a laugh, and says nothing.

It’s cute how he humours me. Or maybe it’s pathetic. Either way, I know I’m testing his patience. He’s been listening to me complain for hours, and if I weren’t so furious, I might actually feel bad about it.

At five foot three, I’m dwarfed in the crowd of over three hundred tall, strapping recruits for the Aladrian army. And, as of today, I’m one of them.

Under duress.

I pull the hood of my vest lower over my face and sulk, eyes fixed on the shoulders before me.

It’s not like I can see past them anyway.

The crowd is mostly male, all of them facing the dais, waiting for the senior officials to appear, and now I’m just another girl trying to belong in a world full of dicks and deltoids.

I’ve positioned myself in the centre, trying to stay hidden and avoid the attention I’ll draw just for being female, but sunlight still pours in from the high windows, illuminating me where I stand.

A low hum of chatter fills the air, the excitement practically tangible as it ripples through the room like a living, breathing thing.

All conscripts are volunteers. Aladria never struggled for them since the war began. Everyone here has been impatiently waiting to turn twenty and finally sign up, travelling from across the continent to enlist at the castle. Its golden turrets gleaming in the sunlight, a beacon to hopefuls.

“You heard what Carter said, Elina,” Sam says, dragging me out of my thoughts. His exasperation is nothing new. We’ve had this argument multiple times. “If you want to keep fighting the Malus, you have to do it with the army.”

I roll my eyes under my hood like a petulant teenager.

The Malus are an abomination from the neighbouring kingdom of Dunmere, where Dagan Ashgrave rules.

Twenty years ago, our already fragile relationship with the smaller kingdom to the east broke down completely.

He attacked Aladria for land, resources, and power, slaughtering innocent civilians in the process. Men, women, children—nobody was spared.

But at the time, Dunmere was no match for Aladria’s army, and Dagan was forced to retreat, licking his wounds and hiding away. That is, until he found a necromancer who created the Malus.

The Malus are reanimated corpses of Dunmere soldiers.

Soulless, tireless, impervious to pain. They have only one goal: to destroy the enemy.

You can’t stop them unless you decapitate them.

Cut off their legs? They’ll crawl. Set them on fire?

They’ll burn and keep coming. Drown them?

Well, I’ve never tried that one, but I could guess that the fuckers are buoyant.

Everything I know about the Malus, I learned over four years of sneaking out of the castle I call home. Hidden behind a mask and hood, I have stood side by side with the army, fighting with them in the war for so long that they started calling me the Fox .

Ridiculous.

Probably think I’m a man.

But two weeks ago, it all unravelled after an enemy soldier knocked my mask loose, and General Carter caught a full look at my face. I swear, the man nearly keeled over, partly from rage, partly from shock.

He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to an uncle, having raised me like one of his own. But now? Now that he’s forced me here to fight Malus the “proper” way?

He’s dead to me.

Don’t get me wrong. I respect the army. But I’m no team player. I’m a lone wolf—well, a lone fox.

I can count my friends on two fingers. One is the quiet but deadly blonde giant to my right. The other—

A ripple runs through the crowd behind me, accompanied by annoyed grunts.

“Coming through, shift yourselves!”

I smirk at the familiar voice. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“Elina!” My name is sung off-key as my only other friend elbows his way toward us. “There you are, you big bastard! Your blonde hair’s like a lighthouse. And where you are, my red-headed minx isn’t far behind.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Sam mutters. “If we stand still, maybe something shiny will distract him.”

“Wishful thinking.” I laugh just as my hood is pulled back, releasing my curtain of crimson hair. It flows down my back, where it falls to my waist.

A mop of bouncy brown curls pops over my shoulder, his big espresso eyes gleaming alongside his dimpled grin.

“My queen, my love, my vixen. I found you.”

I jab my elbow back into Deacon’s stomach. He laughs, grunting as the air whooshes from his chest.

“What are you doing here, Deacon?” I spin to look at him.

He spreads his arms wide, jostling nearby recruits and collecting dirty looks. “You thought I’d let you and Sam have all the fun? Without me? I enlisted, of course.”

My stomach sinks. I love Deacon like a brother; we’ve been raised side by side since we were born. No one knows me better. But the thought of him fighting the Malus makes me want to be physically sick all over his shiny black boots.

He’s not helpless; he trained right alongside me, under Carter. But selfishly, I want to drag him out of here and erase his name from the register.

I can’t lose him. I’ve lost too much already.

“Well then, you’re late,” Sam snaps, exasperated.

“Running late is my cardio, my man,” Deacon shoots back.

Sam rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

Before I can respond, the room quiets. Everyone straightens, eyes locked on the dais. Through a gap in the crowd, I spot Officer Rickard holding a clipboard.

I already know what’s coming. He’s about to divide us into six squads: Alpha, Valour, Force, Steel, Might, and Elite. Each squad will have five teams of around ten people. These are the people we’ll train, eat, sleep—and possibly die—with.

Over four months, agility, knowledge, stamina, combat, and ability with weapons will all be tested in various orders. Then, the remaining recruits will take part in a final assessment for teamwork.

And it will all begin today.

Talk about throwing us in at the deep end.

We’re going to be pitted against each other as we go, cadets against cadets, teams against teams. Ranked on a leaderboard, and after the four months are up, the bottom twenty per cent will be sent home.

That’s if they haven’t left or died first.

Officials will note our weaknesses—or as they like to call it, “areas of improvement”—and build training plans to turn us into machines .

Two years as cadets. Then, if we survive, we graduate as fully fledged soldiers.

“Alpha Squad, Group 1: Marcus Wright,” Rickard begins.

Deacon nudges me. “Reckon we’ll be in the same group?”

I already know Carter will make sure of it. He’s under some sort of misguided delusion that I need protecting.

Names are called, and the crowd steadily thins until only about forty of us remain grouped in the centre, shuffling closer to the front of the room.

“Elite Squad, Group 2: Stone Carlisle.”

Movement to my left draws my attention. A man strides confidently across the room to Officer Barnett, leisurely as if he has all day. His presence seems to command the attention of the room as heads turn to watch.

With short buzz-cut hair, he’s tall, at least six foot five.

I’d barely reach his armpit if I stood at his side.

A tight black shirt clings to his broad shoulders, and I can’t seem to take my eyes off them.

Tattoos start at his right wrist and wind up his huge bicep, disappearing in his sleeve, just to reappear, creeping up his neck, finishing just shy of his jaw. He creates an imposing image.

He turns, piercing blue eyes scanning the crowd. Gods, he’s beautiful. Masculine jaw dusted with a little stubble, sun-kissed skin, a silver chain gracing his neck with a charm I can’t quite make out resting at the hollow of his throat.

He finds who he’s looking for—a tall man near me—and smirks as if they’re sharing a private joke.

Then his gaze lands on me, and I’m caught.

I drop my head and eyes as if I haven’t been staring at this glorious god of a man for the past five minutes, but I remember that Deacon pulled my hood down, and I’m very much exposed to his view.

My eyes flick back up and, as if he can read my thoughts, a cocky smirk takes over his lips as his eyes rake me up and down slowly, from the bottoms of my calf-high black boots to my golden, awe-struck eyes.

A jostle from my left knocks me off balance. I stumble.

“Elina.” Deacon nods toward the dais.

“Elina Banks. Elite Squad, Group 2,” Rickard repeats, exasperated.

How many times has he said my name?

“Shit,” I mumble and move quickly towards Barnett, keeping my gaze low, aware of Stone’s eyes burning into me. My pale skin heats with embarrassment and anger as I curse myself for becoming distracted by a pretty face.

“Elite Squad, Group 2: Trent Waters.”

Stone’s eyes are ripped away from me as the man he was looking for in the crowd strolls our way.

His short, black hair is faded up the sides, leaving neat, tight curls on the top.

He’s also tall, over six foot, with lean muscles wrapped in rich brown skin.

When he reaches us, he and Stone do a manly handshake thing in clear celebration of being grouped together.

Rickard continues reading the names of our group.

“Junie Kato.” I watch in shock as another female moves towards us. Women are few and far between in the Aladrian army.

Junie’s straight black hair shines like a mirror and bounces around her ears in a short bob. Her almond-shaped eyes, so deep brown they’re almost black, sparkle with glee as she bounds over.

Her petite frame and pale skin make me think she has come from the Saiyan kingdom. Saiyan is one of our allies, and they regularly send recruits to join and fight in the Aladrian army.

“Hey.” She grins at me, stepping up to my side. “Glad there’s another girl here. I was worried I’d be surrounded by sweaty balls in the barracks.”

A laugh bursts out of me, and her genuine nature takes me back. I’m used to girls hating me at first sight.

“Pleased to offer you an alternative to sweaty balls.” I smile at her, and she grins back as we listen to the other names being called.

“Sam Cooper.” Sam approaches, followed by Deacon, just as I expected. The latter’s eyes are fixed on Junie as he confidently saunters over to her, paying absolutely no attention to his closest friends, Sam and me.

“As I live and breathe,” he croons, hand on his heart. “A literal goddess has appeared in my vision. Elina, do you see this?” He nudges me and gestures at Junie as I try to refrain from rolling my eyes.

A scoff from Trent indicates he’s got the attention of the others in the group, too.

“Oh, baby,” Junie says, patting Deacon’s arm like a child. “Unless you’ve got a vagina, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Trent bursts out laughing whilst I stifle a giggle. Sam walks off to talk to Barnett, muttering something derogatory about Deacon keeping it in his pants under his breath.

Deacon pouts dramatically. “The Gods giveth and taketh away.” Then he turns to Barnett. “Hey, when’s lunch? I skipped breakfast to spend more time between Sophie Longford’s legs, and now I’m starving.”

The boy’s ability to rebound from rejection is unmatched.

Four more join our group—Brynn Dwyer, Colton Moore, Elijah West, and Jorren Summers. I barely register them, too busy pretending to watch Deacon be Deacon as I actively try to avoid looking at Stone again.

“Right. Elite Squad, Group 2,” Barnett’s voice snaps in the air, whip sharp. “We’re heading outside for a combat assessment. Follow me.”