Between our hands

Chapter 89 : The Weight of Blood and Promises

The next day, Maëlle woke up with a strange feeling, as if an invisible weight had settled on her chest. The sky, barely illuminated by a still-veiled sun, hinted at a day heavy with heat and humidity. She got up earlier than usual, her thoughts muddled, her mind already overwhelmed by the responsibilities ahead. The pressure from the previous days seemed to accumulate, and she struggled to find clarity in her decisions. A quick shower later, Maëlle observed her reflection in the fogged-up mirror. Her still-wet hair fell in disheveled strands around her tired face. She put on a formal outfit, simple yet elegant, trying to project the image of calm that was expected of her, even though everything about her betrayed a deep-seated anxiety.

As she left the bathroom, she glanced at Samy, who was still sound asleep. A slight, tender smile floated across her lips, but it did not chase away the tension in her stomach. Approaching him quietly, she placed a light kiss on his forehead, her lips feeling the reassuring warmth of his skin against the cold ambiance of the room. Samy’s steady breathing faltered, and his eyelids fluttered slightly before he opened his eyes, still hazy with sleep.

“Good morning,” she whispered softly, as if to not break the tranquility of the moment. Samy returned a faint smile, but the spark in his eyes indicated that he had already sensed her inner turmoil.

After quickly preparing, Samy joined Maëlle outside her room, ever true to himself—alert and attentive. But as soon as he met her gaze, the rigid line of his shoulders relaxed for a moment, a tender smile softening his features. She returned the smile, but he immediately sensed the underlying fatigue, the worry she was trying to hide behind a mask of calm.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked gently, tilting his head slightly, his eyes searching hers for a sincere answer.

Maëlle nodded while mechanically tucking a damp strand behind her ear. “Yes, just... another day of juggling royal duties and endless meetings,” she replied, her voice strained despite her efforts to make it light.

They walked through the long corridors of the palace, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Each reverberation seemed to emphasize the invisible weight that was felt, as if even the walls themselves were holding their breath. Maëlle felt a warmth growing within her, not just from the climate, but from the accumulated pressure. Yet, she couldn’t ignore a strange tension hanging in the air, palpable in the exchanged glances between the staff, in the hushed whispers that escaped as they passed. There was a restlessness, a discomfort she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but one she felt deep in her gut.

Samy sensed it too. True to his instincts, he picked up on the ambient nervousness long before she could put it into words. Every movement, every averted gaze from the staff seemed to sharpen his protective instincts. He said nothing, but Maëlle noticed his gaze sweeping every angle, every corridor, always on alert.

The morning went smoothly, but an impending sense of threat loomed, as if an invisible storm was preparing to burst. In the early afternoon, as they were heading towards a meeting in the east wing of the palace together, Maëlle felt Samy stiffen suddenly beside her. She turned her head towards him, but he was staring at a point further down the corridor, his eyes narrowed, muscles tense under the thin fabric of his shirt. Something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” she murmured, her heart starting to race in her chest.

Before he could respond, a dull noise echoed at the end of the hallway. Muffled voices, hurried footsteps, urgent whispers that had nothing to do with the palace’s usual activity. In an instant, Samy reacted, his fingers tightening around Maëlle’s wrist, pulling her back to press her against the wall. His entire body tensed, senses on high alert, ready to act at the slightest threat.