Princess Marie entered the sitting room carrying a silver plate filled with freshly baked cookies. The sweet aroma drifted through the chamber, wrapping itself around the furniture and curtains like a warm embrace against the winter chill.
Famoura's eyes immediately brightened.
She sat at the table with barely concealed excitement, watching as the plate was placed before her.
At that exact moment, Prince Philip entered.
The scent reached him before anything else.
He stopped in the doorway.
Then his gaze landed upon the cookies.
"Good heavens," he remarked dramatically. "Those appear rather splendid. Quite fine cookies indeed."
Famoura immediately lifted her chin.
A proud smile spread across her face.
"Those are my cookies."
She folded her arms.
"Mama had them baked especially for me."
Then she pointed toward the plate possessively.
"You shall have to wait. She may bake some for you later."
Princess Marie laughed softly.
"I do apologize, Philip."
She offered an innocent smile.
"But these truly were made only for Famoura."
Prince Philip placed a hand over his heart.
His expression became one of exaggerated heartbreak.
"Have I truly fallen so low?"
He sighed heavily.
"You two are nothing but shameless cheaters."
Yet the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined the performance entirely.
A moment later, he departed the room with all the dignity of a defeated soldier.
The instant he disappeared down the corridor, Famoura and Marie burst into laughter.
Their hands clapped together in victory.
For a brief moment, they looked less like royalty and more like conspirators celebrating a successful crime.
Then the door opened again.
Princess Catherine entered.
Her expression was stern.
Tired.
The sort of tiredness that sleep could never cure.
"Have you two finished laughing?"
The laughter died instantly.
"Come outside."
Catherine folded her arms.
"It is the final day of the year."
She sighed.
"And unfortunately, the accounts must still be settled."
Marie groaned dramatically.
"The final day of every year is always the most exhausting."
Famoura, however, looked delighted.
"This is my first time seeing it properly."
Her eyes sparkled.
"Last year I was sent away before any of it began."
She stood quickly.
"I wish to see everything."
A small smile touched Catherine's lips.
Yet behind that smile...
something heavier remained hidden.
Something Famoura did not yet understand.
---
Soon the royal courtyard filled with nobles, ministers, merchants, and townspeople.
The winter sky stretched overhead in pale shades of grey.
A cold wind swept across the gathering.
At the front stood a royal official holding a long scroll.
His voice rang across the courtyard.
"Prince Philip, Princess Marie, and their three sons shall take their places in the front row."
He cleared his throat.
"Prince Henry. Prince Lucien. Prince Louis."
Then his gaze moved lower.
"Prince Charles, Princess Catherine, and their daughter..."
He glanced at the scroll.
"Princess Marie."
Famoura shot to her feet instantly.
"My name is not Marie!"
The courtyard fell silent.
Hundreds of eyes turned toward her.
Prince Philip immediately covered his mouth, attempting—and failing—to hide his amusement.
Prince Charles rose so quickly his chair nearly tipped backward.
"Forgive my daughter."
His smile looked painfully forced.
"She is not in the best of moods today."
The official bowed nervously.
Then hurried onward.
Famoura sat down again.
Furious.
She tugged gently upon Catherine's sleeve.
"Mama."
Her voice softened.
"I wish to sit beside Aunt Marie."
Catherine's eyes immediately shifted toward the royal platform.
Then she leaned closer.
"Please, sweetheart."
Her voice became barely a whisper.
"For your grandmother's sake."
The words were gentle.
But their weight struck Famoura like a stone.
Her excitement vanished instantly.
The joy she had carried all morning shattered.
Seeing the hurt in her daughter's eyes, Catherine immediately regretted her tone.
"I am sorry."
She reached for her hand.
"I did not mean it harshly."
But Famoura simply lowered her gaze.
Some wounds required no blade.
---
The great doors of the royal hall opened.
King Francis entered.
The entire court rose.
The old king sat upon his throne like a monument carved from stone.
His cane rested beside him.
His sharp gaze swept across the hall.
"Minister."
His voice echoed.
"Present the yearly report."
A pause.
"And include the accounts of all villagers."
Minister William stepped forward.
He bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty."
He unfolded a scroll.
"The records show that a disproportionate amount of wealth has accumulated within the Verinz family."
Murmurs spread immediately.
"There appears to be corruption."
The room grew tense.
"The poor continue to grow poorer while the rich grow richer."
William lowered his head.
"Something is gravely wrong."
King Francis narrowed his eyes.
"And who is responsible?"
Before William could answer—
Prince Henry stepped forward.
Calm.
Confident.
Prepared.
"Tell me, Minister."
His voice was smooth.
"Which family currently possesses the greatest wealth?"
William hesitated.
"The Verinz family."
Henry nodded slowly.
"As I suspected."
He turned toward the guards.
"Bring Alexander Verinz forward."
Moments later, a man was escorted into the hall.
Alexander Verinz.
His posture remained proud.
But confusion filled his eyes.
William opened the scroll.
"Alexander Verinz."
His voice rang through the chamber.
"You stand accused of manipulating royal accounts and stealing money intended for the people."
Before anyone could react—
Famoura stood.
"What foolishness is this?"
The entire hall froze.
"If wealth itself is a crime..."
Her eyes burned.
"...then surely our own family should stand trial first."
Gasps erupted.
Famoura continued relentlessly.
"After all, we are the wealthiest family in the kingdom."
Whispers spread through the crowd.
"She speaks truth."
"That is reasonable."
"She is not wrong."
Henry's expression darkened.
"Princess Famoura."
His voice sharpened.
"Calm yourself."
He pointed toward the records.
"We possess evidence."
Famoura stepped forward.
"Then show it."
The challenge echoed throughout the hall.
Yet before anyone could respond—
King Francis rose.
"The decision has already been made."
Silence swallowed the room.
"Alexander Verinz shall be executed."
Famoura felt her blood run cold.
For several moments she could not speak.
Then fury exploded within her chest.
"Without proof?"
Her voice trembled.
Not from fear.
From outrage.
"This is a man's life!"
She pointed toward Alexander.
"He is someone's father."
Her eyes swept the court.
"Someone's brother."
Her voice broke slightly.
"Someone's son."
No one spoke.
No one dared.
His family waits for him.
His children need him.
His wife needs him.
What would they feel when they hear—
Her throat tightened.
"'He has been executed'?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even the nobles lowered their eyes.
Minister William leaned toward the King.
"Your Majesty."
His voice was cautious.
"You should be wary of this girl."
King Francis struck his cane against the floor.
"Our judgment remains unchanged."
His gaze hardened.
"We act for the good of the kingdom."
The cane struck once more.
"You may all leave."
Prince Charles's face burned with humiliation.
He seized Famoura's arm.
"Enough."
His voice hissed through clenched teeth.
"From this day forward, you shall not attend family gatherings."
Famoura yanked her arm away.
"And what exactly was wrong with what I said?"
Her eyes blazed.
"If anyone here possessed common sense, they would know I spoke the truth."
"Silence her."
Charles turned toward Catherine.
Catherine looked helpless.
"Enough, my dear."
Famoura shook her head.
"We can still save him."
Then King Francis's voice thundered once more.
"Prepare for the execution tonight."
And the fate of Alexander Verinz was sealed.
---
That night, torches illuminated the castle grounds.
Smoke drifted through the cold air.
People gathered.
Waiting.
Watching.
Famoura stood near her chamber window.
Her eyes never left the courtyard.
"I shall not allow this."
She moved toward the door.
But Prince Henry was faster.
The door slammed shut.
LOCK.
Famoura stared.
Then slowly smiled.
A challenge.
Very well.
She tore strips from her gown.
Knotted them together.
One after another.
A rope.
Minutes later, she slipped through the window and vanished into the darkness.
Like a ghost escaping its grave.
---
Alexander Verinz sat bound beneath heavy guard.
His execution awaited.
Then suddenly—
A shadow emerged.
Silent.
Swift.
The guards barely had time to react.
Famoura moved like lightning.
Within moments, Alexander was free.
She helped him onto a horse.
The two disappeared into the forest.
Deep beneath the shelter of ancient trees.
Far beyond the reach of royal torches.
There, beside a rocky outcrop, Famoura finally stopped.
"Remain here."
Her voice was firm.
"No matter what happens."
Alexander stared at her.
Disbelief filled his eyes.
"Why?"
His voice trembled.
"Why would a princess risk everything for me?"
Famoura looked directly at him.
"Because you are innocent."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Then she rode away.
Returning to the castle before dawn.
Unseen.
Unknown.
Like she had never left.
---
The next morning, the entire estate erupted into chaos.
Alexander Verinz had vanished.
Guards searched everywhere.
The forest.
The roads.
The villages.
Nothing.
When Prince Henry entered Famoura's chamber, he found her sitting peacefully with a book.
Reading.
As though she had slept soundly through the night.
Henry narrowed his eyes.
"She is here."
His voice remained low.
"It could not have been her."
Yet something within his gaze suggested otherwise.
Suspicion had already taken root.
---
Days later, Famoura uncovered the truth.
False ledgers.
Altered taxes.
Forged records.
Piece by piece, she assembled the evidence.
And when she finally entered the royal court once more—
she carried proof.
The true accounts.
Witness testimony.
Facts that could not be ignored.
The court shook beneath the weight of revelation.
King Francis read every page.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His expression darkened.
At last, he spoke.
"It appears a mistake has indeed been made."
The words tasted hollow.
He folded the papers neatly.
"Perhaps the calculations were mishandled."
His gaze drifted briefly toward Henry.
A warning.
A shield.
A convenient sacrifice.
Alexander Verinz was freed.
Minister William was spared.
The court called it justice.
Famoura called it theatre.
Because the truth had not won.
It had merely been hidden more carefully.
As the hall emptied, Prince Henry approached.
His shadow stretched across the floor.
He leaned close.
"I shall deal with you later, Princess."
Famoura did not retreat.
She met his eyes without fear.
"I shall be waiting."
For several moments they stared at one another.
Then Henry turned away.
Leaving her alone in the vast hall.
Famoura looked toward the throne.
Toward the crown.
Toward the kingdom itself.
And at last she understood.
This kingdom was not ruled by law.
It was ruled by lies.
And the crown...
was nothing more than a polished mask.