18. Devil's Advocate
“Gramond, my old friend, remember what you stand to gain from such an arrangement.”
Lord Burlemont had not been a good man in his time as head of his House. He had lied, cheated, stolen, even killed to take what he considered was due to a man of his station. The Viscount Gramond Voutellievre was just another fool taken by his guile.
“You have my word that Lady Evilie will be well cared for and our Houses will prosper tied in union. My son is a good man.”
Lord Burlemont’s son was, in fact, not a good man. He was nearly as bad as his father; cruel, arrogant, and lacking entirely in any of the traits that made the elder successful. It seemed he’d inherited none of his cunning or mind for strategy.
“With our Houses officially tied it opens the door to conduct our business more freely, Gramond. Surely you see the benefits. We are stretched thin as it is.”
Unlike Lord Burlemont, Viscount Gramond Voutellievre was never cut out for this life. He was easily fooled, easily manipulated, easily swayed by the honeyed proposals brought to his doorstep. It was convenient, he thought, to take an offer in hand than to seek others out that might try and fail. Better to be seen as agreeable.
But something sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. His dealings with Lord Burlemont had grown more and more unfavorable, the scales tipped in the balance of the other man’s House. Despite not being a clever man, Gramond recognized this.
“I have my eye on another Viscount, I’m afraid. I've even spoken to him. One she might actually find agreeable. I’ve told you how hard-headed she is.”
There was a flash of anger in the Lord’s eyes at the refusal, never one to accept being denied by a man he considered below him. “Start acting like the Viscount you are instead of a simpering father, Gramond. She doesn’t dictate to you, you dictate to her. She is your daughter, not Viscountess. My son would make a fine match for her, you know this.”
Gramond straightened in his chair, the uncomfortable silence in the blistering wake of the other's anger growing larger by the moment, a force that felt as if it might choke him in its suffocating hold like Burlemont’s own fingers were tightening around his neck.
“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that, Lord Burlemont. Though my daughter Abr--”
“My son is meant for more than your youngest, Gramond. Surely you jest.”
Lord Burlemont spread his arms out, an invitation for Gramond to see some reason in his words, the vulture smile spreading across his thin lips.
This man is dangerous. Gramond knew that, had known it, and yet he was in far too deep to change the course of their arrangements. His dealings with House Burlemont had stretched back a decade; it would be his House's ruin.
“Abrie is in need of a suitor, and I’m afraid I ca--”
“For Halone’s sake, Gramond. Very well. Waste your House away, just as you had been before we began working together. Do you recall that? I picked you up when you were nothing. Let’s not forget who owes who.”
Gramond’s shoulders sank, his age showing in the wrinkled lines at the corners of his eyes. It had all been so tiring since his wife’s disappearance. She had aided him in the House’s affairs, a silent and unseen force that guided the Voutellievre name. He had never loved her, but he had needed her all the same.
“...Give me time to consider, that is all I ask.”
Lord Burlemont nodded, finding that answer suitable. He knew Gramond would see reason in time, he always did.
“Of course, Gramond. Am I not your friend? Take the time you need, then we'll begin planning.”
Just like that the softer disposition had resumed control, manipulative to his core.
“Now tell me more about your daughter, Gramond. Evilie. I want to know what sort of wife she’ll make for my son.”
And so Gramond told him, as he always did.