The following morning arrived far too quickly.
The palace had barely awakened, yet tension already lingered in the air. It was heavy and sharp, like the scent of iron before blood is spilled.
Even the servants moved quietly through the corridors, their footsteps softened as though the walls themselves were listening.
And deep within the heart of Château de Chambord—
a decision was about to be made.
By the King's command, a private gathering had been arranged without delay.
Prince Philip.
Prince Charles.
And the three royal heirs.
Prince Henry.
Prince Lucien.
Prince Louis.
All had been summoned to King Francis's private chamber.
The room was magnificent.
Golden curtains framed the tall windows, while carved oak furniture stood beneath crystal chandeliers. Morning light reflected across the polished marble floor, making it gleam like ice.
Yet despite its beauty, the chamber felt suffocating.
A place where judgment was passed long before truth had the opportunity to speak.
King Francis sat upon his chair of authority, his silver-headed cane resting beside him.
His expression was calm.
Far too calm.
Minister William stood near the grand window, his hands folded neatly behind his back. The old minister appeared less like an advisor and more like an executioner awaiting permission to swing the blade.
Outside, the storm of the previous night had faded.
Inside, another storm was gathering.
At last, Minister William broke the silence.
"This is no ordinary matter."
His voice echoed softly through the chamber.
"Princess Famoura may one day place us all in danger."
His eyes narrowed.
"If our true face is ever revealed before the people..."
He paused deliberately.
"...then the throne itself may tremble."
The words settled heavily upon the room.
Even Prince Philip's usual amusement faded.
Then Prince Henry stepped forward.
His jaw was clenched tightly.
"The townspeople were prepared to believe our account," he said coldly. "Everything was under control."
His voice sharpened.
"Yet because of Famoura, we were publicly humiliated."
Prince Louis scoffed.
"We spent weeks preparing those records."
He folded his arms.
"And what did we gain?"
His expression darkened.
"Nothing."
Instead, they had been forced to apologize before the court.
The memory still burned.
Henry's eyes flashed with irritation.
"She has become a problem."
His voice lowered.
"A thorn that refuses to be removed."
Prince Philip leaned back comfortably in his chair.
A mocking smile slowly appeared upon his face.
His gaze shifted toward Prince Charles.
"You possess only one daughter."
The smile widened.
"And yet you cannot control her."
Prince Charles immediately stiffened.
His hands clenched into fists.
"What would you have me do?" he snapped. "Lock her within the castle walls?"
A faint smile appeared on Prince Lucien's face.
Unlike Philip's amusement, Lucien's smile carried something colder.
Something calculated.
"No."
His voice remained calm.
"That would accomplish nothing."
The room grew silent.
Everyone turned toward him.
Even King Francis seemed interested.
Lucien folded his hands neatly before him.
"When men wish to slaughter an animal..."
His smile deepened slightly.
"...they do not spend their lives chasing it."
A few brows furrowed.
Instead of continuing immediately, Lucien allowed the silence to linger.
Then he spoke again.
"They feed it."
His eyes gleamed.
"They comfort it."
His voice softened.
"They make it believe it is safe."
Prince Henry frowned.
"And how does this concern Famoura?"
Lucien looked directly at him.
"I have observed her carefully."
A pause.
"She loves learning."
Another pause.
"More than almost anything else."
The realization slowly dawned across the room.
Lucien continued.
"If we bury her beneath books, lessons, and endless opportunities..."
His expression remained pleasant.
"...she will remain occupied."
Prince Louis began to smile.
Lucien's eyes hardened.
"She will believe she is rising."
Then he finished quietly.
"When in truth, she will merely be trapped."
Silence.
Then understanding.
A dangerous understanding.
Prince Louis chuckled first.
Henry's lips slowly curved upward.
The proposal pleased them.
Even Minister William nodded approvingly.
Then King Francis rose from his seat.
His cane struck the marble floor.
Tap.
The sound echoed through the chamber.
"Excellent."
Pride filled his voice.
"That is how a true prince speaks."
His gaze settled upon Lucien.
"Well done, my lion."
Lucien bowed his head slightly.
Minister William stepped forward.
"I shall begin preparations immediately."
And just like that—
Famoura's fate was decided.
Not by justice.
Not by kindness.
But by strategy.
The chains meant to bind her had already begun to take shape.
And she knew nothing about them.
---
A short while later, Princess Famoura stepped out of her chamber.
She had barely taken three steps into the corridor when she noticed someone waiting outside.
Prince Charles.
He stood with his hands behind his back.
As though he had been expecting her.
"Famoura."
His voice sounded almost gentle.
"You may continue your studies."
Famoura blinked.
The statement surprised her.
But only briefly.
Because there was always a condition.
"There is one requirement."
There it was.
Famoura folded her arms.
"What is it?"
Prince Charles's gaze sharpened.
"You shall no longer involve yourself in royal affairs."
A pause.
"Nor family matters."
A faint smile appeared upon Famoura's lips.
Not a happy smile.
A knowing one.
"I expected as much."
Prince Charles continued as though he had not heard her.
"You will become the first young woman in this castle to complete a formal education."
He sounded proud.
Generous.
As though offering her a gift.
Famoura's eyes hardened immediately.
"I understand perfectly."
Her voice was calm.
"There is no need to pretend kindness."
The smile vanished entirely.
"And I have no interest in attending your ridiculous family meetings."
Prince Charles's expression darkened.
"Believe whatever you wish."
Then he turned away.
Without another word.
Leaving Famoura standing alone in the corridor.
A princess.
A daughter.
And yet somehow, still an outsider.
---
Later that day, Famoura visited Princess Catherine's chamber.
The moment she entered, she sensed something unusual.
A massive parchment covered nearly half the table.
A map.
Princess Catherine and Princess Marie stood beside it with serious expressions.
Famoura approached immediately.
"What are you looking at?"
Marie smiled faintly.
"Come here."
She gently pulled Famoura beside her.
Then she pointed toward the upper portion of the map.
"This is the eastern region."
Her finger moved carefully.
"Here stands Château de Brassic."
Then she pointed southwest.
"And here lies Château de Chambord."
Famoura listened carefully.
Marie lowered her voice.
"The Queen of Brassic believes we possess the Crimson Book."
Famoura frowned.
"And she wants it?"
Marie nodded.
"She has desired it for many years."
Her expression darkened.
"The last time she marched against us..."
She looked toward Catherine.
"...was the night you were born."
Famoura's breath caught.
The revelation unsettled her.
Yet Marie continued.
"Fortunately, Queen Isabella never begins a war without warning."
Her voice remained calm.
"No message has arrived."
She offered reassurance.
"So there is no reason to panic."
Famoura nodded slowly.
Then another thought surfaced.
"What is Kira?"
The room became noticeably quieter.
Catherine answered.
"Kira means 'the one who wins.'"
The answer only deepened Famoura's confusion.
"And the Crimson Book?"
This time Catherine hesitated.
"It is a deep red book."
Her gaze drifted toward the window.
"Filled with many things."
A long silence followed.
"But I never truly understood why it was considered valuable."
Then her eyes darkened.
"When Queen Margret was executed..."
She swallowed.
"...the Crimson Book was in her hands."
Famoura listened carefully.
"When the flames consumed her..."
Catherine's voice lowered.
"...the book burned as well."
Famoura frowned.
"Then why does Queen Isabella still search for it?"
Catherine looked away.
"Because she believes it survived."
The room fell silent.
A book that should not exist.
A relic that should have turned to ash.
Yet people were still willing to wage war for it.
Famoura suddenly felt cold.
As though unseen eyes were watching from somewhere within the castle walls.
Waiting.
Listening.
Remembering.
---
Afterward, she left the chamber and headed toward her room.
But halfway through the ground floor corridor—
she stopped.
Something was wrong.
A staircase.
A staircase that had never existed before.
Famoura stared.
Confusion spread across her face.
"What is this?"
Without hesitation, she approached.
Then descended.
The sounds reached her immediately.
Hammering.
Sawing.
Voices.
Construction.
The underground chamber below buzzed with activity.
Workers hurried in every direction.
Stone dust lingered in the air.
And standing among them—
was King Francis.
Watching.
Waiting.
The moment he noticed her, he smiled.
A warm smile.
The sort of smile a loving grandfather might wear.
Yet something about it unsettled her.
"Congratulations, Famoura."
She said nothing.
The King spread his arms proudly.
"Everything you see here..."
His voice swelled with satisfaction.
"...was built for you."
He pointed toward one corner.
"Your desk."
Another.
"Your library."
Then farther ahead.
"Your private room."
Famoura stared silently.
King Francis looked delighted.
"We have built a university beneath the castle."
The workers continued around them.
"Your professors shall come here personally."
His smile widened.
"You need not thank me."
Then he stepped closer.
"You are my beloved princess."
With those words, he turned away.
His footsteps echoed along the staircase.
Slow.
Measured.
Final.
Like the closing of a prison gate.
Famoura remained where she stood.
Her eyes moved across the underground halls.
The bookshelves.
The walls.
The staircase.
The room.
Everything had already been decided.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Bitter.
Cold.
Almost mocking.
As if I would ever thank you.
Because she understood the truth now.
This was not a gift.
This was not affection.
This was not freedom.
It was a cage.
A beautiful cage.
Built from books instead of iron.
And she had just been locked inside.