The air still trembled with the memory of what they had witnessed.
"They're… still there," someone whispered, though no one dared to look back.
"That vampyr… it was terrifying," Anthony Félix muttered, his voice unusually low.
Elizabeth Félix wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers trembling. "I still feel scared… it's like it's watching us."
Princess Famoura (Marie-II) stood quietly, her expression thoughtful rather than fearful. "I think… we should speak to the vampyr again."
A sudden chorus erupted.
"No!"
Their voices overlapped in panic.
Anthony shook his head firmly. "We can't take that risk again. What if it erases our memories? We already know about the secret Evigheden Library… that alone is dangerous enough."
Before the tension could rise further, Victor Laurent stepped forward, glancing at the dark sky. "It's already too late. We should leave now."
Elizabeth nodded immediately. "Yes, he's right. We need to go."
Famoura hesitated. "You all go ahead… I'll come later."
Edward Laurent frowned, turning back toward her. "Famoura, listen to me. Staying here is dangerous. Come with us."
One by one, they exited the Sylvester Library, their footsteps echoing in the silence.
Famoura remained behind for a moment, standing alone in the dim light. Just as she turned, Edward stepped back, extending his hand toward her.
"Come," he said softly.
For a brief second, she stared at his hand… then placed hers in it.
And together, she left.
That night, Princess Famoura arrived at her grand home—the Château de Chambord.
The towering castle loomed under the moonlight, its shadows stretching like silent guardians. At the entrance stood Prince Charles—her father.
He stopped her immediately.
"Where are you coming from at this hour?"
Famoura replied calmly, "I went to the Central Library with my friends… for study."
Prince Charles's expression darkened, ready to scold her—
—but a voice interrupted from above.
"Let her be, son."
King Francis stood on the balcony, his presence commanding yet relaxed.
"How long will she keep studying? Let us see where it leads. I have no objection to her education… after all, she studies without leaving a trace. No one even knows she learns."
He paused, then added, "You should focus on the princes instead."
With a small wave of dismissal, he said, "Go rest, Famoura."
The next morning…
A knock echoed through Famoura's chamber.
She opened the door to find her aunt, Princess Marie-I, standing outside.
"Come in," Famoura said politely.
Without a word, her aunt placed a red velvet-wrapped object in her hands.
"This was given to you when you were born."
Famoura blinked in confusion. "You're giving this to me now? Don't you know who sent it?"
Her aunt turned toward the door, her expression cold.
"I've told you before… I don't like children who ask too many questions."
With that, she stepped out and shut the door.
Famoura stared at the closed door, sighing. "Oh God… where have I been sent? Such strange people…"
She placed the gift on the table, then slowly knelt down, opening it with care.
Inside…
…was a book.
But not an ordinary one.
Its cover was deep crimson, and its pages—made entirely of fabric—were maroon. Threads formed the words within, stitched delicately across the surface.
Yet, she couldn't read a single word.
The thread was the same color as the pages.
"What a strange book… I've never seen anything like this. But how am I supposed to read it? What rubbish…"
Suddenly—
"Famoura!"
Prince Henry's voice echoed from outside.
Startled, she quickly hid the book.
He entered moments later. "Uncle Prince Charles is calling you downstairs."
She descended, expecting to find her father—
—but instead, she saw Prince Phillip.
A sword gleamed in his hand.
Famoura's eyes lit up. "Give it to me."
He smirked, handing her the weapon.
The duel began.
At first, it was controlled—measured strikes, careful movements.
Then Phillip spoke, "You should surrender now, Famoura."
She smirked. "I admit—you have super strength and speed. But that doesn't mean you'll win."
Phillip laughed. "This isn't something girls can handle."
Her eyes sharpened. "Then it's necessary that I defeat you."
With sudden force, she struck—pushing him a step back.
Phillip raised a brow. "Careful… you might cut a strand of your hair."
Famoura stepped forward, fearless. "You may cut my hair… but you can't cut my strength."
In the next moment—
her balance faltered.
Her sword slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground as she fell.
Phillip extended his hand. "I told you… this isn't a game for girls." And " women can never become warriors"
Famoura ignored him, rising on her own.
Leaning closer, she whispered in his ear—
"Then don't forget…" she stepped closer, her voice lowering into something sharp and unshakable,
"…the very warrior you speak of… was born from a woman."
Phillip froze for a second… then smiled, slightly embarrassed.
At that very moment—
Prince Charles appeared, holding a few items in his hands.
"Famoura," he called, his tone serious. "Come here. I have something for you."
"ust like that…
the day took another unexpected turn.