Aunt Marie entered the sitting room with a silver plate in her hands, the scent of freshly baked cookies filling the air like warm comfort in winter.
She placed them gently before Famoura, who sat at the table with quiet delight sparkling in her eyes.
At that very moment, Prince Philip stepped inside.
He paused the instant the aroma reached him, and his lips curved into a faint smile.
"Good heavens," he remarked. "Those appear rather splendid… quite fine cookies indeed."
Famoura lifted her chin proudly.
"These are my cookies," she said. "Mama had them baked for me. You shall have to wait—she will bake some for you as well."
Aunt Marie gave a small shrug and smiled politely.
"I do apologize, Philip," she said, "but these were made only for Famoura."
Prince Philip placed a hand dramatically upon his chest, as though wounded by betrayal.
"You two are nothing but shameless cheaters!" he declared.
Yet the playful grin on his face betrayed him completely, and he soon departed the room with exaggerated offense.
The moment he vanished down the corridor, Aunt Marie and Famoura burst into laughter, clapping their hands together like children who had won a small war.
Only moments later, Princess Catherine entered the chamber, her expression stern yet exhausted.
"Have you two finished laughing?" she asked. "Come outside at once. It is the final day of the year, and yes… the accounts must still be settled."
Aunt Marie sighed deeply.
"The last day of the year is always the most tiresome day," she murmured.
Famoura's eyes widened with excitement.
"It is the first time I am witnessing this day properly," she said. "Last year, I was sent away to school before it even began. I am truly eager."
Catherine gave her daughter a small, restrained smile.
Yet in her eyes…
there was something heavier.
Something Famoura did not yet understand.
---
The Final Day of the Year
Soon, the royal courtyard was filled with nobles, ministers, and citizens, all assembled beneath a pale winter sky.
A man stood before them holding a scroll, his voice sharp enough to cut through murmurs.
"Prince Philip, Princess Marie, and their three sons," he announced, "please take your seats in the front row."
He cleared his throat and continued.
"First Prince Henry… and the twin brothers—the elder by a minute, Prince Lucien, and the youngest, Prince Louis."
Then his gaze shifted.
"Prince Charles, Princess Catherine, and their daughter… Princess Marie."
At once, Famoura rose from her seat.
Her cheeks flushed crimson with insult.
"My name is not Marie!" she cried.
The crowd turned at once, startled by the sudden outburst.
Prince Philip's lips curved with amusement, as though he had expected such fire from her.
But Prince Charles rose swiftly, forcing a polite smile.
"Forgive my daughter," he said firmly. "She is not in the best of moods today."
The man bowed awkwardly.
"Everyone seated behind Prince Philip's family… please proceed," he announced quickly, eager to move on.
Famoura clenched her fists.
She tugged at her mother's sleeve.
"Mama," she whispered, "I wish to sit beside Aunt Marie."
Catherine's eyes darted toward the throne.
"Please, sweetheart," she whispered urgently, "remain silent… for your grandmother's sake."
Those words…
They were gentle.
But the tone carried weight.
Weight enough to bruise Famoura's heart.
Famoura's face fell.
Her excitement crumbled like glass.
She lowered her head, wounded.
Then Catherine leaned close again, her voice softer now.
"I am sorry, my dear," she murmured. "I did not mean it harshly."
But the damage had already been done.
---
The King's Court
The heavy doors of the royal hall opened.
King Francis sat upon the throne like an ancient monument carved from cold stone.
His cane rested beside him.
His eyes swept the crowd with silent authority.
"Minister," the King commanded, "present the yearly report… and include the accounts of all villagers."
Minister William stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," he began, "the records indicate that the greater portion of wealth has gathered in the hands of the Verinz family. There appears to be… corruption."
The court stirred.
"The poor have become poorer," William continued, "and the rich have grown richer. Something is gravely wrong."
King Francis narrowed his eyes.
"And who," he asked slowly, "would dare commit such deceit?"
Before Minister William could answer—
Prince Henry stepped forward with practiced confidence.
"It is rather simple," Henry said smoothly. "Minister William, tell me… which family presently holds the most wealth?"
Minister William swallowed.
"The Verinz family, Your Highness."
Prince Henry nodded, as though the answer pleased him.
"Then the matter is clear," he said. "Summon the head of the Verinz household at once."
Gasps spread across the hall.
A man was brought forward—Alexander Verinz.
His posture was proud…
yet his eyes were filled with confusion.
Minister William opened the scroll and read aloud.
"Alexander Verinz," he declared, "you stand accused of manipulating royal accounts and stealing money meant for the people."
Before anyone could react—
Famoura rose again.
Her voice struck like a blade.
"What foolishness is this?" she snapped. "Since when does wealth itself become a crime?"
The nobles stiffened.
The villagers murmured.
Famoura's eyes burned.
"If being rich is a sin," she continued, "then our own family should be punished first—because we are the wealthiest in the entire town!"
The hall erupted into whispers.
"She speaks truth…"
"That is logical…"
"She is not wrong…"
Prince Henry's expression hardened.
"Princess Famoura," he said sharply, "calm yourself. We have evidence. Every detail is recorded within the royal ledgers."
Famoura stepped forward.
"Then show me the proof."
But the King's voice thundered through the chamber.
"The decision has already been made," King Francis declared. "Alexander Verinz shall be sentenced to death."
Famoura froze.
For a moment…
she could not breathe.
Then her fury erupted.
"Without proof?!" she cried. "How can such a judgment be passed so easily?! This is a man's life!"
She stepped forward, her voice trembling with rage and heartbreak.
"He is someone's father. Someone's brother. Someone's son."
Her eyes swept across the court.
"His family waits for him. They depend upon him!"
Her voice grew sharper.
"What will they feel when they hear the words…"
She paused.
Her throat tightened.
"'He has been executed'?"
Silence.
A silence so heavy it swallowed the room.
Even the nobles dared not breathe.
Minister William leaned toward the King and whispered urgently.
"Your Majesty… you should be cautious of this girl."
King Francis's eyes narrowed.
"Our decision is final," he declared. "We act not only for Alexander's household, but for the good of the entire town."
His cane struck the floor once.
"You may all leave."
Prince Charles's face was pale with humiliation.
He grabbed Famoura's arm.
"That is enough," he hissed. "From this day onward, you will no longer appear at any family gatherings."
Famoura yanked her arm away.
"And what was wrong with what I said?" she demanded. "If anyone here possessed a mind, they would know I spoke the truth!"
Prince Charles clenched his jaw.
"Catherine," he snapped, "silence her."
Catherine's lips trembled.
"Enough, my dear," she whispered. "There is nothing more we can do."
Famoura stared at her.
"We can do much, Mother," she said. "If only someone dared."
Then—
the King's voice rose again.
Cold.
Cruel.
"Enough!" King Francis shouted. "Minister William shall be executed tonight!"
Famoura's heart dropped.
Minister William's eyes widened in horror.
And the court trembled.
---
The Night of Execution
That evening, preparations began.
Torches burned.
The people gathered.
The cold air carried the scent of smoke and fear.
Famoura stood still, watching it all.
Her eyes no longer carried childish rebellion.
They carried determination.
"I shall not allow this," she whispered.
She rushed toward the door—
But Prince Henry moved faster.
He slammed it shut.
Locked it from outside.
Famoura's breath caught.
But she did not panic.
Not once.
She turned.
Her gaze fell upon her gown.
Then, without hesitation—
She tore a strip of fabric.
Tied it to another.
And another.
A makeshift rope.
She climbed out of the window, slipping into the night like a ghost.
The darkness welcomed her.
She ran to the stables.
Her cloak dragged behind her.
Her heart thundered.
Alexander Verinz was held nearby, bound and guarded.
Famoura struck swiftly.
Silent.
Precise.
She freed him.
Helped him mount a horse.
And rode with him into the deep woods beyond the palace.
Trees swallowed them.
The royal torches could not reach that far.
There, hidden beneath thick branches, Famoura pushed him down beside a rock.
"Stay here," she whispered. "No matter what you hear… do not move."
Alexander stared at her with trembling disbelief.
"You…" he whispered. "Why would a princess—"
Famoura's eyes narrowed.
"Because you are innocent," she replied.
Then she turned her horse around.
And returned before sunrise.
Silent.
Unseen.
As though she had never left.
---
Suspicion
The guards searched the entire estate.
Torches flooded the forest.
Horses galloped.
Voices shouted.
But Alexander Verinz was gone.
And suspicion spread like poison.
When royal guards entered Famoura's chamber, they found her seated calmly with a book in her hands.
As if she had been reading peacefully all night.
Prince Henry stood in the doorway.
His eyes narrowed.
His voice lowered.
"She is here…" he murmured. "It cannot have been her."
But something in his gaze…
said otherwise.
---
The Second Escape
The next night, Famoura escaped once again.
This time, she carried food and a cloak.
She moved like a shadow beyond the castle gates.
She went to the riverside, where Minister William hid like a hunted man.
His hands trembled.
His face was pale.
When he saw her, he nearly collapsed.
"Princess…" he whispered. "Why are you here?"
Famoura's eyes were cold.
"Because you are foolish," she replied. "And because I need you alive."
Days passed.
Famoura brought him food.
Water.
Information.
And during those days…
Famoura searched.
She searched for the truth like a predator hunting blood.
She returned to the ledgers.
She compared the accounts.
She studied every line.
And at last…
she found it.
The false records.
The manipulated taxes.
The erased transactions.
The hand behind the ink.
When Famoura returned…
she did not return empty-handed.
She carried the true financial records.
And she brought witnesses.
---
The Court of Proof
Before the King and the council, Famoura stepped forward with fearless hands.
She placed the documents upon the table.
Her voice did not shake.
"Here," she declared, "are the true accounts…"
Her eyes lifted.
"And proof of his innocence."
The court trembled.
The King read the papers slowly.
His face darkened.
The nobles whispered.
Minister William stared in disbelief.
Even Prince Charles looked shocked.
And then King Francis spoke.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Forgive us," he said slowly. "It appears there has indeed been a mistake."
He folded the paper neatly.
"The accounts must have been miscalculated…"
Then his gaze shifted.
Toward Prince Henry.
"…perhaps by my grandson, who lacks experience."
Prince Henry's jaw tightened.
But he did not dare speak.
The King continued, as if speaking mercy.
"That is why such confusion arose."
The blame was thrown aside.
The truth was buried once again.
But Alexander Verinz was freed.
Minister William was spared.
Peace returned to the court.
Justice…
at least on the surface…
was restored.
The nobles began to leave.
The villagers bowed.
And the hall slowly emptied.
But Famoura remained standing.
Because she knew.
This was not justice.
This was a performance.
Then Prince Henry stepped closer.
His shadow fell over her like a curse.
He leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"I will deal with you later, Princess."
Famoura did not flinch.
She met his gaze calmly.
Her voice was quiet.
But deadly.
"I am waiting."
Prince Henry's eyes narrowed.
Then he walked away.
And Famoura stood alone in the hall.
Her hands clenched.
Her heart steady.
Because she now understood one thing clearly—
The kingdom was not ruled by law.
It was ruled by lies.
And the crown…
was nothing more than a polished mask.