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.