Page 42 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

L ater that night, after I manage to force down some food and take the fastest shower of my life, I’m lying in bed, staring at the canopy above me.

Sleep doesn’t want to come.

My mind is wired, sparking with too many thoughts. Junie. The royal ball. King Halven’s plan. And the loudest thought of all.

Stone.

They swirl in my head like a storm, refusing to quiet. Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing there, bare other than a towel, dripping wet, so fucking beautiful. I can still feel the heat of my reaction lingering under my skin, the ache of wanting.

It’s maddening.

And worse, it’s not just about attraction anymore. That would be easier. Safer. But no, there’s something else under it—something real, something that makes my chest feel tight and my heart stupidly hopeful.

I seem to like all versions of Stone. His mind, his body, his whole being.

And that’s the most dangerous part of all.

I roll over, twist the blankets tighter around myself, and try to force my thoughts into silence.

And after what feels like hours of tossing and turning, I finally, mercifully, fall asleep.

* * *

I wake to the sound of knocking on the door, thankfully not the internal one this time.

Rising, I quickly wrap a robe of white silk around myself and pull the door open.

On the other side stands a man dressed in a pale blue suit, silver embroidery swirling across the lapels like frost. His icy white hair is slicked back, and though he’s only a few inches taller than me, he manages to angle his chin just so, peering down his nose as if I’m beneath him.

“You and your team,” he sneers slightly at the word team , as if the mere thought of our group leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, “have been summoned for breakfast with the king. You will wear the blue gown provided and join him immediately.”

It takes everything in me not to bite back. I have to physically press my teeth into my tongue to stop the retort from slipping out. I remind myself I’m not at home. I’m no one here. And we came because Aladria needs Halven’s army.

I simply nod, and he turns away, moving to knock on Stone’s door, presumably to deliver the same message.

I march over to the wardrobe and locate the dress. It’s vastly different from my usual uniform, trading black leather for soft indigo satin. In my opinion, it’s wildly overdressed for breakfast, but I won’t argue.

The material flows like a river down my body, cool and fluid, skimming my curves and falling to just above my ankles. I find a pair of pearl-coloured heels waiting beside the wardrobe and slip them on, then drape a white fur throw around my shoulders for warmth.

At the mirrored dressing table, I run a brush through my hair until it lies in smooth waves, then step into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Moments later, I’m ready and I leave the room without looking back.

After being escorted by a guard, I arrive at the dining hall.

The room is stunning, walls glitter with glass and mirrors, light streaming through arched windows that stretch from floor to ceiling.

Pale beams dance across a long table that could seat forty.

Silver dishes glint beside crystal goblets, and every inch of the surface is laden with bowls of fruit, cream-laced oats, flaky pastries, and cured meats.

When everyone else from the team arrives, all of them dressed in tailored ice-blue suits, we’re led in together. I feel every gaze shift toward us, but none sharper than the one at the head of the table.

King Halven rises slowly from his seat, dressed in a crisp white tunic embroidered with threads of silver and platinum that shimmer with even the smallest movement. He smiles—polite, practised, and utterly devoid of warmth.

“Ah,” he says, voice smooth as silk, “my guests. Please, sit. Eat. You’ll need your strength for this evening’s festivities.”

The chairs creak softly as we take our places. I’m seated near the king, with Gio on my left and Stone to my right. Both men glance toward me, shoulders relaxing slightly once they see I’m unharmed.

Across the table, Deacon lifts a brow, his gaze flicking between Stone and Gio like he’s watching a game. I don’t bother reacting; I just lean forward and begin filling my plate.

The room is hushed, save for the soft clink of cutlery and the occasional scrape of plates.

Stone leans toward me, his voice pitched low enough for only me to hear. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress, Red.”

His gaze drags down—slow, smouldering—from my chest to where the satin disappears beneath the table. When his eyes return to mine, they’re filled with such hunger my mouth goes dry .

Then, in a low growl, he adds, “And now I’m suddenly fucking starving.”

He reaches across me to spear a link of sausages, then leans back to eat as though he hasn’t just set my blood on fire.

I take a sip of my water to cool the heat simmering beneath my skin.

Just as I’m about to lift a tart berry to my lips, Gio leans close to murmur in my ear, “You look breathtaking, Elina.”

I almost choke on the fruit.

The space between the two of them suddenly feels too small, too charged. Like they’re both pressing in, muscles and presence and heat, tightening around me.

And at the head of the table, King Halven watches it all unfold. His once cold eyes now gleam with amusement as they flick between Stone and Gio, fingers tapping lazily against his goblet.

He speaks at last, voice slicing through the silence, but he’s talking directly to me.

“Did you know that in Imperia, we still worship all the Gods?”

He lifts his goblet toward the arched ceiling. “We have our favourites, of course. Mine happens to be Teatro.” His cold eyes fall back on me.

“The God of Drama,” I reply evenly.

“Very good,” he nods, smiling at me now, sharp and knowing. “And, of course, Dianneres, Goddess of Coin.”

He laughs then. A rich, knowing sound.

But none of us are in on the joke.

Davin clears his throat, clearly trying to cut through the growing tension. “Ah, yes, the people of Aladria are devoted followers of Admira. There’s a beautiful statue of her, pride of place in the castle gardens, and many temples dedicated to her worship.”

“The Goddess of Love and Light,” Halven repeats, his mouth twisting as if the words taste sour.

“How incredibly… dull.” He pauses ju st long enough for discomfort to bloom.

“Now Odio —there’s a fun one to follow. His wrath is extremely entertaining.

Though I suppose he’s better suited to Dunmere, is he not? ”

Silence stretches like a blade. No one dares speak.

With a pleasant smile and one last glance my way, Halven raises his goblet and finishes what’s left in one long swallow.

“I look forward to seeing you all later this evening,” he says as he rises to leave. “It’s going to be a night to remember.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, the king departs.

* * *

Later that evening, just as the knots in my stomach over Junie’s safety are pulling tighter, there’s a brisk knock at the door.

I barely have time to tie the sash on my robe before it swings open, and three girls sweep in, all dressed in pale ivory with their hair twisted into perfect coils, expressions politely vacant.

One of them dips into a shallow curtsey. “The king has selected your attire for this evening,” she announces. “We’re here to assist you in preparing for the ball.”

I just nod, used to the ritual of being dressed and made up like a doll, a fixture at royal events alongside Deacon and Dalia, always playing the part of the orphan ward.

They usher me into the bathroom for a quick shower, then set to work without a word. Efficient. Gentle. Detached.

One brushes out my hair, drying and curling it before pinning up sections in soft, artful waves and leaving other ruby strands to spill over my shoulders. Another paints my face with gold shimmer on my lids and cheekbones, soft pink on my lips, subtle but striking.

The third tends to my outfit, which remains out of sight for now.

Once they’re satisfied with my hair and makeup, they strip me down to just my underwear and dust shimmering gold powder across my skin using a brush that tickles like a feather. It smells of honey and vanilla—sweet, decadent.

Finally, the third girl steps forward, arms outstretched, and presents the gown.

Gold. Pure, shimmering gold. The dress is sheer from neckline to hem but so heavily embellished with deep yellow gems and golden sequins that it gives the illusion I’m dipped in sunlight, each movement scattering light like a thousand glowing sunbeams.

One of the girls lifts it delicately, and together, they carefully drape it over my body.

The bodice moulds to my torso with sculpted precision, clinging to my breasts and waist like it was sewn for my skin alone.

It dips into a sharp V at the chest, edged with beadwork that catches the candlelight like treasure buried in sand.

Slender cutouts along my ribs expose a bold flash of skin, and the skirt falls in twin slits that rise daringly high, my thighs on full display with every step.

It moves like gilded oil, whispering around my legs, pooling at my feet in a trail of glittering gold.

They crown me with golden leaves, delicate yet gleaming, woven through my hair like ivy. And it’s then, staring at my reflection in the mirror after they leave, that I realise.

He’s dressed me as Admira.

I’m draped like a deity.

Well. Fuck that.

I reach for my dagger and strap it to my thigh, right where the slit leaves it visible—deliberate and defiant. Its weight is a silent vow: I may be gilded, but I’m still steel underneath. Still a soldier. Still dangerous.

A weapon wrapped in gold.

A knock breaks the silence, gentle this time, no sudden intrusion .

I take one last look at my shimmering body in the glass, then open the door.

It swings inward to reveal Gio.

And my traitorous heart sinks. Because he’s not the one I’d hoped for.

And I feel horrible about it.

“Wow,” Gio’s mouth parts slightly before he catches himself, blinking and offering a warm smile. “You look beautiful, Elina.”

I smile back, amused. “You don’t look too bad yourself, General De Luca.”

He’s dressed in a pale grey suit that borders on silver, the cut tailored flawlessly to his frame.

A crisp white shirt is buttoned beneath it, and a silver tie rests neatly at his collar, concealing the battle scars along his neck.

His dark hair is swept back behind his ears, revealing his striking features.

“Apparently, the king’s ordered me to escort you,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to a stoic, uniformed officer waiting just behind him. “Along with this guy.”

He holds out an arm. I loop mine through it, and together we walk—two liquid metals gliding down a polished corridor.

* * *

The ballroom opens before us like a dream.

The vaulted ceiling soars above, silver ribbons and twisted ropes draped like the webbing of some celestial spider. Chandeliers float just below the peaks with clusters of glass and glowing crystals that scatter soft light across marble walls.

Suspended on gossamer silks from the ceiling, a woman spirals through the air.

Her body is draped in white, every inch of her arching, stretching, folding in impossible elegance.

From another corner, a second figure descends, curled around an ivory-painted crescent moon.

She bends backwards, one hand looped through the frame, the other pulling her foot into a perfect bow.

The floor below is polished white stone veined with blue, and guests sweep across it like mist on water. Masked performers weave between them, draped in sheer silks, their movements fluid and mesmerising.

Gio and I step into it all, a pair of glinting, glowing beings.

He snags a drink from a server passing by and tosses it back in one gulp.

I steal a delicate wafer topped with berry jam and cheese; it’s rich and tangy, dissolving like velvet on my tongue.

The food is always my favourite part of royal gatherings.

Across the room, high atop a raised dais, the king reclines on a throne that looks as if it were carved from diamonds. He sips from a silver goblet, gaze sweeping the crowd below—calculating, amused, waiting.

Then his eyes land on us.

They drag over me and Gio with slow precision, assessing, weighing… and then shift just beyond. His expression lights up with glee.

I turn instinctively, my heart dipping as though I’ve sensed a blade at my back.

And there he is.

Stone.

Head to toe in black, darker than night itself.

His satin shirt is unbuttoned down to his navel, revealing the smooth, tanned chest I’ve tried not to dream about.

One I suddenly, desperately want to taste.

The silver pendant he always wears gleams in the candlelight, swinging slightly with each step.

His dark hair is tousled and swept back, artfully dishevelled and outgrown, revealing those impossibly sharp cheekbones and a jawline that looks forged by the Gods themselves.

Atop his head rests a crown of obsidian, coiled into his hair like swirling shadow.

He’s dressed like Odio, the God of Darkness and Wrath.

And me—Admira, the Goddess of Love and Light.

The king has dressed us as star-crossed fucking lovers.

The realisation strikes like a blade between the ribs, sharp and cold. But before I can say anything, before I can even breathe, I see her.

A beautiful woman beside him, her slender arm looped around his. Her long, blood-red nails press possessively into his forearm. She leans in, too close, her ruby-coated smile unreadable, her long black hair falling over one shoulder with the movement.

Gio shifts beside me, wrapping a hand around my waist. His palm rests just above my hip, but I’m too shocked to brush his hand away.

Too gutted by the woman at Stone’s side.

Whatever fragile hope I’d dared to harbour for Stone shatters as the man cloaked in darkness glares at the hand curled around my waist with nothing short of disgust.

Without a word, he loops an arm around the woman draped in red and strides past us, his shoulder brushing mine.

I spin around, mouth agape, dislodging Gio’s hand as I watch him walk away.

“Shit. What was that all about?” Deacon sidles up with a glass of something bubbly, Sam trailing just behind him, frowning at the scene.

I turn my gaze toward the king, narrowing my eyes as he lifts his goblet and salutes me with a smirk.

“I think I have an idea,” I mutter to Deacon, my jaw clenched tight. “And I’ve got a feeling I’m going to have to play along.”