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... gh. "A fallen prince makes terrible optics."
Serelith's lips curved. "Besides, the kitchens owe me favours after last month's aphro—" She caught Cerys's glare and coughed into her hand. "Herbal experiment. They were… grateful."
He moved to the table, drawn by the pheasant's caramelised scent. "I am grateful too," he admitted, slicing into the tender breast. Juice pooled like melted amber.
Rodion's voice flickered across his vision, text scrolling in icy blue. <Caloric ...
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