Page 31 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

They moved like screaming shadows and struck like lightning—all claws, teeth, and unrelenting rage. The air turned thick with screams. Blood ran through the alleyways. I will always remember the scent—copper, rot, smoke. I remember slipping in ruby puddles of it in my panic.

Walls were painted red, and limbs lay scattered in the street.

No one had trained for that kind of carnage. No one could’ve prepared for it.

“Stay behind me,” she’d said, sword drawn, eyes blazing. “Stay behind me, but don’t stop fighting.”

The guards were brave but outnumbered. They spread themselves too thin, hoping to shield civilians. It didn’t matter, though. The monsters just kept coming .

Deacon and I fought at her side, shoulder to shoulder, sweat and blood and fury in every swing, but there were too many. They poured in like a tide, endless, unrelenting.

We couldn’t hold them.

And then the soldiers arrived.

One of them pointed.

“There.”

Their path shifted. All of them, straight toward her.

Calculated. Precise.

Their mission became obvious the moment they saw her.

They didn’t want to kill. They came to acquire.

My mother… she is one of the Gifted, and she doesn’t have just any gift; her power is rare. She can sense the magic in others and feel the pulse of it beneath their skin; she knows what they are, what they can do.

And for Dagan—a man gathering power like kindling before a fire—she was invaluable.

She didn’t go quietly. She fought with the fury of a lioness cornered, shielding me and Deacon with her body, but they didn’t come for the supposed orphan girl and her friend. They had no interest in us, barely a blip on their radar. They came for her.

I remember that she roared orders to retreat, to leave her kingdom, but eventually, they overpowered her. They tore her from our grasp, and I still feel my scream echo through my chest sometimes when I close my eyes.

“Run,” she whispered, then looked towards Deacon. “Get her out. Whatever happens—” The last I heard of her voice.

At first, word came that she resisted Dagan completely. She refused to eat, speak, refused to help him in any way.

But as the days, weeks, and months passed, and the bond between her and my father withered from distance and pain, she began to fracture.

Her mind, without its mate, started to crumble, too.

And Dagan… Dagan waited patiently for those cracks to show.

When she slipped—even for a moment—they used her. Manipulated her. Forced her to do what she would never have done if she were of sound mind.

To find others like her. To become the very weapon she once swore to protect people from.

I try not to imagine what it’s like for her in those moments of clarity. When she wakes up and realises what she’s done. Who she’s helped. Who she’s betrayed.

The horror of it. The guilt.

My mother is kindness personified. She is warmth and wisdom, and love. And the thought of her trapped in that nightmare, aware of the pain she’s caused but powerless to stop it—

It tears open something raw inside me.

Every single day.

* * *

It’s as I’m walking back to our rooms with Sam that Carter finds me. I’d been wondering when he would.

He nods at Sam, then silently jerks his head for me to follow, already turning away, his cane tapping sharply against the stone tiles.

“I guess I’ll see you later, Sam,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at the sheer audacity of the general. Just assuming I’ll follow without a word.

And while I’d love nothing more than to ignore the old man’s silent summons, there are things I need to speak to him about, too.

When I reach his chambers, the door is left ajar, so I let myself in.

Leo winds around my legs, purring and leaving smears of ginger fur all over my black leggings. I crouch to scratch the top of his head, and he arches into my touch, clearly pleased.

“No time for that. Come sit,” Carter calls, his tone clipped, brisk, but not without warmth. Still, there’s no room for argument.

I sit opposite him at the heavy wooden table. A steaming pot of herbal tea rests between us. He pours a cup and slides it toward me, the delicate china looking almost absurd in his large, battle-worn hands.

“Not laced this time?” I ask, voice sharp with buried anger, the snark curling at the edges of my words. I sniff at the tea, letting the steam curl into my nose.

To his credit, he has the decency to look guilty. His eyes drop briefly before lifting again to meet mine.

“I had no idea they were going to drug you all, Elina.”

I scoff, even though deep down, I know he’s telling the truth. Carter would never willingly put me in danger.

“You know I’d never allow anything that left you exposed like that,” he says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. “It was a new general’s idea. It goes without saying that he’s since been discharged.”

I exhale, my shoulders slumping. Letting a crack of vulnerability show—just for a moment.

Looking across the room and out the window at the golden sun rays, I whisper. “It was horrible. My mind didn’t feel like my own.”

“Well, it won’t happen again,” he says, tone final—that quiet certainty of his leaving no room for doubt. My mind is my own now. That’s the end of it.

I straighten my spine, shifting from the girl he helped raise to the soldier he helped shape.

“I brought you here to give you a heads-up,” he says, lifting his tea and closing his eyes in quiet appreciation. Gods, old people, and their love for tea .

“The council plans to formally invite you to a meeting in a few weeks.”

“What? Why now?” I frown, the skin between my brows pulling tight.

“There are some members of the council who’ve made it no secret that they believe your father is unfit to rule.”

“Cael,” I say flatly.

He nods. “He’s the most vocal, yes. He’s been pushing for your father to abdicate and for you to take the throne in his place.”

I huff. “Cael doesn’t want me to rule. He wants someone he can control. He thinks I’ll be easier to bully than my father.”

Carter lets out a dry laugh. “Then the man’s clearly never spent much time in your company.”

“Hey!” I say, mock-offended.

“I don’t know all their motives yet,” Carter replies, his voice quieting. “But tread carefully, Elina.”

“Oh, now you want me to wear a mask?” I lift a brow at him, smirking.

“Enough cheek, girl. Drink your tea and leave me be.”

I toss back the last of it, then push away from the table with a scrape of wood on stone.

“Don’t worry, sir. I can handle the council,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door.

“Yeah,” he mutters behind me, just loud enough to catch. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”