The next morning dawned gray and cold. A mist lay over the castle grounds like a ghostly shroud.
Inside the throne room, King Francis sat upon his seat, weary and sleepless. The echo of approaching footsteps broke the silence as the Commander of the Royal Army entered — his armor glinting faintly in the morning light.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing deeply, "forgive me for bringing dark news at this hour — but you must hear this at once."
The king frowned. "What is it, Commander?"
The man straightened. "Queen Isabella is dead."
The king froze. "What did you say?"
"She was found murdered in her chambers," the Commander replied gravely. "Last night. No one saw the killer. The guards were found unconscious at the doors."
King Francis stood, disbelief clouding his face. "Impossible… her fortress was said to be unbreakable."
"It is true, Your Majesty," the Commander said quietly. "Her heart was pierced, yet no weapon was found. Her lips were black as if burned by some poison, but there was no trace of it."
A heavy silence settled over the hall.
Then Prince Charles, sharp-eyed and always cautious, stepped forward. "This sounds like a conspiracy," he said. "Someone wanted her dead — not on the battlefield, but in secret."
Prince Henry clenched his fists. "That was supposed to be my task. So who did it… before me?"
King Francis turned toward the flames in the hearth, his expression dark. "Whoever it was, their act will not end this war. It will only breed confusion — and chaos."
The room fell silent again except for the low crackling of fire.
---
Meanwhile, in the royal quarters, Princess Famoura lay weak and feverish upon her bed. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Princess Marie and Princess Catherine sat beside her, gently pressing cool cloths against her forehead.
"She hasn't eaten since dawn," Marie murmured. "I fear the sickness came from that river water."
Catherine dipped the cloth again and sighed. "She keeps muttering in her sleep… something about the well."
Marie glanced at her sister's face. "The well?" she repeated softly, puzzled, but said no more.
Moments later, the chamber door creaked open and Prince Charles entered, his boots echoing on the marble. "What happened to her?" he asked, his tone calm but wary.
Catherine looked up. "We don't know. Since morning she's had a terrible fever."
Charles studied Famoura closely. "Strange," he said. "She doesn't look sick — just… haunted."
A chuckle sounded from the doorway. Prince Lucien, the youngest and most mischievous of them all, stepped inside with his usual smirk.
"She doesn't look haunted to me," he said lightly. "She just looks like someone who didn't sleep all night."
Marie frowned. "Lucien, this isn't a time for jokes."
But Famoura stirred, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You're right, Lucien," she murmured weakly. "I didn't sleep. Not even for a moment."
Her voice, though quiet, made everyone pause. Her eyes opened — dark and deep, glowing strangely under the candlelight.
Lucien laughed softly, trying to mask his unease. "Well, that explains it."
But Henry, who had entered quietly behind them, didn't laugh. He just stared at his sister, his brow tightening. Something about her voice — calm yet cold — sent a chill down his spine.