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... his disheveled appearance as grating as ever.

He gives a mock bow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Forgive me, us commoners tend to not dress dignified often because it’s impractical." He steps closer, and I can feel his eyes on me—dark, mocking, as if he’s always waiting for me to break. I hate him so much.

I square my shoulders, standing tall and glaring up at him. "You could at least try not to embarrass your master," I say, folding my arms across my chest.

Victor run ...

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