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... ll, spear in hand. His broad shoulders were relaxed, but his whole body was ready to strike.

His silver-gray eyes locked onto his opponent without a hint of doubt. He didn’t need to speak; his presence alone demanded respect.

Ivaim, usually quick with sharp remarks, kept unusually quiet.

He leaned forward slightly, lips pressed into a thin line.

’If he hears laughter from the crowd while he’s fighting—and realizes it’s because of me... I might get my throat impale ...

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