“Where is he?!” I demanded, slamming a fist on the table. The goblet of water rattled and shook on the table, drops of the water flying everywhere. The fifteen-year-old huntsman I hired only stared at the floor. He only dared to lift his eyes to meet mine. I felt my face flush red in rage as my teeth grinded together. Fingers of my own ran through my curly blonde hair in frustration and I took long, deep breaths, holding back the tears of anger trying to flow out of my aegean eyes. I’ll be damned, I thought. I tried to push the ringing thought away from the back of my mind, but it was an impulse too strong. I glared directly at my huntsman, and started to speak again.
“You will find him and bring him to me!” I sensed his fear, but that was a good sign of control.
“H-how long will I h-have to f-find him, sir?” his voice weakened and meek.
“However it takes, Seymour. Now, go. NOW!”
He scurried away like a mouse, with his dagger slipping out its leather sheath and falling on the floor with a clang.
He muttered as he picked up his dagger and walked out of the room. “Yes, S-sir Cuoco, y-yes sir…”
