A prince stands upright, carefree, with a cup in his hand. Behind him, a corpse lies on a bed. Two musicians, in a corner of the room, play the lute. Outside, behind the door, two soldiers stand guard. One holds a large sword and a shield, the other a gladiator's net and a huge spear. Everyone is calm, peaceful, except for a woman hidden behind a window pane. She has a peculiar expression, anxious and mocking at the same time. She is undoubtedly the only one who knows the mystery of this murder and the threat that the prince faces.

As a child, Rasoul felt fascinated by this ancient miniature, although he was overwhelmed by a strange feeling, an indeterminate discomfort. In his grandparents' house, he would sit for hours in front of the painting, inventing stories in which he was the prince. And he always gave voice to the woman who observed the scene, a voice that whispered sometimes with concern and sometimes with irony: "Move, Rasoul, move!"