Queen Isabella brings someone forward to meet Famoura.
Famoura: Mr. Alexander? (shocked)
Isabella: "How did you like this surprise? I hope you're happy to see him."
Famoura: "Why have you done this to him? Why is he tied up like this?"
Alexander: "Princess… Princess, I've done nothing wrong."
Isabella: "He was the one who told us that we were given a fake Crimson. We should thank Alexander for that—but we kept him here only for you, to show you the truth."
Alexander: "Princess, please believe me. She is lying!"
Famoura looks at Alexander and speaks with disappointment.
Famoura: "I never expected this from you."
Isabella: "Alas! You saved his life once, but he put all of your lives at risk."
Alexander: "I was brought here by force—by the Minister!"
He is about to say more when the Commander suddenly arrives and covers Alexander's mouth.
The atmosphere inside the ruined hall was thick with dust and silence. The war had ended, but its shadows still clung to every stone. Queen Isabella stood tall, her cloak brushing against the cracked marble floor as she turned toward Famoura.
"Since you have come this far," Isabella said, her voice calm yet commanding, "you may as well surrender the Crimson."
Famoura tightened her grip on the glowing orb. The Crimson pulsed like a living heart, its veins of red shimmering faintly in the dim light. She stepped forward. "Very well," she replied softly.
She raised the Crimson, preparing to place it into Isabella's waiting hands. The Queen extended her palms with an expression that was unreadable—half anticipation, half calculation. For a moment, it seemed the exchange would happen peacefully.
But just as Isabella's fingers brushed the surface of the orb, Famoura's eyes widened.
"Stop."
The word echoed sharply across the hall.
Isabella's brows knit together. "What is it now?"