Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of wine, meat, butter. Low light pooled across polished wood floors. Conversations stayed contained, never rising above a steady murmur.
It was a restaurant for the elites.
A woman stood near the entrance, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Good evening," she said. Her eyes moved briefly over them, measuring without staring. "Table for two?"
"Yes," Napoleon II replied.
She nodded and picked up two menus from the stand beside her. "Please follow me."
They walked past occupied tables. Men in tailored coats. Women leaning close, voices low. Bottles rested in metal holders, beads of condensation sliding down their sides. Candlelight caught on glass stems and disappeared again.
The receptionist stopped near the back, beside a table set close to the wall. Two chairs. Crisp linen. A single candle already lit.
"This will do," she said, pulling a chair back for Elisabeth.
"Thank you," Elisabeth replied, sitting carefully.
