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... Qatrand sat cross-legged on the floor of her room. In the teenager’s hands was a ball of dough wedged between her palms that she worked idly. The cook had suggested practicing the motions even when she couldn’t bake, so she had purchased a barrel of flour and carried it back to the Yecine estate.
The doorman had given the heir a strange look as she approached with the container held up on her strong shoulder, but said nothing. It wasn’t his place to tell anyone that the elders would dis ...
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