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 marie?"
"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."
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 , 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.
"You're," 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."