Page 56 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

“ I ’m starting to get pissed off with all these summonses, Sam,” I mutter, stomping through the corridor just after dawn. The sun was barely up when I had to sneak out from between Stone’s arms to attend yet another Gods-forsaken council meeting.

I suppose I should be grateful it didn’t happen sooner after my father’s attack; they at least gave me three days to collect my thoughts and patch up my battered heart.

Things with Stone have settled back into a sort of normalcy. If you consider normal hiding who I truly am from the man I think I’m falling deeper for with every kiss… then yes. Everything is perfectly normal.

When we arrive, the council chamber doors groan open, slow and heavy, as if the stone itself is reluctant to let me in.

Twelve council members sit at the far end of the table. And there, lounging at the top, in my fucking seat beneath a massive Aladrian banner, smiles Cael, the golden sun crest casting a false halo around his smug head.

My jaw clenches. I already know where this is going.

I step into the chamber. My boots don’t make a sound, but the silence deepens around me. I don’t bother sitting. I stand at the opposite end to everyone else, hands braced against the polished wood as I lean forward. For once, I’ll get to use height as an advantage .

“Elina,” Cael says, rising to his feet. The smile he offers is slick and practised. “So glad you could join us.”

“Hm. I’m sure you are.” I scan the council. Sara glares at me beneath her razor-sharp fringe. Thorn avoids my gaze. Garrin stares blankly. The rest look at me like I’m both a threat and a spectacle, except Davin and Verity, who are furious—at Cael, not me.

“Is there a reason I was summoned?” I ask, keeping my voice cool.

Cael’s smile twitches. “Straight to business. I do love that about you, Your Majesty.”

He gestures to a chair to my right. A spare seat meant for observers. The insult is obvious.

I don’t move.

“Let’s just begin,” Sara snaps, her tone clipped with irritation, as if offended on Cael’s behalf by my insolence. If her eyes could spit fire, I’d be ash.

“Yes,” Cael says smoothly, easing back into my seat.

His fingers lace together at his stomach, a picture of smug composure.

“I’ve received word from King Orren. Given the instability of late and your ongoing training,”—he says it like a dagger wrapped in silk—“he’s asked me to step in as interim leader. Just until you’re ready, of course.”

The words hit like ice down my spine.

I blink once. Keep my hands where they are. Steady. Still.

Interim leader. My seat. My kingdom.

“Because I’m sure he’s in a great frame of mind to make such decisions at the moment,” I say, deadpan.

Cael leans back, completely ignoring my comment, comfortable, confident. “I’m here to work with you, Elina. To protect Aladria until you’re prepared to take your rightful place.”

There is no fucking way this man steps down in two years. He’s already obsessed with power. Once he gets a taste of it, there’s no telling how far his ambition will stretch and how corrupted he’ll become.

“Of course,” I say, giving him a tight smile. “And the council agreed to this?”

There’s a flicker of unease across the table. Some glance away. Some stay perfectly still.

“Majority approval,” Cael replies, eyes gleaming like he’s already won.

“I see.” The smile I offer burns.

I want to scream. To throw a chair. To tear the banner behind him down and set fire to it.

But that would prove everything they fear. That I’m too young. Too volatile. Too emotional . Exactly why they voted him in.

So, instead, I let my silence stretch as I stare at each one of them in turn. I let it do the talking. Let it speak of my disappointment. My fury. My resolve.

Cael tilts his head, voice honeyed. “I know this must be difficult. But I hope we can still work closely. You’re… important to this kingdom, Elina. And to me.”

It takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to leap across the table and drive my fist into his face.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way,” I say instead, my voice like ice. “For Aladria.”

There’s a beat of silence. Long enough for the weight of my stare to settle over the room. For everyone to understand what I’m truly thinking.

I won’t forget this meeting. And when I take the throne, pray you were on the right side.

“Meeting adjourned,” Cael says brightly, like this is all some polite gathering.

But no one rises. No one breathes.

Not until I turn on my heel and walk out first with my back straight, my rage coiled tight beneath my skin, burning a hole through every step.

* * *

“Arghhh!” I scream as my dagger plunges into the mannequin’s gut. I don’t stop, don’t breathe, before I spin and drive another into its forehead, the sack bursting open in a spray of straw.

I whirl again, my arm snapping out. Three throwing stars fly from my fingers and bury themselves into the dummy across the room with sharp, satisfying thwacks. But even that doesn’t bleed the fury out of me.

Sam didn’t dare join me today, and I don’t blame him with the way my mood is.

I break into a run, launching myself at another target. My body twists in a blur of kicks, elbows, and fists. Each hit bruises me, each strike reverberating through bone. My knuckles split open. Blood smears across the dummy’s chest like war paint.

Still, it’s not enough.

I picture the face of the person who has made me like this—his pale skin, beady eyes, black oil-slick hair—and I kick the head of a training mannequin so hard I almost decapitate it.

“Wow, what did the poor guy ever do to you?”

The voice halts me mid-motion. I drop my hands to my knees, chest heaving, gasping for breath.

When I finally straighten, I swipe a bloodied hand across my forehead, pushing a stray strand of hair out of my face. Stone stands just outside the ring, leaning casually against the ropes. His eyes flick over me and darken with unmistakable heat.

“Did I ever tell you how fucking hot you look with blood on your face?” he murmurs, voice low and wicked .

This man. Sent from the Gods for me.

“I need you,” I say, flat and breathless.

Stone doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He slips under the ropes and strides toward me, gaze locked on mine with that unrelenting intensity that always undoes me. I don’t move as he comes close. Not until his hands grip my waist, firm, possessive.

Then I lunge.

I grab his collar and slam my mouth to his, tasting him with the same desperation I poured into every strike against the training dummies. His arms catch me, hard and sure, and I shove us back into the ropes until they groan beneath our weight.

I kiss him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered. Maybe he is.

He lets me take and take, lets me drag my nails down his chest, shove his shirt up, hungry for skin and needing something real to anchor me. My hands are everywhere. They’re greedy, grasping, frantic. But only for a moment.

Then he takes over. His unrelenting need for control consumes him.

He spins us in a blur of movement, and my back crashes into the ropes, bowing over them slightly. The friction bites into exposed skin, delicious and sharp. I can’t wait to see the marks it leaves on me. The marks he leaves on me.

He drags down the zipper of my trousers, and his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my underwear, slow and confident, controlling my pace, dragging me out of my frenzy and reining in my urgency like he’s got all the time in the world.

I suck in a breath and bury my face in the crook of his neck, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.

Then, his hand moves lower.

He finds my clit, and lightning explodes behind my eyes.

My knees buckle.

He catches me easily, holding me with one arm around my waist, the other rubbing in circles and working me toward a release that threatens to ruin me. Break me open.

“Stone.” His name escapes on a moan, ripped from my throat like a prayer. He bites my neck, hard, teeth sinking into the tender muscle, and Gods, I love it. That bite is praise. Possession. Worship.

My body arches, the heat building, crashing, consuming. I writhe in his arms, chasing that edge that only he can take me to. Only him.

And then I break.

It snaps, shattering and searing me, and I bow into him, pleasure tearing through me like a storm. My breath stutters. My fingers curl into his shirt.

When it’s over, I sag against him, chest heaving, forehead pressed to his collarbone.

Silence stretches, thick with everything unspoken.

Stone strokes a hand through my sweat-damp hair, his lips brushing the side of my head. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve always got you.”

He tugs on the back of my hair, dragging my face towards him. I look up at him through my lashes, lost for words, as he stares at me like he sees everything .

“Fuck—so beautiful. So wild.”

Silence stretches, thick and buzzing, but the fury that had clawed at me since the meeting is gone. It’s burned out in his hands, his fingers.

I blink once, exhale slowly, then say, deadpan, “I need pasta.”

Stone freezes for a second, then lets out a low laugh, deep and warm. “Gods, you’re insane.”

“Not insane,” I mutter. “Starving.”

He grins, really grins, the kind that stops my heart in my chest, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Come on then,” he says, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Let’s get you some pasta.”

I laugh, surprising even myself, the sound light and unburdened. This man makes me strong. He steadies me.

And he gets me pasta, which, quite frankly, is a huge tick in my book.

* * *

Later that evening, I stand before a roaring fire deep in the forest, the night air cold against my skin, the flames hot on my face.

In my hand, I hold the last piece of who I was. The Fox.

I drop it into the flames and watch as it curls, blackens, and burns. Reduced to nothing more than ash, carried away on the wind.

My mask disintegrates.

And with it, the life I lived in the dark.

It’s time to stop hiding.

Time to rule Aladria from the front, not from the shadows.

I just have to do it the right way, at the right time.

* * *

“This is bullshit.”

Carter’s voice echoes off the stone walls of his study, sharp enough to make Deacon flinch from where he’s slumped on the sofa, nursing a brutal hangover.

“Funnily enough, those were my exact words when you forced me to join the army,” I mutter, glancing over at Sam, who stands stiff beside Carter’s massive oak table, arms crossed. “Weren’t they, Sam?”

He doesn’t answer, just levels a flat look in my direction.

Yeah. Probably not the time.

“That slimy little bastard’s been waiting for a moment like this,” Carter growls, slamming his cane against the floor for emphasis. “For a second, I thought he was going to suggest marrying you just to get the throne.”

I gag a little. “Gods, don’t make me sick.”

“I don’t know what the hell the council is thinking.”

“They’re scared,” Deacon mumbles, voice rough.

“What’s that?” Carter spins on him. “Speak up, would ya?”

Deacon groans and massages his temples like Carter’s voice is physically stabbing him in the skull.

“Word through the castle is that Cael’s been gathering secrets,” Deacon says, eyes sharp despite the hangover. “He’s been working on this for years. Now he’s got dirt on nearly every council member.”

“He’s blackmailing them,” I say flatly.

Deacon nods.

“Well, more fool them for putting themselves in that position,” Carter growls. “And now Aladria, because of their cowardice, is at risk.”

He paces, surprisingly nimble when he’s fuming. “Your mother has to return, Elina.”

I stare at him like he’s grown a second head. Does he think I don’t know that?

“I know,” he says, softer now. “I know you know. But it’s desperate now.”

His voice turns grave, quiet with the weight of it. “Who knows what will happen when Cael finds his footing, when people start following him openly?”

I never expected to face this so soon. It feels like I’m watching my youth slip through my fingers. Like all the moments I thought I’d have, the normal things my parents once craved for me are dissolving beneath the weight of duty and expectation. The pressure.

“We still need to honour your father’s wishes from when he was more lucid,” Carter says at last, voice gentler now. “You’ll remain Elina Banks until your training is complete. But things are going to change for you, Elina. I’m sorry.”

I only nod. I’d already accepted it long before he said it aloud.

“Don’t worry, Lina. You’ve always got me and Sam,” Deacon says, cutting through the clawing tension in the room, stroking Leo, who’s curled up on his lap.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.” I roll my eyes.

Carter scoffs; it’s the closest thing to a laugh we’re ever going to get out of him.