Between our hands

Chapter 15: The Silences at the Table.

The palace rose before them like a timeless citadel, its large, finely carved wooden doors opening with a calculated slowness, inviting Maëlle and Victor into this sanctuary of power and history. As soon as they crossed the threshold, a new atmosphere engulfed them: the air, thick with the scent of incense and precious wood, contrasted with the salty breeze of the beach they had just left behind. The palace’s interior felt like a world apart, a place where every stone whispered a fragment of history.

A servant awaited them, dressed in shimmering silk, his eyes lowered in a respectful posture. He didn’t need to speak; his gaze alone beckoned them to follow. Without a word, Maëlle and Victor fell into step behind him. As they moved through the long corridors, they were immersed in an almost overwhelming splendor, each step drawing them closer to the epicenter of royal power.

The walls were draped with tapestries so fine they seemed to float, depicting stories of ancient battles, forged and broken alliances, and kingdoms that had fallen under the fury of swords or risen from the ashes through the wisdom of kings. Each detail of these works of art seemed alive under the dim candlelight that flickered gently in the silver chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings. The gilding of the frames shone like frozen sunbeams.

The polished marble floor echoed beneath their steps. Intricate mosaics inlaid with precious stones formed complex patterns at their feet—interweaving stars, flowers, and esoteric symbols. The light reflected off them, casting shimmering flecks across their faces with each step. Every turn of the corridor revealed new wonders: finely carved sculptures of ancient royal figures, vases from another age adorned with delicate floral designs and filled with exotic flowers.

Maëlle felt a strange sense of oppression. This palace, as magnificent as it was, seemed weighed down by an unfathomable gravity, as if the very walls were silent guardians of ancient secrets, concealing centuries-old intrigues. Every step echoed, reminding them of the invisible presence of those who had walked here before—forgotten monarchs, prestigious guests, perhaps even traitors who had met their end in the shadows of these halls.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless journey through this labyrinth of corridors and galleries, they reached two colossal dark wooden doors. Their surface, intricately carved, was covered in floral motifs interwoven with complex geometric lines, golden and silver symbols glinting under the flickering torchlight. The wood was weathered by time, yet every carving, every detail, remained intact, meticulously preserved as if to bear witness to the continuity of royalty.

The doors opened with an almost supernatural fluidity, releasing no creak. Maëlle and Victor exchanged a glance, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Before them stretched a vast dining hall that exceeded all their expectations. The entire room seemed designed to command a silent respect from anyone who dared enter.

The floor was covered with a thick red carpet adorned with intricate patterns and bordered with golden threads, unfurling like a sacred path leading to the heart of the room. At the center stood a monumental wooden table, hand-carved with an almost unreal precision. The dark, polished wood bore detailed engravings, depicting scenes of hunts, royal banquets, and ancient legends. The table’s legs, adorned with golden claws, seemed to anchor this masterpiece to the ground, as if tethering it to the very bowels of the palace.

Above the table hung a gigantic crystal chandelier, casting a soft, shimmering light, each facet capturing the glow and reflecting it in a burst of a thousand colors. Rich, deep-colored frescoes adorned the walls, depicting caravans crossing golden dunes under a starry sky, scenes evoking both the wealth of the local culture and the splendor of the ancient empires that had passed through this land.

The king was already waiting for them, seated at the end of the table, like a living statue, draped in a white robe adorned with delicate gold embroidery. A black turban on his head, he exuded an aura of undeniable wisdom and power. His dark, piercing eyes fixed on Maëlle and Victor with a calculated intensity. His face, despite its impassiveness, revealed a measured benevolence, like that of a man accustomed to assessing his interlocutors before granting them his trust.

He raised a hand adorned with golden rings and precious stones, inviting them to take their seats without a word.

— "Welcome to my table," he finally declared, his voice deep yet soft, resonating through the vast room like a subtle wave.

Maëlle and Victor sat on richly decorated chairs, their feet resting on the plush carpet that muffled all sound. No sooner had they settled than an army of servants appeared, carrying silver trays laden with sumptuous dishes. The sacred silence that had reigned until then was broken by the soft clinking of silverware and the gentle clatter of porcelain plates that barely touched one another. The table, empty just moments before, quickly transformed into a royal feast worthy of the greatest courts.

At the center stood a monumental tajine. The ceramic lid was lifted in a silent ceremony, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam that immediately filled the room. The complex aroma of oriental spices—cinnamon, cumin, coriander, saffron—invaded Maëlle and Victor’s senses, wrapping them in a comforting warmth. Beneath the lid, tender pieces of lamb bathed in a thick sauce, infused with honey and dried fruits, while glistening pomegranate seeds and toasted almonds added bursts of color and texture.

The couscous, arranged in light mounds around the tajine, was accompanied by crunchy vegetables and golden chickpeas, all enhanced by golden olive oil that shimmered under the chandelier’s light. Every dish was an invitation to travel, a discovery of the refined and balanced flavors of this land where desert sands met the richness of oriental markets.

Maëlle took her first bite, savoring the subtle blend of spices and the tenderness of the meat. Every flavor seemed perfectly orchestrated, creating a harmonious symphony in her mouth. Victor, more reserved, watched the king, trying to decipher the implications of this banquet. This meal was far more than a mere welcome—it was a ritual, a silent test, an invitation to enter the intimate heart of this ancient kingdom.

The king, meanwhile, barely touched the food, sipping only an infusion of mint from a finely decorated porcelain cup. His eyes followed every movement of his guests, analyzing their manner of eating, their reactions to the exotic dishes, as if trying to read their true intentions.

After the main course, an assortment of desserts was brought in. Delicate pastries, scented with honey and orange blossom, melted in the mouth. The sweetness, mixed with almonds and pistachios, left a floral aftertaste that transported Maëlle and Victor to the lush gardens of a mythical Orient.

As the feast drew to a close, Maëlle warmly thanked the king, feeling that this moment of sharing went far beyond mere dining. Victor, visibly exhausted by the intensity of the encounter, turned to his cousin with a tired smile.

— "I’m going up to my suite; I need some time to think about all this," he said softly.

Maëlle nodded. She too felt the weight of the day, but her mind remained alert. As Victor left the hall, she stayed for a moment longer, absorbed by the beauty of the palace, by the mysteries it held, and by the intensity of the king’s gaze, who, even in silence, seemed to have already understood far more than she could imagine.