Page 64 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

“ W hat?”

A deep groove forms between his brows, his voice low and disbelieving. “What did you just say?”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “The queen…” I pause, heart hammering against my ribs. “She’s my mother.”

I whisper, as if saying it gently might somehow soften the blow.

Stone stares at me. Really stares , like he’s seeing me for the first time. “She’s your—what? No. No, that’s not… that can’t be right.”

“I know it sounds impossible.” My voice is barely more than a breath.

His mouth parts, then closes again. His shoulders are taut, his body coiled like he’s been struck. “But you were orphaned. Raised with Deacon. Dalia—”

“It was all a lie,” I say quietly. “A story designed to keep me hidden.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, shaking his head.

“The threat from Dunmere was too great when my mother was pregnant with me. She and my father decided to keep me hidden. Dalia raised me publicly, but behind closed doors… it was always them, my mother and father.”

Stone’s voice is hoarse. “Your father… the King.”

I nod once.

“You’re the heir to the Aladrian throne.” It isn’t a question. It’s a stunned truth, hanging thick in the air between us.

I stay silent, watching as a dozen emotions war on his face—confusion, shock, something like devastation, that last one confuses and worries me. He paces, clearly trying to wrap his head around it.

“You’re a princess ?” He stops and stares at me, horrified. “Gods, Elina, the things I’ve done to you… Your body! That’s no way to treat a princess.”

A laugh bursts out of me, sharp and unexpected. Some of the tension in the room bleeds away, and when I meet his eyes, he’s smirking now.

I slap his chest, but he only laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me close. He holds it between both of his, pressing it gently to his chest like he’s grounding us both.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says quietly. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been… carrying that secret all these years.”

I clench my eyes shut, turning my face away, unable to bear the tenderness in his voice. But he reaches up, brushing his fingers softly along my cheek, guiding me back to him.

“You’re safe with me.”

His promise settles deep inside me, like a weight and a balm all at once. I’ve just shared the greatest secret of my life, of Aladria’s very future, and yet somehow, with those four words, the fear starts to ease.

* * *

Later that afternoon, the carriages arrive to take us home to the castle. We say our goodbyes to those we’ve met, leaving behind a camp steeped in devastation from the events of the past few days.

The fact that we’re leaving without Brynn is unbearable. The weight I feel like I’m carrying is suffocating as the carriage pulls away, and he’s not with us.

I can only pray for his safety, which feels entirely useless.

Willa has chosen to return with us. With her father gone, she says she no longer has a home here.

I hope that we can offer her something at the castle, some semblance of safety, of comfort.

I watch her staring out the window, her curly hair whipping across her face in the wind.

She doesn’t brush it away, lost in her own thoughts.

Deacon watches her, too, his heart clearly visible on his sleeve.

Junie is travelling in a separate carriage with Trent.

It’s larger, fitted with medical supplies in case they’re needed on the journey.

Trent and Stone are pretending everything is fine, but I can see through it.

They’re still at odds about something, and I wish I knew what.

But they’re both grown men—whatever it is, they’ll have to work through it together.

I lean into Stone as he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, squeezing me gently, like he knows I’m barely holding it together and he’s trying to carry the weight for both of us.

Hours later, we arrive home.

The sea glitters beneath the afternoon sun as the cliffs rise ahead. The castle perches on the edge, and white-gold towers stretch into the sky, their domes glowing amber in the light, warm and familiar.

The outer walls are woven through with bursts of greenery and climbing flowers that catch the breeze from the ocean below, swaying in bunches of lilac and pink.

It almost looks fake after spending weeks in a beige, barren land where the only colour was the occasional streak of crimson from bloodshed.

I exhale, tension slipping from my shoulders as the carriage wheels clatter closer. Despite everything, despite the ache in my chest and the hollow space of the people no longer with us, the sight of the castle pulls something deep inside me back into place .

I’m home.

But I’m not the girl who left it. Not anymore.

My gaze lifts to the tallest tower, the one where Cael will be waiting. My face twists into a wry smile.

I hope he’s fucking ready for me.

* * *

Morning light pours through the high, arched windows of the orangery, gilding the air in a golden haze.

The scent of citrus and damp stone mingles with the soft rustle of leaves as I step through the threshold.

Vines twist up the marble columns, their leaves catching the sunlight like tiny flames, and the path ahead winds beneath sweeping staircases and tangled greenery.

This place is ancient, quiet, sacred, tucked into the heart of the castle, hidden away from the bustle. A place created and crafted by my mother, a place for me to feel close to her.

Fitting then that she’s the reason I’m here.

My boots make barely a sound on the worn stone steps as I ascend. Sunlight cuts through the open dome above, scattering across the floor. Statues depicting Gods watch me from the corners, half-swallowed by ivy.

Sam is already here, standing in the centre of it all. He turns when he hears me approach, blonde hair glowing in the light, the lines of worry still faintly visible around his eyes.

I pause for a breath before stepping closer, letting the hush of the orangery hold us. Whatever we say next—it stays here.

“You told him, didn’t you?” It’s not a question.

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying.

“I thought so. He’s been looking at you differently since we saw her,” Sam says, nodding slowly, though his concern doesn’t ease .

“Differently how?” I frown at him, a flicker of unease crawling up my spine.

“I’m not sure. I can’t figure it out. But it’s… different.” His tone is heavy, laced with the same apprehension now coiling in my gut. Sam is perceptive to a fault; it’s one of the reasons he makes such a damn good guard. He sees what others don’t.

I don’t bother justifying my decision to trust Stone, though. I can’t change the way I feel about him; I can’t fight that tether pulling us together. And I don’t want to.

“The plan remains the same. We will retrieve her, Elina,” he confirms. I know he debriefed with Carter yesterday, and he’s been given his orders.

I nod once.

“It was so hard… having her that close. Within touching distance and not being able to do anything.” My voice drops to a whisper, laced with raw ache.

“I know. But we have to stick to the plan, no matter what. To deviate will cause failure.” Carter’s words echoed through Sam, practical and sharp. And while I agree, it doesn’t stop the craving to have her home now .

I open my senses, ensuring we’re alone, before leaning in, my voice low and urgent.

“She’s a shell of herself, Sam. How much longer until we get her back? What kind of irreversible damage will be done to her—and my father—by then?”

His eyes soften then, and for a moment, I’m not looking at my bodyguard, I’m looking at my friend.

“I know, Elina. But we’ve got to trust Carter.”

And I do. Gods, I do.

With every ounce of my body, I trust him.

Even if the waiting is slowly killing me.

* * *

The library is quiet this time of day, bathed in the gold-dusted light of late afternoon.

I push open the arched door and step inside, the scent of leather-bound pages and candle wax wrapping around me like a familiar cloak.

My boots are soft against the stone as I climb the stairs, and there he is.

Stretched out on the floor beneath one of the rose-glass windows, lazing back against pillows piled high, looking like something the Gods designed specifically for me.

His dark hair gleams where it flops against his forehead, his tanned skin glowing in the slant of light, and the tattoo winding up his arm jumps along his muscles as he lifts his hand to push the strands back, but they just fall right back into place.

A folded blanket is spread beneath him, and I smile when I realise he’s arranged an entire picnic—bread, cheeses, fruit, and those sugared lemon pastries I love. He glances up as I approach and grins, crooked and boyish in a way that shouldn’t suit a man like him but somehow does.

“Took your time,” he says, reaching out a hand to pull me down beside him.

“This all for me?” I ask, eyeing the food.

“Nope. It’s for someone else. Now, would you mind? She’ll be here any moment.”

I slap his chest as he pulls me closer, fingers finding my sides, and suddenly, I’m giggling as he tickles me.

“Hang on—the great assassin, the Fox, the notorious Elina Banks, is ticklish?” His voice is full of mockery and delight as I bat at his hands, wriggling away.

“Look, we all need a weakness. Keeps me humble,” I smirk, reaching for a grape and popping it into my mouth, “did you do all this?” I ask, gesturing around .

“I may have paid a little visit to Dalia before coming here.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a container, flipping the lid to reveal steaming hot pasta. The creamy garlic scent hits me immediately, making my mouth water.

“Gods. If that’s the look you give me after I feed you, I owe Dalia one… or ten,” he says, watching my face like he’s memorising it.

But not even his flirting can pull me away from the pasta.

He passes me the pot as I make grabby hands toward it. I sit back on my knees and dig in, moaning in delight.