Page 43 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

I watch Stone twirl across the floor with the dark-haired beauty, dipping and spinning her in perfect rhythm with the music, and my stomach twists into knots.

I try to look away, but my foolish heart can’t tear itself from the sight of its own slow destruction.

Trent dances with his partner at a polite distance, his movements careful and reserved. Deacon is in his element, laughing loudly as he whirls a handsy blonde across the marble floor, clutching a glass of wine in his free hand.

And me? I stand at the edge of it all—seething, aching, playing straight into the king’s hands.

“Dance with me.”

The familiar voice comes from my right. Not a request.

I nod, but my eyes remain fixed on Stone as Gio leads me onto the floor. My gown flows like sunlight around me, beautiful and regal, and yet it feels wasted. The only eyes I want on me are locked on someone else, smouldering with an intensity that threatens to burn me alive with jealousy.

I wrap my arms around Gio’s shoulders, but I don’t stop watching.

I know I’m being rude. I know I’m probably hurting Gio.

But I just. Can’t. Stop.

Even as the music swells and the dancers blur around us, my gaze stays fixed on Stone.

I can feel Halven’s eyes on me, too. In fact, I can feel the whole room watching.

I’m a golden flame in a sea of silver. Set apart, set up, and blazing with quiet fury.

Finally, his eyes lift to mine, and the wrath burning in them as he watches Gio hold me ignites something twisted and triumphant inside. I would take the worst of his rage, the absolute depths of his anger, over even a moment of his indifference.

“What I wouldn’t give for you to look at me like that for even a second.”

Gio’s voice is soft, almost drowned by the music, but it shatters through my haze like glass. I’d forgotten he was even there.

Shit.

I turn to look at him, stricken. There’s nothing I can say that won’t make this worse, so I try to speak with my eyes, try to tell him how sorry I am, how much I wish I could feel something else. Something more.

He smiles, sad and accepting.

“It’s okay, Elina. Maybe this is what I needed—to finally see you look at someone else the way I’ve always looked at you.”

“Gio, I’m—”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts in gently. “But as much as I don’t begrudge you for it, I don’t think I can keep watching.”

And with that, he releases me.

Just let’s go.

He walks away, disappearing into the crowd, and I’m left standing alone in the centre of the ballroom—gilded and gleaming and just a little more broken than I was a moment ago.

From across the room, I hear applause. Slow. Deliberate.

Halven .

I turn toward him, eyes blazing as they meet his smirking ones. Keeping my glare fixed on his, I bend at the waist, grip the ends of my dress and offer him an exaggerated, mocking bow.

And that’s when a hand clamps around my elbow, the grip firm, possessive.

I don’t need to look. I know that touch. I know the heat thrumming beneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing, Elina?” Stone’s voice is a harsh whisper in my ear, low and furious.

I tilt my head toward him, smiling without warmth. “Oh, it’s Elina now, is it?” I yank my arm from his grasp, eyes flashing. “What—am I not Red anymore? That title reserved for your red-lipped companion, is it?”

“The king made me bring her,” he snaps back. “I had no idea who she was when I accompanied her here.” His lips curl into a sneer. “And I bet Gio couldn’t believe his luck when you asked him to escort you.”

“Gio was forced to bring me by Halven, too, you absolute idiot,” I hiss. “Which you would’ve known if you’d let me talk before jumping to conclusions.”

“Oh, please. Like you didn’t do the exact same thing the second you saw me with her?”

“Your track record isn’t exactly glowing , Stone,” I seethe.

He glances around then, finally noticing what I already have—everywhere we look, people are watching us with barely concealed glee, feeding off the drama like it’s the entertainment they paid for. Except our team. They’re the only ones who don’t look amused, just confused. Or worse, worried.

“Follow me,” he murmurs, and I let him guide me behind a towering column of solid quartz, its surface catching the light and throwing fractured rainbows across the marble floor. It hides us from view, a thin slice of privacy in the centre of the spectacle.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice low, his body close—too close. The heat rolling off him grazes my skin like a warning.

“Can you remember which God Halven said was his favourite?” I ask, my voice low, eyes locked on his.

He frowns, gaze drifting over my features as he thinks. “Dianneres?”

I shake my head slowly. “Teatro.”

His expression shifts the moment the name leaves my mouth. Confusion gives way to alarm, his brows lifting, mouth parting. “Oh shit.”

“Exactly,” I murmur. “Which means we’re not just guests tonight. We’re the entertainment.”

His head drops, eyes shut tight with frustration, regret etched into every line of his face. His shoulders rise with a slow, shaky breath like he’s trying to cage something volatile inside. The silence stretches, thick and brittle, until I start to wonder if he’ll speak at all.

When he looks back up, there’s something raw in his gaze—an apology, unspoken but loud in its presence. It hits me harder than any words might have, that quiet unravelling in his eyes like he’s holding back a storm just to keep from breaking.

“Gods, the sight of his hands on you, Elina.” His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, his voice low and rough, like gravel. “I wanted to tear the room apart.”

I bite down on my full bottom lip, and he lifts his hand, thumb pulling it free from between my teeth. The pad lingers, stroking, slow, territorial.

“The thought of his lips anywhere near yours—it’s enough to make me feral.” His gaze follows his thumb on my mouth, and my chest rises and falls as he steps closer, our bodies melding. “I wanted to draw for my sword and slice his hands clean off his body for just touching your hip.”

I flick my eyes to his lips; they’re soft, full, devastating. “And I wanted to tear her fingernails off one by one for even grazing your skin,” I whisper back.

“Fuck.” The word breaks from him, more groan than breath, as his eyes roam over me. “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are? And tonight, you walk in dripping in gold like a goddess pulled straight from the depths of my fantasies. Every man in that room couldn’t look away.”

His hands cradle the column of my neck, thumbs skimming up to my jaw to tilt my chin toward him. We’re so close I can feel every rise of his breath, every beat of tension strung between us.

“Their eyes on you…” His jaw tightens. “On what is mine.”

The word causes such a visceral reaction in me, I don’t even attempt to argue with his ownership.

He dips his head, nose grazing up the column of my neck, and I let my head fall back on my shoulders, a soft moan escaping before I can bite it down.

“Mine.” That word again, a growl against my skin, followed by a sharp nip at my jaw.

His fingers tangle in my hair, wrecking the curls the ladies spent hours perfecting.

And just as I’m about to give in, about to drag his lips to mine, something I’ve craved since the moment I first saw him all those months ago at registration, I feel it.

A presence. Watching.

Stone feels it, too. In a flash, he spins, placing his body between me and the unseen threat.

But fuck that. I’m just as lethal as he is. Maybe more.

Probably more.

I step beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and lift my chin as my eyes land on the king’s leering face.

“How very entertaining indeed,” Halven says, voice syrupy with amusement.

His smile gleams with too many teeth. “Yes, you’ve both pleased me greatly.

I’ll be releasing your companion, and you,” his gaze pins me, “will be granted twenty minutes of my time to explain why you’ve come to Imperia uninvited. ”

He says it like a gift, but it feels more like a threat.

“But for now,” he continues, voice rising theatrically, “we have more entertainment to enjoy. Please return to the dance floor.”

He spins with a swirl of his pale blue robes, the fabric slicing through the air like a blade.

Stone turns to me, his palm warm and rough as it cups the side of my face. “Come on, Red,” he says softly. “Let’s get this over with. I’m ready to get out of here.”

I nod wordlessly, letting him take my hand and lead me into the sea of swirling bodies.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Imperia,” the king announces from his dais, his voice cutting through the vast ballroom, echoing off the marble. “Guests from Aladria…” He gestures to our team, gathered at the centre of the room, minus Gio.

“Please welcome… Ingrid.”

Squeals of joy ripple through the crowd, followed by thunderous applause as a woman no older than me steps up beside the king.

Pale as frost, she looks like she’s been carved from snow, her hair like spun sugar, skin nearly translucent.

She raises delicate hands, and everyone turns their eyes skyward in awe as snow begins to fall from the vaulted ceiling, silent and surreal, flurries dancing in the candlelight.

For a moment, I’m enchanted, until I notice something.

The snow never settles.

As it floats down, it passes straight through our bodies, weightless, formless. There’s no cold. No wetness. No texture.

Just a shimmer of air where ice should be .

“She’s an illusionist,” I say, just as the room plunges into darkness.

A collective gasp. Applause. Laughter. The crowd is eating it up.

I feel Sam step closer, his arm pressing against mine in the darkness—a silent reassurance to himself that if he can’t see I’m safe, he can at least feel it.

When light floods the space again, I blink, and the ballroom is no longer ours alone.

Scattered across the marble floor, prowling between silk skirts and polished boots, are snow leopards. Huge, sleek, and deadly-looking. Their eyes gleam like chunks of topaz. One brushes against my leg as it creeps by on silent paws, but I feel nothing.

No fur. No weight. No warmth. Just an echo of presence.

People reach out to stroke them, some clap, others draw their hands up to cover their mouths. Everyone is mesmerised.

Again, the room goes pitch black, and the tension heightens.

When light returns, gone is the frost and the feline grace. Now, the ballroom dances with butterflies. Thousands of them. Every shade of blue imaginable, wings fluttering in a mesmerising blur.

Halven’s voice rings out, smooth and commanding. “The people of Imperia will remember that we recently had visitors.”

The butterflies begin to stir faster, circling. Reacting to his voice.

He lifts one high on the end of his finger, watching it flutter gently, inspecting its wings.

“Visitors who did not come to offer peace. Who did not come to trade or gift. No, they came to pillage .” His voice grows louder. The fluttering quickens, the gentle hum of flapping wings becoming a chaotic buzz, thick and oppressive.

“They came to take from us!” he roars. “To steal our Gifted !”

The butterflies tighten, wrapping around our heads in a frenzied cloud. Davin swats at them instinctively, but his fingers pass through the illusion. Yet the air feels heavier. My heart beats faster .

Above, the butterflies swirl into a cyclone near the ceiling, forming a writhing mass of colour and motion. Something is hidden at the centre. Something darker.

“I think,” Halven says, voice lower now, almost gleeful, “we should show our guests what we do to those who bring harm to Imperia. What do you say?”

The crowd erupts—shouts, screams, a sickening cheer of approval.

The butterflies whip around in hysteria, shielding whatever lies within until—

Clap.

Halven’s palms slap together.

Ingrid slams her hands down to her sides.

And the butterflies stop; they simply cease flying and plummet to the floor. Their tiny bodies disintegrate to nothing as they hit the marble.

Revealing what has been hidden all along.

Ten Dunmere soldiers dangle from the ceiling above us.

Their skin a mottled grey, lips blue, eyes bulging from bloated faces. Ropes cinch tight around their necks. Black blood crusts at their mouths and sinks to the tips of their fingers. They sway gently in the vaulted air as if caught mid-breath.

“Gods,” Davin whispers, voice weak. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t.” My voice is iron. I don’t look at him. My eyes are locked on Halven.

The king is no longer smiling. His gaze is fixed on me now, searching. Studying. Hunting for weakness.

A jeer erupts nearby. Someone hurls a bread roll. It hits one of the bodies with a soft thud , setting it swinging in slow motion.

“ Scum! ” someone shouts, hurling a silver goblet through the air.

“ Thieves! ” another voice joins in, and something heavier crashes near the dangling bodies with a sickening whack .

The king’s bellowing laugh breaks through the noise, wild and unhinged, sending a chill up my spine.

“Message received,” Trent mutters under his breath, jaw tight.

“Time to go,” Sam agrees, voice clipped. No one hesitates.

We weave through the chaos, slipping between the furious but delighted crowd. Their cheers and jeers drown in their own fevered noise, too riled up to notice our exit. Some are dancing happily below the bodies, skipping under the death and destruction.

It’s a harrowing sight.

Only once we’re clear of the ballroom do we let ourselves move faster, boots and heels echoing down marble halls, adrenaline sharp behind our ribs.

I don’t think I breathe until the door to my room seals behind me and everyone else is safely locked in their own.

Trent was right.

The message has been received.

No one harms Imperia and leaves.