It’s not quite as good as being the king, but in Marrakech, it’s awfully nice to be the king’s guest at the Royal Mansour Hotel. Owned by Muhammad VI, Morocco’s sovereign, the Royal Mansour occupies almost 15 acres behind 800 year old walls, just a ten-minute walk from the famous Jemaa El Fna square, entry point to the old Medina and its twisting tangle of souks.

These days, they are filled with luxury fakes and “Moroccan” crafts made in China. But the Royal Mansour is the real deal, a private medina that’s perhaps a bit less well known than its state-owned next door neighbor, La Mamounia. But many locals and expats consider them equals, and some say the Royal Mansour, with its French, Italian, Moroccan, and pan-Asian restaurants, and its magnificent spa and hammam, is superior.

The entry to the Royal Mansour Marrakech Hotel.

I’m agnostic, but from the moment the Royal Mansour’s WiFi-equipped Bentley picked us up from Ksar Char-Bagh, another palace hotel in the countryside district of La Palmeraie, where we’d begun a week in Marrakech with a few days of total decompression, we were cosseted to the max. Greeted in the vast reception area with theatrically poured cups of mint tea, we listened to caged songbirds, nibbled the first of an endless procession of sweets, and were boggled by decor that represents the pinnacle of Moroccan design. A few days later, we visited the Bahia Palace, one of the city’s prime attractions. Whether you are looking for marble, mosaics, marquetry, metal, stone or woodwork, or just gasp-inducing immensity, the Royal Mansour gives Bahia a run for the money. A visit to the former does, admittedly, cost a tad more.

As our room was prepared, Ziad, one of the countless staff members, took us on a stroll around the property, through lush green gardens, beneath towering palms, past pops of color from orange, lemon and pomegranate trees. Moroccan art is everywhere. There are so many water features—not to mention the indoor and outdoor pools—I lost count. As water (delivered in part from the Atlas Mountains by Roman-Empire-era aqueducts) costs more than electricity in Marrakech, it is quite a luxury. While the Majorelle Garden, once owned by Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Berge (benefactor of the staggering Berber Museum within) is even better, it suffers from crowding compared to the quiet splendor of the Royal Mansour. Presumably, the king has it even better at his own place nearby.

The pool area.

Part of the Mansour’s garden.

Our riad, one of the smaller of the 53 residences on the grounds, had three levels with an enclosed outdoor courtyard, a sitting room with a 20-foot ceiling, a little pantry on the ground floor, bed and bath above, and a sunny terrace on the roof complete with loungers, table and chairs, and a plunge pool. Its feel was as mysterious, atmospheric and dramatic as the hotel’s public spaces are bright, airy and breathtaking. As befits a palace, each riad connects to hidden corridors and tunnels through which workers deliver luggage and room service and magically service the riads.

Of course, if cosseting is not your thing, Marrakech offers countless alternatives. Our last night in town we had dinner with the family owners of Riad Romeo, the latest creation of the Italian design master and six-decade Morocco habitue Romeo Gigli, whose sumptuous clothes, redolent with fashion history, helped define the late 1980s and early ’90s. At the end of a cul-de-sac deep in the Medina, the five-bedroom guest house, only a few months new, hidden behind a green door, is as young, cheerful, bright and modern as the Royal Mansour is opulent.

The entry to my riad.

Our riad’s private terrace.

Call it a tale of two regal riads. But there is one more difference. On departure, our driver (this time in a Range Rover), accompanied us to and then through the airport terminal, magically jumping queues and turning us over to a service that led us to hidden VIP security lines and escorted us to our gate. All part of the royal treatment at the Royal Mansour.