Page 68 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

J unie’s squeal bounces off the stone walls, bright and uncontainable. “Bitch! Look at this dress. Look at me. I look like something out of my own wet dream.”

She twirls in front of the mirror, nearly sloshing her glass of clemoya wine all over the floor. Bubbles fizz dangerously close to the rim, but the sudden spin draws a sharp grimace from her as she clutches her chest.

“Easy,” I say, crossing the room to steady her. “You’re still healing.”

“Gods, don’t I know it,” she says through gritted teeth. “I’m going to drink enough wine tonight that I won’t feel it when I’m dancing.”

I settle on the bench near the vanity, frowning. “You’re going to regret that first thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow can suck a dick.” She raises her glass in a toast. “I’ve been waiting for this ball for weeks. I’m not letting some undead abomination that should’ve stayed buried ruin it for me.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

She looks enchanting tonight. The black satin of her dress clings just right, flaring at the thighs and stopping a few inches above the knee.

Sheer black lace wraps delicately over her collarbone, shoulders and high around her neck.

A single white flower is tucked behind her ear, stark against her black hair.

Her dark eyes are ringed with kohl, making them look sharp and enticing.

Hauntingly beautiful.

“So,” she says, snatching the curling tongs from my hands and picking up a section of my hair, “how are things going with Stone?”

I glance at her through the mirror. A small smile curls my lips before I can stop it, a faint blush warming across my cheekbones.

She catches it instantly and grins. “That good, huh?”

I laugh softly, the sound slipping out before I mean it to. Just thinking of him makes my chest warm. “Things are going… well.”

Junie hums, expertly wrapping another thick strand of crimson hair around the heated iron. “All you lovestruck idiots are making me miss Kayli even more. First you, now Deacon—you’re dropping like flies.”

I grasp the change of the subject. “Do you think Willa will come tonight?”

“For Deacon’s sake, I hope so,” she mutters, twisting the final curl into place before setting the tongs down. “There. Done.”

She picks up her glass, downs what’s left in one gulp, and fills it again from the bottle on my desk. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”

“More for me, then.” She winks.

I turn to the mirror. My crimson hair falls in soft, gleaming barrel curls down to my waist. My makeup is light: gold dusts my eyelids, a soft pink stains my lips, and my freckles remain untouched, scattered across my nose.

I stand, pulling my silk robe tighter around me as I approach the mannequin where the dress waits.

It’s breathtaking.

The lilac silk is buttery soft beneath my fingers, flowing like water.

The bodice is a masterpiece—sculpted gold and soft purples moulded to fit like a second skin, etched with curling embellishments that mimic sun rays and the blooms of sol flowers.

The skirt falls in layered violet silk, sheer and light, decorated with golden embroidery so fine it looks alive.

When I move, the threads catch the light, glinting and glowing.

I step into it carefully, and Junie rushes forward to fasten the buttons along my spine.

Once it’s on, I turn, watching how the skirt floats around my legs like a waterfall of lavender and light.

Then, I lift the final piece.

A small golden crown, more of a headband, really, but the message is loud. It’s shaped like open sunrays, tipped with glittering stones, and I place it on my head, between my curls, without hesitation.

No ceremony. No audience.

I crown myself.

I’m not ready to take the throne. But Cael needs to remember that I could.

Junie looks over my shoulder, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Perfect.”

She links her arm through mine, grinning. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The music finds us first, trailing down the hallway to meet our ears. Junie squeezes my arm, eyes alight with excitement.

The doors stand open, welcoming and inviting, as we move toward them.

We step into the ballroom, and light washes over us in a warm cascade.

Above, a chandelier glows from the centre of the vaulted ceiling in the unmistakable shape of a sun in full blaze.

An enormous golden starburst of sculpted glass and glinting gold, each ray tipped with tiny flames that shimmer without smoke.

It bathes the ballroom in soft amber, painting the guests in yellow.

From the ceiling, cascades of flowers drift down like trailing vines, the soft pinks and lilacs woven into garlands that sway gently, enchanted by a breeze that isn’t there. The scent is rich and warm, floral with the faintest trace of sol flower nectar.

Music swells from the far end of the hall, strings and flutes weaving a joyous melody that already has bodies swaying and feet gliding. Banners line the walls in pure gold, stitched with the sun sigil of Aladria. Their ends flutter gently as people swirl past them.

Shimmering trays float through the crowd, held aloft by attendants. Each one carries slender glasses of clemoya cocktails. The drinks glow with a rosy hue, a single sol flower floating at the top like a sun in bloom.

The room is filled with nobles, officials, and soldiers dressed beyond recognition. But one figure stands out, impossible to miss.

Cael.

He watches me from across the ballroom, lip curled in a sneer as Junie and I reach the top of the stairs.

I guess my crown is having the effect I wanted.

I lift my chin, letting the spokes of my headband catch the chandelier’s light, glinting like a halo. I meet his gaze and smirk.

Junie lets go of my arm and jogs down the stairs, her dress bouncing with each step as she weaves toward Trent.

I take my time.

My hand glides over the bannister. My dress floats around me like mist with every step.

And then. I feel him.

My eyes find Stone near the edge of the ballroom, half-turned toward the stairs. The golden light spills across his broad shoulders, tracing the sharp lines of his fitted jacket, the deep fabric edged in bronze that glints with each subtle shift of movement.

Our eyes lock. The moment he spots me, he moves, cutting through the crowd that parts before him. I pause at the bottom step, waiting.

When he reaches me, his hand finds mine. His grip is sure, warm, as he draws me down the final step.

Leaning in, his voice drops low beside my ear.

“A literal goddess.”

I shiver. His voice alone drives me wild.

He presses a kiss to my temple and, with one hand at the small of my back, pulls me deep onto the dance floor.

The music fades around me, or maybe it’s just that I’m absorbed in him. His hands rest steady at my waist as we move together, slow and unhurried. He sways me side to side, and I curl my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.

Around us, couples blur. Laughter flickers. Silk rustles. Glasses chime. But it’s all just background noise.

Stone’s hand tightens gently at my waist, and I look up at him. I try to tell him everything I’m not brave enough to say aloud with just my eyes—what I feel for him, how happy I am to have met him, how much better he makes my life, my world.

For a second, I think I see a flicker of sorrow in his gaze. Or maybe fear. But then he smiles, and warmth radiates back at me. Maybe he’s holding things back too. Maybe there are words he doesn’t want to say.

A glimmer of something flares within me at the thought that he might feel it, too.

But we don’t speak. We just move.

His steps are effortless, graceful. And I realise, not for the first time, how little I truly know of him as he twirls me with expert precision, guiding me like he’s done this a thousand times before.

We keep dancing, silent and slow, until someone taps Stone’s shoulder.

“Do you mind if I step in?” Sam asks, nodding to me. He’s dressed in a warm beige suit, a golden silk shirt beneath it. With his pale blonde hair and easy smile, I’ve never seen him look more regal. For a moment, the soldier disappears entirely.

Stone simply nods, kissing me gently on the temple and steps away, joining Trent and Junie near the food table.

Sam places one hand lightly at my waist and takes my other in his. I rest my free hand on his shoulder as we begin to move. There’s no tension, no anticipation—just comfort. It’s completely platonic.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently.

“I’m good.” I nod, letting my gaze drift across the room. Familiar faces glow with laughter and ease. After six months of madness, this feels like the exhale we all needed.

“You seem happy tonight,” he says softly. “It suits you.”

I smile but then watch as his eyes lift, scanning the ballroom again. Always alert. Always ready. Even surrounded by candlelight and music, Sam never stops watching for danger.

“I am happy,” I admit. “Are you?”

I always worry that Sam feels caged by me, that he feels forced to live a lie, deceiving everyone about his age, his skills, and his entire career.

He looks at me then, serious for a beat. “It’s an honour to be by your side, Elina.”

I roll my eyes and swat at his arm. “Go on, find Louisa.”

He laughs and steps away, heading toward the windows where Louisa is talking with Davin.

I meander to the food table, quickly shovelling delicate cakes into my mouth before someone else can ask me to dance. Across the room, I spot Deacon and Willa leaning against a pillar, and my heart lifts.

She’s out of her room and dressed for the occasion in soft pink, her gown flowing like water. The neckline dips low down her chest, and her curls are pinned artfully atop her head. Deacon leans in, brushing a stray ringlet behind her ear, and I watch as she softens and melts into his touch.

“Hey,” Stone murmurs behind me. I feel his presence before I hear him. He leans in close, voice low at my ear. “Junie and Trent said we need to go to a balcony.”