The royal council chamber had witnessed centuries of wars, treaties, betrayals, and bloodshed. Its walls were carved with victories of the past — kings standing tall over fallen enemies, crowns raised high in eternal triumph.
Yet on this night, the chamber felt heavier than ever.
The torches lining the stone walls flickered uneasily, shadows stretching and twisting like living things. Rain hammered against the tall stained-glass windows, the sound echoing through the vast hall like an approaching army.
Every seat at the long obsidian table was occupied.
Princes sat stiffly in their embroidered coats. Ministers whispered among themselves, hands folded nervously. At the head of the table sat King Francis, his expression unreadable, fingers resting lazily against the golden armrest of his throne-like chair.
No one dared speak first.
Until Prince Henry slammed his fist against the table.
"King Francis kept chasing him," Henry snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "Yet he slipped away again."
Murmurs rippled across the chamber.
Prince Louis leaned forward, his eyes dark with resentment. "All of this happened because of that Famoura."
At the sound of her name, the air seemed to tighten.
Minister William cleared his throat carefully. "Your Highnesses," he said, bowing his head slightly, "the kingdom is unsettled. Rumors spread faster than fire. It is time to decide. Our duty is only to carry out your orders."
Prince Charles shifted in his seat. His face was pale, his jaw clenched.
"Yes," he said quietly. "She is my daughter… but I had no idea she would do something like this."
Across the table, Prince Philip let out a low chuckle.
"She's your only daughter," he said, smiling faintly. "And even then, you can't handle her?"
Prince Charles stiffened but said nothing.
King Francis raised a hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"Now that everyone has finished talking," the King said slowly, his voice calm yet commanding, "shall we finally discuss what needs to be done about her?"
Prince Louis didn't hesitate. "I suggest we close all the doors of the palace," he said coldly, "and keep her hidden away."
Several ministers nodded.
Others looked away.
King Francis leaned back, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
"Not a bad idea," he said softly. "I must say."
The torches flickered harder.
And just like that, the fate of Famoura Felòenz was decided behind closed doors.
Far away from the council chamber, unaware of the words spoken against her, Famoura sat alone in her room.
Her chamber felt smaller than usual.
The stone walls pressed inward, the tall ceiling offering no comfort. Outside, the storm had finally quieted, leaving the air heavy and damp. Moonlight filtered faintly through the narrow window, casting pale silver patterns across the floor.
Famoura paced slowly, her thoughts restless.
She knew something was wrong.
The palace had grown too quiet.
No footsteps in the corridors. No servants passing by. No laughter echoing from distant halls.
Only silence.
A soft knock broke it.
Famoura turned sharply. "Who's there?"
The door opened slowly.
Aunt Marie stepped inside.
She wore a dark cloak, her silver-streaked hair tied neatly back. In her hands, she carried a small wooden box, carved with strange symbols Famoura had never seen before.
"Aunt Marie?" Famoura asked cautiously. "What are you doing here so late?"
Marie smiled — the kind of smile that never quite reached her eyes.
"Here," she said, holding out the box. "When you were born, someone left this gift for you."
Famoura hesitated before taking it. The box felt warm beneath her fingers.
"You're giving it to me now?" she asked. "Who gave it?"
For the first time, Aunt Marie's smile faltered.
She stepped back toward the door.
"I don't like children who ask too many questions," she said lightly, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "It causes trouble."
She opened the door.
"And trouble," she added over her shoulder, "never ends well in this palace."
The door shut quietly behind her.
Famoura stood frozen.
The silence returned — thicker than before.
She looked down at the box.
"Oh, God…" she murmured. "Where exactly have You sent me?" She sighed deeply.
Carefully, she placed the box on her desk.
For a long moment, she simply stared at it.
Then she opened it.
Inside lay an object wrapped in dark velvet.
Famoura pulled the cloth back slowly.