“Who moved my bread!” A well-dressed lady shouted at the servants. With a short but robust frame, she sported a head of double braided, chestnut hair. Her adorable chubby cheeks unable to hold the anger in her which had shown through her fiery red eyes.
“Some of my lunch was missing! My… gah… ahem… fancy bread! And the sweet apples! Who took it!” She asked again.
“The food… was moved to Lady Arete’s room…” a servant answered in tremble.
“Arete who? How dare you take from the table of the Teleios?”
“We… we’re sorry, Lady Agave. It was… It was Lord Vitellus who ordered us to move some of your food to Lady Arete’s room. Lady Arete of Syracuse.”
The lady was stunned after hearing that. Smashed open the door, she stormed out of her room in anger.
* * *
As Agave darted through the bustlin
