The dinner was, admittedly, exquisite.
Gramps had actually outdone himself, though he would never admit to the exertion. The golden brown buns resting on the side plates were still exhaling faint wisps of steam, their glaze catching the chandelier light. I'm well aware he prepared this particular delicacy to buy my favour. "This old man" I sigh within myself as we both lock eyes and he is impishly smiling from ear to ear. Four courses had arrived and vanished with clockwork precision, rich -velvet sauces, cuts of meat so tender they surrendered to the fork without a fight, and now, chocolate waffles layered with stiff, fresh cream. The sweets were arranged on the porcelain like jewels in a display case. Even the imported vodka sat in its crystal decanter exactly where the light from the chandelier shone on the glass most brilliantly -quite tempting.
He had cooked this himself. I was almost certain of it. There was a specific, aggressive perfection to the seasoning that belonged only to him. He only committed this level of obsessive effort to two things: chess and manipulation.
I almost wanted to applaud him.
As the silverware chimed against the china, I felt it the tension settling over the room. It wasn't a sudden weight but a gradual thickening of the air, stretching thin and tight across the mahogany table. Both sides were waiting, each carefully calculating the exact second to step forward.
Anvil came prepared for a siege.
He sat beside his father-a heavy-set man with commanding shoulders and the ease of someone who signed multi-million dollar contracts without a blink of hesitation. Just behind them were an entourage of businessmen dressed as if this were rather a corporate acquisition rather than a marriage discussion. They each wore a pair of polished leather boots, gleaming Swiss watches, and carried a serious expression that could literally cut glass. It really didn't seem as tho they knew the purpose of which they were present.
Mordret on the other hand had a different arrival.
He brought only two people. A butler, composed and silent as a shadow, and an elegant woman with calculating eyes and a posture so refined it looked painful to maintain. From the mild unnoticeable wrinkles on her face, hidden by layers of controlled make-up, I could tell she was his mother despite the lack of resemblance.
She gave of the vibe of a strategic, minimal professional.
Interesting.
"Miss Leonora," Anvil's father finally said, breaking the hum of dining. His voice was deep and had a bass that seemed to resonate with the walls in the large dinning hall. "You have quite the reputation."
I took my time. I dabbed the corners of my mouth with the linen napkin, folding it precisely before I looked at him.
"Reputations are often exaggerated," I said, keeping my tone flat. "I prefer results."
Amy speech seemed to cause a ripple through the suits; a few of the businessmen exchanged quick, meaningful glances.
Anvil's father chuckled beneath his full beard. "Spoken like someone raised properly."
At the other head of the table, Gramps hummed, pleased.
The conversation drifted from there, moving like a current -investments, territories, spheres of influence, the geometry of alliances. But beneath the polite exchange of assets, I felt the weight of eyes on me. All trying to assess and weigh me. Stripping away the title to see the asset beneath
Anvil was quieter than the entourage surrounding him, but he wasn't disengaged. He studied me. Although there was nothing subtle about it, I caught him staring more than once, his gaze dropping briefly and heavily, to my dress. The V-line cut was modest and intentional, designed to reveal nothing inappropriate. At least, that was what I thought when I had checked the mirror earlier.
Under the heat of his attention, I became hyper-aware of it. Was that what landed first? Not me as Leonora Vance? But just silk draped over skin.The next time I caught him looking, I didn't retreat. I held his gaze, locking it in place.
But He didn't look away.
Bold.
Mordret, by contrast, seemed rather detached. He ate slowly, elegantly, with a faint smile resting on his lips as if this entire spectacle was a mildly entertaining theater he had stumbled into by accident. At one time, his butler leaned down, whispering something into his ear but Mordret didn't react outwardly. Not even a twitch.
But I noticed.
Soon after, the silence shifted as his mother turned her attention to me.
"You manage your grandfather's empire and your own company?"
"I do."
"And you enjoy it?"
"I do not do things I do not enjoy."
Her eyes flickered. It was a microscopic shift, a sense of approval maybe. It was subtle, but still present.
It became quite obvious then that while the men had fallen quiet, their families were campaigning, both trying to win the ground before the negotiation even formally began.
A smart move
Gramps just watched everything from the head of the table with the satisfaction of a director watching the final act, not adding or removing anything.
Dessert arrived properly. The scent of warm chocolate and sugar filled the air, heavy and sweet wafting my nostrils. The tension seemed to shift gradually with the course from less formal then to more precise. Sharper.
Then, Anvil moved.
He set his glass down. The faint clink against the coaster carried through the room, just like his father's voice seemed to resonate. Whether he was trying to make an impression into the moment -I couldn't tell
His gaze locked onto mine. He wasn't looking at my dress anymore. Not at my collarbone either. He was looking directly into my eyes, making me observe fully how his facial definition was.
"Miss Leonora," he said. There was was no father speaking for him then. "May I ask you something… directly?"
The room quieted instantly.
Gramps leaned back, his fingers steepled. Mordret's faint smile remained fixed, but his eyes immediately sharpened.
Anvil spoke.
"If this were purely a merger, you'd have rejected me already. So tell me, what would make you consider it?"
Silence seemed to settle, thick and absolute.
I didn't react immediately. I reached for my water, taking a slow, deliberate sip, letting him wait. I set the glass down carefully, aligning it with the coaster.
"And what made you think, Mr. Anvil, that you were already worth considering?"
The air in the room tightened like a winch.
He didn't flinch. He leaned back slightly, comfortable in the heat.
"Because you are still here," he said evenly. "You could have dismissed this arrangement the moment it was proposed. But you didn't."
He held my gaze, refusing to blink.
"You aren't a woman who tolerates inefficiency, that I've heard. So either this dinner amused you… or you saw some potential."
He pushed further.
"When you look at me, Miss Leonora… are you evaluating risk? Or advantage?"
The question hung there, vibrating. Before I could answer, Mordret moved.
He set his fork down. Calmly.
"I imagine," he said, his voice smooth as oil, "that it depends entirely on positioning."
All eyes shifted to him.
"In chess, a piece is never judged by strength alone. Its value is determined by where it stands… and what it protects."
He glanced at me. Briefly while acknowledging the game set in motion without stepping onto the board.
"Perhaps Miss Leonora is not deciding whether he is worth considering."
A pause.
"Perhaps she is deciding whether the board will benefit from his placement."
I didn't smile to acknowledge his thoughts, neither did I give a nod but I saw it clearly then. The contrast between the two "excellent choices"
Anvil was a man of direct force. While Mordret on the other hand, reframed the board acting as a strategic manipulator.
And this meeting selection orchestrated by Gramps was definitely not about who wanted me, but rather who understood how I thought.