The Culprit
Thorns of anxiety dug into his skin. Anger permeated in his chest. He had asked her not to leave and she still left. He was seriously contemplating on chaining her in his bedchamber. Breathing shakily, he rushed out of the library. As instructed by him, there wasn't a single guard around it. Where did she go? He sniffed the air. It led to the right and he knew that she had gone to the servant quarters. Had she eaten? Was she with anyone else? Did she meet a handsome man? Was he flirting with her? His fists curled tightly until his knuckles were pained. He would kill the bastard.