Famoura didn't answer. She dismounted and walked toward the towering gates. The iron creaked as she pushed them open. A rush of cold air met them, carrying the faint scent of roses and decay.
The night was restless at Château de Brissac. The wind howled through the broken towers, carrying whispers of old ghosts and forgotten oaths. Famoura and Prince Henry stood in the dim hall, the echoes of Crimson's power still fading into silence. Neither spoke. The air felt heavy—like something sacred had just awakened.
Before Henry could question further, a distant rumble reached them. The sound was faint at first—like the beating of hundreds of feet against the earth. Then it grew louder. Torches began to appear beyond the gates, tiny flickers in the fog that multiplied quickly.
Famoura stepped toward the window. "They're coming," she whispered.
Henry frowned. "Who?"
Before she could answer, the great doors of the castle groaned open. A flood of people poured into the courtyard—men, women, and children, all dressed in humble clothes but holding burning torches high above their heads. Their faces glowed in the firelight, eyes wide with devotion.
"we're greatful! Marie is great!" they cried in one voice, their chants echoing off the cold stone walls.
Famoura froze. Henry looked at her, startled. "They're calling you," he said in disbelief.
"Marie…" she murmured, as if hearing her forgotten name after centuries.
The people fell to their knees. "We are blessed, our queen has returned!" shouted one of the villagers, tears in his eyes.
Henry looked from Famoura to the crowd. "Yesterday you called her a witch—a traitor! You had her bound in chains! What madness is this?"
A man stepped forward, holding his torch close to his chest. "Because the truth has come to light, Your Highness," he said. "This castle no longer belongs to King Albert—it belongs to Queen Marie."
Henry's voice hardened. "Queen?" he repeated. "That's impossible. No queen can rule without a king!"
Famoura turned toward him, her voice calm but cold. "That may be true in your books, Henry. But not in everyone's."
The crowd murmured in agreement. "Our queen saved us," said a woman in a tattered shawl. "She freed us from the curse that held this land captive for generations."
Henry clenched his fists. "Her parents still live. That makes her a princess, not a queen."