Famoura closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her breath shallow. The room was quiet again, but this time the silence felt alert—watchful.
Her gaze drifted back to the wooden box resting on her desk.
Slowly, she opened it.
Inside lay a book unlike any she had ever seen.
Its cover was soft, not leather or parchment, but cloth—thick, dark fabric woven with silver threads that shimmered faintly when the candlelight touched them. The pages were the same, folded fabric sheets bound together by a thin cord. Strange symbols covered every surface, embroidered rather than written, curling and twisting in patterns that made her eyes ache if she stared too long.
Famoura lifted it carefully.
"What kind of book is this…?" she whispered. "Its pages are fabric… and everything inside looks so mysterious."
She ran her fingers across the symbols. They felt warm—almost alive.
Before she could examine it further, footsteps approached the door.
Her heart jolted.
Famoura snapped the book shut and slid it beneath her pillow just as the door opened.
Prince Charles entered.
He looked… different.
Not stern. Not distant.
Gentle.
"You may continue your studies if you wish," he said calmly.
Famoura blinked. "What?"
He nodded. "You heard me."
Joy rushed through her before caution could stop it.
"Thank you, Father!" she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging him tightly.
Prince Charles hesitated—then rested a hand lightly on her back.
"But," he said quietly, "on one condition."
Famoura pulled back. "What is it?"
His gaze sharpened.
"You will never interfere in royal matters," he said. "Nor will you try to bring justice to anyone."
She stared at him for a moment—then let out a soft, humorless laugh.
"I knew you'd say that," she replied, her tone edged with sarcasm.
Prince Charles smiled faintly, as if amused.
"Think about it," he said. "Among the entire town, the only educated and intelligent woman will be you."
Famoura's smile faded.
"Your school," he continued, "your university… will all be inside this castle."
He turned toward the door.
"You should be proud."
And then he left.
The door closed.
Famoura remained standing in the middle of the room.
Inside this castle.
Inside these walls.
Education without freedom.
Knowledge without movement.
A beautiful cage.
Later that day, Famoura wandered through the palace corridors, her thoughts heavy. She descended the grand staircase absentmindedly—until she noticed something strange.
The stairs didn't end.
They continued downward, spiraling beneath the ground floor into darkness.
Curiosity stirred.
She descended slowly.
The air grew cooler, the walls rougher, less polished. Torches lined the stone passage, flickering weakly. Voices echoed below—men shouting instructions, metal clanging against stone.
Construction.
Famoura stepped onto the second underground level.
Wide halls were being carved into the earth. Workers moved quickly, bowing as she passed. Shelves were being built directly into the stone walls. Tables. Chairs. Platforms.
At the center stood King Francis.
He turned as he sensed her presence.
His face broke into a warm smile.
"All of this," he said, spreading his arms, "is for you."
Famoura stopped.
"For me?" she asked cautiously. "What do you mean?"
King Francis stepped closer, his voice low and smooth.
"Here will be your library," he said. "Your teachers will come here. You'll study here."
He paused.
"And you'll live here too."
His smile widened as he turned away, laughing softly to himself.
Famoura stood frozen.
The truth settled like a stone in her stomach.
They weren't hiding her from danger.
They were hiding danger from her.
That evening, Famoura walked quietly into Princess Catherine's chamber.
The room smelled faintly of ink and dried herbs. Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and maps. Catherine sat by the window, holding a large sheet of parchment, her eyes fixed on it with deep concentration.
"What are you doing, Your Highness?" Famoura asked softly.
Catherine looked up and smiled. "Come here, Famoura."
She gestured for her to sit beside her.
"Look," Catherine said, pointing across the parchment. "From here… to here."
Famoura leaned closer. "I don't understand. What is this?"
"It's a map," Catherine replied. "This is Château de Chambord."
She traced a finger along the inked lines.
"And in the opposite direction lies Château de Brissac."
Famoura frowned. "And this?"
Catherine's expression darkened.
"Those people want to seize Chambord from us," she said. "And soon, they'll declare war."
Famoura's breath caught. "Those people? Who are they?"
Catherine hesitated—then spoke quietly.
"They are called the Kira."
Famoura repeated the word. "Kira?"
"It's from the Crimson language," Catherine explained. "It means the conquerors."
Famoura nodded slowly.
"Ah," she murmured. "So that's what it means…"