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Chapter 12
Vahadr
“Father, I want my militvi bar! Make Ana give it to me!”
I raise my brows, and continue to scroll through my tablet, calm in the face of my son’s rising ire. “Now, now, Asili…”
“We’re about to eat, you’ll ruin your appetite,” Analina replies. I flick my gaze across the formal dining table we always take our weekend breakfast at, watching as she firmly places the confiscated bar away from Asili. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: no candy before a meal.”
I sit at the head of the table with Asili and Analina beside each other to my right, watching as my son scrunches his face and makes a dive for the bar, only to have Analina quickly snatch it away and put it down even further across the long mahogany table.
“Asili,” she snaps, “this is your last warning. If you don’t stop fussing, then you won’t be having this bar at all, not even after breakfast.”
“I don’t want it after breakfast. I want it now!”
But she seems entirely unmoved as he slams his little palm down, and when he huffs and turns towards me, I quirk an eyebrow.
“Father, this is ridiculous,” he exclaims. “Order her to give it to me!”
I look briefly across at Analina, whose dark brows are drawn stern and low over her eyes.
“What did Miss Martin say?” I ask, watching in bemusement as his own silver brows begin to draw down in a similar fashion.
“She said I had to wait, but—”
“Then,” I say calmly and turn my eyes back to my tablet, “you shall wait.”
“Pappa!” he exclaims as if shocked that I would so dare, but when I show no more interest in his dramatics, he turns away, opening his mouth to fire another demand at Analina.
“Asili,” I warn before he can get so much as another squeak out. “Settle.”
“There, you see?” Analina says then, as the first of the staff begin pouring through the doors across the sun-lit parlor with trays in their hands. “Breakfast is here.”
Asili scrunches his face up tight, but when a quick glance at me proves my continued disinterest in his tantrum, he simply hunches low in his seat, crosses his arms, and stares at the table before him with slowly reddening cheeks.
The lead server comes to me first, as is customary, and lowers his tray before my eyes. But when he smoothly sweeps the silver dome covering to the side, I sigh at what’s in front of me with utter disappointment.
The crepes are too brown, the sweet cheryk scrolls look dry, and is that red krynim fish eggs on my smoked tvornuk when I specifically requested the blackones this weekend?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and then wave the servers back.
“No,” I mutter, “don’t even show me the rest. Take this muck away.”
“Very good, sir.” The server bows deeply before covering the food once more and ushering the rest of the staff back.
“Wait, what?” Analina pipes up with confusion. “What’s wrong? That looked fine…”
“It was not fine,” I say. “In fact, butler, bring the head chef out here, will you? This is the third time this month he’s serving me slop.”
As he herds the maids out with a nod of assent, I can feel Analina gaping at me.
“Mr. Tzelik,” she says in a somewhat aghast voice. “There was nothing wrong—Asili! What did I say?”
Asili has leaned across the table towards his treat, clearly trying to take advantage of Analina’s distraction, only to have her snatch the bar away from him once more.
“You’ve just lost your candy bar, young man,” she huffs, picking up the sweet and handing it to one of the waiting butlers to dispose of.
“And you, sir,” she continues to me, while beside her Asili draws in a breath and begins to pull his expression in a very particular way. “What on earth was that little display about?”
