The sound of galloping hooves thundered through the dark valley.
Dust rose like storm clouds, and in the distance, the faint metallic clink of armor echoed against the wind.
Lying on the cold ground, Famoura stirred. Her vision was a blur of colors — gold, silver, and crimson. The last thing she remembered was the chaos at the castle gates, the cries of battle, and the weight of the Crimson Book pressed against her chest.
Now, only silence surrounded her… until the horses came closer.
Her pulse quickened. For a brief moment, she wanted to close her eyes and pretend it was all a dream — but the world refused to fade. With trembling hands, she pushed herself up, every bone in her body aching.
A stream ran nearby, its surface glowing faintly beneath the pale moonlight.
Famoura glanced toward it, her mind racing.
The Crimson Book — the one every army sought, the one that could destroy kingdoms — was still with her.
The rumble of hooves grew louder.
They were close.
Without another thought, Famoura limped to the riverbank.
She whispered softly to herself, as if the river could hear her, "Hide it… protect it from their greed."
Then, she tossed the book into the water. It sank slowly, vanishing beneath ripples of silver light just as the soldiers arrived.
"There she is!" shouted one of the horsemen.
A dozen torches flared to life. Swords gleamed in the firelight as they surrounded her.
"Seize her!" barked the commander, his voice echoing through the trees. "Take her to Château de Brissac! She'll speak soon enough."
Famoura tried to resist, but exhaustion overtook her. The soldiers bound her wrists and dragged her toward their horses. Her feet scraped against the rough ground, leaving faint streaks of blood behind.
As the army rode into the night, the moon hid behind clouds — as if even the heavens could not bear to witness what came next.
---
The Queen's Game
At dawn, the soldiers arrived at Château de Brissac, the black fortress that pierced the misty sky. Its towers were crowned with gargoyles, and its walls dripped with the chill of centuries-old rain.
Inside, the corridors were dim, lit only by torches flickering against ancient tapestries.
"Your Majesty," the commander bowed before the throne. "We have captured Princess Marie."
From her throne, Queen Isabella smiled faintly — the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.
Her crown caught the light like a blade. "Princess Marie?" she murmured, standing with measured grace. "Bring me Famoura."
The commander hesitated. "Her name… is Marie, my Queen."
Isabella turned slowly, amusement curling on her lips. "Her true name is Famoura."
Her voice was honeyed venom. "Did you think I wouldn't know the girl who holds the Crimson Book's secret?"
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
Even the flames seemed to flicker nervously in her presence.
---
Famoura was brought in, her wrists bound, her gown torn and stained from the long ride.
Her eyes, however, still burned with defiance.
"Hello, future queen," Isabella said softly, circling her like a serpent.
"Such a pity — you look far too delicate for war."
Famoura met her gaze, unflinching. "What do you want from me?"
"Not much," Isabella replied, her smile sharpening. "Only that book. Give it to me, and I might let you breathe a little longer."
Famoura tilted her chin. "I don't know what book you're talking about."
The queen's laughter filled the chamber — cold, cruel, and echoing.
"Then rot in the dark," she hissed, turning away. "You'll beg to talk soon."
The guards dragged Famoura back to her cell — a narrow room of stone and shadows.
Chains clinked as she sat against the wall, her heartbeat loud in her ears. But through the fear, a single thought burned bright: They must never find the Crimson Book.
---
The Panic at Chambord
Meanwhile, far away at Château de Chambord, the atmosphere was chaos.
The sound of hurried footsteps filled the halls as Minister William burst through the grand doors, his robes flying behind him.
"Princess Catherine! Princess Marie! Prince Henry!" he shouted. "Where are you all?"
The royal family turned in alarm.
Princess Marie, the younger sister, rushed forward. "Minister William, what's wrong?"
William's face was pale. His voice trembled as he said,
"Princess Famoura has been captured."
The words fell like thunder.
Princess Catherine froze. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. "What… what did you say?"
William bowed his head. "They took her near the river. The enemy believes she carries the Crimson Book."
Catherine's hand flew to her mouth. "Our daughter… captured? No… no, this can't be true!"
She turned to her husband, Prince Charles, her eyes wild with desperation. "You must do something! You can't just stand here!"
Charles clenched his fists. His face was a storm of anger and disbelief. "Who dares to touch my daughter?"
William's answer came heavy. "Queen Isabella, Your Highness. She's behind it all."
The name struck the hall like poison.
For years, Isabella had been the shadow enemy — the woman who sought the throne through deceit and dark alliances.
Catherine's tears fell freely now. "We must bring her back, Charles! We must!"
Prince Charles turned toward the great war map spread across the table. His eyes hardened.
"Prepare the knights," he ordered. "Send word to every loyal house. If Isabella wants war—"
He looked toward the distant window where thunder rolled across the sky,
"—then war she shall have."
The palace at Château de Chambord was quiet that evening — too quiet for comfort.
War had stretched its shadow across the kingdom, and every corridor carried whispers of loss.
Yet, inside the western chamber, the faint glow of candlelight still flickered — where Princess Marie, mother of the royal heirs, stood beside an old woman cloaked in gray, her face lined with centuries of secrets.
On the table before them lay a worn leather cover, dyed a deep, glimmering red. The woman's crooked fingers moved with practiced care as she painted strange symbols with molten wax and crushed minerals that shimmered in the light. The room smelled faintly of myrrh and iron.
Marie's voice was low but steady. "It must be perfect. It must fool even the queen herself."
The woman's eyes rose from her work. "You wish to deceive Queen Isabella, child? That woman's hunger for the Crimson Book has no end. Once she holds it, she will summon every dark spirit she can command."
Marie straightened, her royal calm cracking for just a second. "Let her try. This kingdom will not bend to her greed — not while I live."
She watched as the old woman bound the final thread of wax across the spine of the imitation book. It shimmered faintly, just like the true Crimson Kira, whose runes were said to hold the fate of bloodlines.
When the woman finished, she whispered, "A false relic carries its own curse. It mirrors truth, but truth always returns for payment."
Marie took the book, her fingers trembling slightly. "Then let the curse fall on me. My daughter's life is worth it."
Behind her, footsteps echoed through the corridor. The heavy door creaked open, and Prince Henry, her eldest, entered. His armor was polished but dusted with travel — his face young yet burdened by command.
Marie turned to him. "Henry," she said softly, "you must ride to Château de Brissac. The enemy holds your sister captive. Queen Isabella will not release her unless she receives the Crimson Kira."
Henry's eyes burned. "The real book?"
Marie shook her head. "No. A deception. This one will buy us time. The true Crimson lies hidden where no hand can find it."
She pressed the imitation into his hands. "No matter what happens, do not open it. Protect it as if it were real. And remember — you are not fighting for power. You are fighting for Famoura."
Henry bowed, his jaw tight with restrained emotion. "Yes, Mother. I will bring her home."
Marie reached up, her palm resting gently on his head — as she had when he was a child afraid of the dark. "Go with courage, my son. And remember… your heart is your greatest weapon."
He nodded once, his eyes glimmering, and turned sharply toward the door. Outside, thunder rolled across the blackened sky. Within minutes, he and his knights mounted their horses, banners fluttering, steel glinting in the pale dawn.
---
They rode for hours through the forests of Valemont, where the air was thick with fog and the ground littered with ash. Smoke rose in the distance — the remains of villages lost to the queen's army.
Henry said nothing. He rode with grim silence, the false Crimson strapped securely under his cloak. His sister's laughter echoed in his mind — memories of gentler days, when Famoura would steal his sword and run through the gardens pretending to be a knight.
Now she was a prisoner.
And he, the only one who could save her.
---
By the time they reached Château de Brissac, the sun had begun to sink. The fortress loomed like a black crown upon the hill, its towers spiked and cruel. The air reeked of iron and rain.
"Sound the horns," Henry ordered.
The shrill cry of brass echoed through the valley, followed by the thundering of hooves as soldiers lined the field. Banners of red and gold clashed against the gray wind.
"Return the princess!" Henry's voice rang out. "Or face the wrath of Chambord's bloodline!"
From the gatehouse, soldiers appeared with shields raised. The tension built — until a soft, mocking voice answered.
"Such bravery… from such a child."
The great gates creaked open, and Queen Isabella herself emerged. Draped in crimson silk, her presence commanded the air — beautiful, regal, and venomous. She smiled as though greeting an old friend.
"Prince Henry," she purred. "I wondered when the son would come crawling to save the sister."
Henry's sword glinted in the fading light. "Where is Princess Famoura?"
"Alive," Isabella said, her tone casual. "For now. But that depends entirely on you."
He glared at her. "Speak your terms."
"The Crimson Book," she said simply. "Give it to me, and your sister goes free."
Henry's breath caught, but he nodded slowly. "You will release her first."
"Do you take me for a fool?" Isabella laughed softly. "Hand me the book, and I will keep my word. I always do… when it suits me."
Henry looked toward the castle walls — he could see faint movement, a flicker of blonde hair in the shadows. Famoura.
He drew the imitation book from beneath his cloak. It shimmered faintly in the evening light, perfect in every detail. The soldiers behind Isabella stirred, murmuring in awe.
"I knew it," the queen whispered. "The Crimson Kira, at last."
Her eyes shone with greed as she motioned to her minister. "Take it."
The minister stepped forward cautiously and received the book, bowing before her. Isabella's smile widened. "Years of searching… and the royal bloodline brings it to me on their knees."
"Release her," Henry demanded.
"Of course," she said lightly. "A promise is a promise. Bring the girl."
Her soldiers moved to obey. Bound and pale, Famoura was led into the open courtyard. Her eyes met Henry's — surprise, relief, and something deeper flickered between them.
"Henry…" she breathed.
"Famoura," he said, voice breaking slightly. "You're safe now."
"Am I?" she murmured, her gaze flicking briefly toward the queen.
"Enough sentiment," Isabella snapped. "Take your precious sister and leave my lands before I change my mind."
Henry sheathed his sword. "You'll regret this."
"I already regret many things," she replied, her smile cold. "But losing this trade will not be one of them."
---
The prince and his soldiers took Famoura and began the long return ride to Chambord.
The night air was heavy and silent. The stars were hidden behind drifting clouds. Henry rode beside his sister, glancing at her from time to time, as if making sure she was real.
"You don't look like someone who's been broken," he said finally.
Famoura gave a faint smile. "They can chain my body, but not my will."
Henry's chest tightened. "I swore to bring you back, and I will."
But as they neared the River Brissac, her eyes began to wander. She saw the dark water gleaming beneath the bridge, whispering secrets only she could hear.
Suddenly, she pulled her reins hard and leapt from her horse into the river below.
"Famoura!" Henry screamed, his heart lurching. The soldiers dismounted, running to the edge, but the river was wild and fast.
"Find her!" Henry roared. "No one rests until she's found!"
For an hour, they searched — torches flickering, boots sinking into mud — until finally a cry came:
"Here! She's alive!"
They carried her from the water, soaked and shivering. Her breath was shallow, but her eyes — fierce as ever — were open. What they didn't see was the faint crimson glow hidden beneath her cloak.
The real Crimson Kira was strapped to her back, its power faint but alive. She had hidden it there all along.
---
By the time they reached the gates of Chambord, dawn had begun to break. Famoura could barely stand, but when she saw the castle's ancient well — deep and dark, its stones covered in moss — she knew what she must do.
Before anyone could stop her, she staggered toward it, clutching the hidden book.
"Famoura?" Henry called, confused. "What are you—"
She looked back, smiling faintly. "Forgive me, brother. The world isn't ready for its power."
And with one last breath, she threw the true Crimson Book into the depths of the well.
The splash echoed like thunder.
Henry ran to her, gripping her shoulders. "Why? Do you know what you've done?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I've saved us all."
He looked into her eyes — tired, wise, and resolute — and knew she was right. Some power was never meant to belong to any crown.
---
Far away, in Château de Brissac, Queen Isabella's laughter filled the halls as she opened the book Henry had given her.
But the moment her fingers touched its pages, the laughter stopped.
The false Crimson crumbled to ash in her hands.
The runes she had sought for years turned black, smoke rising from the dying script.
"No…" she hissed. "No!"
Her ministers stepped back in terror as the ash scattered into the air, leaving only silence.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled — but this time, it sounded almost like the roar of fate itself.
---
That night, at Chambord, the siblings stood on the balcony overlooking the dawn. The war was not yet over — Isabella's armies would march again — but for the first time in months, there was peace in their hearts.
Famoura leaned against the stone rail, her brother beside her.
"You risked everything," Henry said softly.
"So did you," she replied. "You faced her without fear."
He smiled faintly. "You're the brave one."
"No," she said, looking toward the horizon. "We both are. That's why we'll win."
The wind carried their words into the distance — over rivers, forests, and battlefields — whispering the tale of two siblings who defied a queen and protected a power greater than any throne.
And though war still waited beyond the hills, for that brief, fragile dawn, the kingdom breathed again.