The clock struck midnight. The moon hung low over the misty hills, casting its pale silver light over the silent forest path. Famoura Felòenz tightened her black cloak and mounted her horse. The fabric shimmered faintly, absorbing the moonlight as if it were born from darkness itself. Her long braid brushed against the horse's mane as she whispered softly, "Let's go, Arvien."
The horse neighed quietly and galloped into the cold night. Famoura's heart pounded beneath her cloak. She wasn't supposed to be out here—not tonight, not after the warning from the royal guards. But she had to. Crimson was waiting, and time was slipping away.
Behind her, the faint echo of another horse grew louder. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Prince Henry. The man who trusted her once, and now followed her like a shadow filled with suspicion.
Famoura sighed and pulled her hood lower. "He never learns," she murmured. With a sharp pull of the reins, she turned her horse down a narrow forest trail, hoping to lose him. The branches brushed against her cloak, whispering secrets of the night.
But the prince was persistent. Within minutes, the rhythmic thud of hooves followed her again.
"Famoura! Stop!" His voice sliced through the quiet.
She didn't turn. "Stopping is your duty, not mine," she shouted over her shoulder.
"Why are you running?" Henry urged his horse closer. "What are you hiding?"
Famoura laughed under her breath. "You always ask the wrong questions, Your Highness."
Henry frowned. "I have reason to suspect you. You've been acting strange since Crimson disappeared."
"Suspicion suits you," she said coldly.
"Do you have Crimson with you?" he demanded.
Famoura glanced back, her eyes flashing in the dim light. "Have you gone mad?"
"Don't pretend, Famoura. I know you were the last one seen near her chambers."
She slowed her horse just enough for him to catch up. "If Crimson were truly with me," she said softly, "why would queen isabella have me locked in chains?"
The question hung between them, sharp as a blade. Henry's confidence faltered. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.
The forest around them thickened. The trees seemed to lean closer, their twisted branches forming dark silhouettes. Mist crawled across the ground like pale ghosts. Famoura's eyes scanned the path ahead—she knew this route. It led to a place forgotten by most: the Château de Brissac, the tallest, most haunted castle in the old kingdom.
She hadn't meant to come this way tonight, but fate—or perhaps Crimson's unseen hand—was guiding her.
Henry noticed the looming shadows of the castle walls as they emerged from the fog. "Famoura," he said warily, "why here?"