A tentative knock on the door pulls Tazké from your heavily breathing chest with a scowl as he grunts, enter a regular servant enters asking quietly, "Should I mark this one on the..," they glance at your mostly bare body, "the records, your Highness?" Tazké scowls deeper no, I have not asked you to in any way shape or form, now do as you're told and leave me be. the servant nods, trembling, "Your mothe-" No. I didn't ask for that either, I don't care what the woman wants.
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