Page 70 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

D ark eyes stare down at me. His black hair is slicked back from his handsome, carefully composed face. But it’s the eyes that betray him. He can’t quite smother the hatred in them, the revulsion he carries for me.

If he could hide that, maybe—just maybe—I might have fallen for the polished mask he wears.

I glance him over. From the bottoms of his too-shiny shoes to the perfect line of his silk-pressed suit, reminding me of an oil-slick eel that lives in the depths of the North Sea.

“Cael,” I say through clenched teeth, unable to muster even a fake smile.

“Elina.” He nods down at me. “Very interesting choice of headwear.”

I reach up to adjust my headband. “Oh, I’m so pleased you like it. I wore it especially for you.”

He glances around, then leans in close, his breath brushing my ear. “If you think you’re taking the throne from me, little girl, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He straightens, a pleasant smile plastered on his face for the benefit of the crowd. A snake in silk.

“One thing you should know about me, Cael,” I say, low and deliberate, spitting his name like venom, “is that I’m a patient person. I’m happy to play the long game. I just hope you’ve got the stamina.”

And with that, I walk away.

I find Junie on the dance floor, twirling unsteadily with a glass of fizzing wine in hand.

Sam and Louisa are trying to keep her upright, laughing as they fail to contain her spins.

But Stone… I can’t see him. The ballroom is too packed, and from my height, even in heels, all I can make out are shoulders and hair.

I start pushing through the crowd toward the edges, where it’s less dense.

Through a narrow gap, I spot Stone and Trent under an alcove, cloaked in shadow.

Tension radiates off them. Their brows are furrowed, lips tight as they argue in hushed tones, eyes flicking around to make sure they aren’t overheard.

I take a step toward them, finally ready to get to the bottom of this issue between them, whatever it is, hoping I can help settle whatever storm has been brewing.

But then, someone else steps out of the darkness.

A man I don’t recognise.

He has black hair as dark as night, short on the sides, longer on top. A tattoo of a snake coils up his neck, its tongue licking the edge of his jaw. At his throat glints a silver pendant, it’s startlingly similar to Stone’s.

The resemblance stops me cold.

His features are sharp and unreadable as he speaks to them. Stone nods at some of his words and frowns at others. When he argues, Trent joins in, but the man raises a hand, silencing them both. Authority clings to him like a second skin.

After a few minutes, the conversation ends. Trent and the man disappear into the crowd, leaving Stone standing alone. I watch as he rubs a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in pain.

Then, with a breath, he straightens and masks it all behind that composed, unreadable expression .

I step forward, weaving through the crowd until he sees me. His features soften into a smile as he meets me halfway.

“Who was that?” I ask, nodding toward the now-empty alcove.

He glances over his shoulder. “Who?”

“The guy just now with you and Trent.”

“Oh, he’s just a trainee from Force Squad.”

The reply is smooth. I don’t sense anything but the truth.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before,” I say, frowning.

“Really?” His brows lift with just the right amount of surprise. “He’s a friend of Trent’s. From near his home.”

Before I can press further, he reaches for my hand, squeezing my fingers softly. “Come with me to the gardens. I’ve got something for you.”

I try to shake the unease settling in my core, reminding myself that I’m with Stone—the man I’m pretty sure I’m falling for.

So I follow him, maybe fresh air is just what I need.

He leads me through the gardens, past blooming roses, beneath arched trellises, and over winding pebbled paths lit by the soft glow of scattered candles.

People drift around us, hushed voices, laughter, and clinking glasses sound in the air.

It’s quieter here; the music from the ballroom is reduced to a distant hum.

Stone stops at a small white iron table, where drinks and small trays of food are laid out for guests. He picks up two clemoya cocktails and hands one to me.

I hesitate.

I never drink. He knows this. I hate losing control.

But maybe… maybe I need something to calm my sudden nerves. His gaze remains steady on mine, his hand still extended, offering the glass.

“You can always trust me, Red,” he says softly. “I’ll never let anything happen to you. ”

The sincerity in his eyes anchors me. I reach out and take the glass. The liquid inside glistens, pale pink and effervescent. I bring it to my lips and sip. It’s sweet and fizzy, the bubbles tickling my nose as I take another, deeper drink.

Stone sips from his own glass, watching me over the rim. Then he takes my hand again and pulls me farther into the gardens. Away from people, somewhere darker, where the candles no longer trail.

He stops beneath an archway heavy with climbing roses of pinks, yellows, reds, all tangled together, blooming wildly above us, their scent thick and heady in the warm night air.

“So, I was on patrol the other day in Sundell, and a jeweller’s was open.”

Stone crouches, placing his drink gently on the floor by his feet, the quiet clink of it unusually loud in the stillness. I follow his lead, finishing the last of my cocktail and setting my glass down, curiosity blooming in my chest.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small crimson velvet drawstring bag. My breath catches.

With careful fingers, he opens it and tips it upside down. A delicate golden necklace slips into his palm, the soft chime of metal against skin sending a strange shiver up my spine. He holds it up by the chain, letting the pendant sway slightly.

“It’s a sun,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “I saw it and… I couldn’t not buy it for you.”

Warmth floods my chest, unexpected and disarming. I lean in, fingers trembling slightly as I grasp the charm and watch it catch the moonlight.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. My throat tightens around the words. “Will you put it on me?”

I lift my hair. He steps behind me, slow, deliberate, his breath brushing against the tender skin at my nape. The clasp clicks into place.

I glance down to admire it, but the pendant blurs. My vision warps, the gold distorting into an unfocused smear. I blink. Once. Again.

Still wrong.

I reach up to rub my eyes, but my hands feel heavy and sluggish in their movements.

My breath hitches. The night air grows thick, like trying to swim through molasses. A low hum builds in my ears.

I look up. Stone is in front of me now, his face swimming in and out of focus. He’s speaking, I can see his lips move, but his voice doesn’t reach me. It’s like I’ve been plunged underwater, the world dulled and distant, pressure mounting in my skull.

“Stone?” My voice is paper-thin, my body swaying. The ground tilts. “I—”

Panic flares. My limbs are slow and uncooperative, like they’ve forgotten how to hold me up.

“Something’s… wrong.”

He catches my arms as I pitch forward. But I can’t feel his grip on me. My whole body is numb.

I claw at his shirt, trying to stay upright, trying to hold on to him. My heart is pounding, hammering so hard it hurts.

“Stone, I need…” I try to tell him through my too-thick tongue and slurred words to get help.

But then, his face swims into view—shadows cast across it like a mask.

And his expression isn’t of worry.

It’s of guilt.

The world buckles.

And the last thing I see before darkness claims me is Stone’s face, fractured by moonlight. Grief-stricken, silent, and undeniably complicit.