A Lost Temper

For the betterment of everyone, Aadi decided to stay quiet. Any outburst on his part would cause an uproar. His Adam's apple hammered violently in his throat, just a small sign of the rage threatening to spill everywhere, especially on his dad. Physical, if need be.

His father had deliberately sat him close to him, claiming they had to 'attempt to settle their differences'. Combining the irritation of his father's deeds, the uncanny annoyance at the ambrosial, evocative scents of the designer perfumes of the women and men seated at the table, he had had quite enough at this point.

A glossy dark, mahogany piece of art, draped with Polish silk covers, was the dining table. It seated about 50 people, extending to a blooming 120m, excluding the royal family. On it's fine Arab wooden legs, a rich dark earth, was a feast, bound to make anyone drool at the mouth. Scones galore, appetizers to suit a hungry man's taste, scrumptious lunches at the far end, main courses alike. The finest French wine and creameries adorned the table. Not wanting to delve into the desserts...

Unfortunately, none of these seemed to appetize Aadi. Please him. He just wanted to go home. Actua-

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Came the sound from his right, a tinkling of glass cup against spoon, a quieting down of mother and sister, brother and father, immediate silence. A soft jazz, Ben Acri, bravely waltzing through the air in high spirits. King Xoel wanted to give a speech, as usual. Aadi couldn't see the reason why, weren't they just there to eat?

'People of Ardenia...' started Xoel.

Aadi, of course, drowned him out, glaring at his beaming mother across the table. She had sat alongside his aunt, and they both giggled at everything Xoel said, for some reason. Only once he heard his name, and even then, didn't acknowledge it, refusing to give into his father's arrant nonsense. He didn't know when Xoel's words concluded, probably 5 minutes turned into 2 hours, he concluded with unsurety.

'Let the feast begin!'

Immediately, chatter rose amongst the individuals, swirling through the air and filling the room with a slightly tamed, tangled decorum. Aadi had dressed his plate only with Salad Nicoise, in the Niçard culture, hoping to keep it down. Forks and knives clinking against plates in a weird harmony, goblets filled to the brim with Cabernet Sauvignon, the evening was merry. Until it wasn't.

"Aadi," called his dad. No response elicited from his beck.

"Aadi." neither was he successful this time, he had only just amped up a harsh whisper.

"Aadi!" now he had raised his voice to a quiet yell-

"For goodness' sake, what is wrong with you? You know you provoke me, yet you won't leave me. You know we're not on good terms, but you still keep looking for ways to annoy me, every single day! I have told you, I will never forgive you, and, by God, I mean it."

Gasps surrounded the room, and Aadi found himself standing, knife clenched in hand, fists clenched in arrogance, he wasn't even aware of that happening. His mother trembled, an icy hot fury swimming in her intoxicating eyes. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Aadi had strode out of the room, down the marbled stairs, through the French doors and into the indecisive night. It frowned upon him, and he shook with rage.

His chauffeur was already opening the door to the limo, when he flung him aside with an air of impatience, reaching in for the velvety interior. Upon sitting down, Aadi slammed the door shut. Outside, Johannsen adjusted his attire, giving a little huff. Sighing, Aadi dragged a hand down his face in exasperation.

He cursed loudly.

Words couldn't even begin to describe how he felt at that moment. Perplexed, would do for now.

As for now, the whole ball, banquet, dinner whatever ordeal wasn't really of importance to him, a warm bath and sleep would suffice. Turning on his phone for the second time that evening, he saw 10 missed calls from Aunt Ni and his mum. Not really in the mood to engage in a conversation that would most likely end up in a shouting match, he flung his phone into the seat beside. He hated what his dad always attempted to do, as far as he was concerned, Xoel brought it upon himself. He, asked for it.

Trickle. Pour. Fizz.

Came the sound of the most expensive Italian wine that the Slades had at their disposal into a crystal glass. In the limousine mini bar, Aadi selected the finest. Laying soberly in the bar aisles was 1811 Chateau d'Yquem, Romanee Conti, Château Lafite, Ampoule from Penfolds, Chateau Margaux, Château Lafite, Shipwrecked, Heidsieck and Cheval Blanc.

Great.

Drink, Aadi thought. Drink, forget. Drink, be reckless. No, wait, He wouldn't be. He wasn't a reckless boy, no. Mummy wouldn't like that. He gave a mirthless, sardonic laugh as the limousine glided smoothly back to the palace of Ardenia. Mummy won't like this, Mummy won't like that. To hell with what Mummy likes. She had built in him a limp resolve. Aadi took dainty sips of the Giuseppe, stared at the sleek partition and breathed out slowly.