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.
---
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.