As Duke Sullivan arrived at the palace in a boiling rage, he paid no heed to the chauffeur awaiting to open the door. His determined strides carried him into the palace, leaving no room for pleasantries. The guards stationed at the entrance became instantly alert, recognizing the ferocity in the man's body language.
Ascending a short flight of stairs, Duke Sullivan's gaze fell upon the palace butler and a servant positioned on the opposite side. The servant's eyes remained downcast, avoiding any direct contact with his superior, sensing the storm that accompanied Duke Sullivan's arrival. The tension in the air was palpable as the furious duke approached the butler, demanding answers with his piercing gaze.
"Good afternoon, Your-"
"Where's the prince?" Duke Sullivan interrupted the butler, his voice sharp with urgency and anger.
