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... refoot in the courtyard, watching the chickens peck lazily at the ground. His robe hung loosely around him, ink stains blotched near the cuffs.

Lira approached quietly, holding a bundle of cloth in her arms.

"You asked for these, Your Highness."

He took them—a set of worn towels, a threadbare blanket, and what looked like a long-unused apron. "Perfect," he said, already turning away.

"Um... if I may ask," she said, hesitant, "why do you need old cloths?"

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