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The small piece of cloth that had fallen underneath the settee hadn’t been there the previous day as far as Daeron knew. He recognized the fabric immediately, the familiar irregular stitching of the monogram that could only have been wrought by his own hand.
It was the smell that Daeron did not recognize, something floral that could be jasmine and was neither Valarr’s nor his.
Daeron and Valarr are married, with a child, and with a dire need for communication between them.
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23/07/26
1c