《Backwards Pawn》


 Prologue

    <h2>Lennox</h2>


    He turned the glass of wine slowly, the methodical rolling motion of his wrists calming him down after a long, tiring day. The amber liquid swirled hypnotically, soothing his frazzled nerves after the stressful events that had occupied him that day. His silver watch¡ªone of his sources of pride¡ªdug into the tender flesh of his wrist.


    Stretching out on his eighteenth century velvet armchair, Lennox Trent reflected back on the day''s events.


    The Trents were a powerful family, one of the three dynasties that had claimed ultimate power in America. Alongside the heads of Brittersby House and Davis House, Lennox was one of the three regents that reigned over the Zenith, the conglomeration of the wealthy and the powerful in the country. With their ravenous ambitions and immense power, there was little one could do when a Trent ¡®wolf¡± had caught the scent of blood.


    "Do you see how they prowl?" the rest murmured amongst each other. "Better not get in the way."


    The prize this time were the Twixby lands. A stretch of land that was rich in silicon mines. The old man, Twixby, must have gone soft in the head when he put such a valuable piece of treasure on auction. Then again, Twixby was new money, and new money were prone to errors like these. A flash of anger arose in him as he recalled what the bastard had said to him.


    Out of all the bidders, he, Lennox Trent on behalf of the great house of Trent, had offered the best deal for the lands. But with a twinkle in his eye that betrayed his mirth, Twixby had explained value to Lennox. He had said that he was not so naive that he did not understand the true value of his land, and that he was sure that a better offer would come along to counter Lennox''s measly sum. Measly! Ten million dollars was a measly sum!


    Who then, he had demanded, whowould pay more?


    I can think of a certain Roy Brittersby, replied the old man affably.


    Roy Brittersby, head of the powerful Brittersby family, a fellow Regent and arguably the most powerful, had laid a claim to the land? A man of great influence and merciless execution, he was the only Regent who could go toe-to-toe with Lennox and come out victorious. He, alone, would be audacious enough to snatch the Twixby lands from right under Lennox''s hold. Roy Brittersby knew; knew whoever possessed the lands would obtain a valuable piece of power.


    And power was what Lennox Trent sought.


    Brittersby, Trent, Davis.


    Davis, Trent, Brittersby.


    Three elite families fighting amongst themselves at the top of society''s pyramid for that insatiable taste of power, of victory.


    Lennox Trent could not stand to lose. He was a Trent; he had his reputation to uphold. The Davis'' were slowly losing power, so it was just him and Brittersby now. Descended from the days of the gold rush, Trent was the oldest house, the only one that could veritably claim to be a dynasty. William Trent, of actual royal blood and titles of nobility, had founded it. He had found success in the rails, as many had. A smart businessman, his forefather, and so the descendants were too. Generations upon generations of Trent men had ruled from the shadows, calling the shots and dominating the economic scene. Prestige, money, fame, beauty--what a Trent wanted, a Trent got.


    Their might had been indisputable once.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    But the Brittersby family... His fist curled. The upstart Brittersby''s had risen rapidly, and within half the time it had taken the Trent''s had asserted their dominance and prowess. Every business deal had become a struggle from then, every social scene a battlefield, with formidable opponents who could outmaneuver you the moment you let your guard down. A struggle. Every. Single. Day. With a growl, he thrust aside his wine glass, which shattered melodically, the wine permeating the carpet. No matter¡ªthe cleaners would get it out tomorrow. But apart from servants, the ease of the past of Trent''s glory days were gone.


    Down the hall, the lounge room''s door creaked open and apale face peeped. Selina Trent, his wife. Pretty--but not as beautiful as Brittersby''s woman. Selina had gained weight after their third child; her figure was no longer sublime and her shiny auburn hair had dulled. The lights in her eyes were dimmed by a wary, fearful stare. God, did the woman not know how to take care of herself? She was embarrassing him every time she stood next to Roy Brittersby''s beautiful wife. He snarled and marched over to the pale face, rolling his cufflinks up as he prowled. Her eyes widened but the look in them was one of resignation. She did not try to run. His fist sank satisfyingly into her flesh, and she fell back with a cry. He drew his arm back, reveling in his power. What a simple thing, pain was. He punched her again, on the other cheek. Twin blooms of blush made her look much prettier. Then her stomach. The soft parts. At first, she tried to curl up, attempting to block his blows with her feeble arms. It was no use: he always found another target. He worked his way methodically down the length of her body, until she was too tired to cry out. The noise had been irritating anyway.


    Finally, as always, she lay limp on the carpet. He nudged her with his feet. She did not stir. Blood dribbled from her nose and colorful blues and purple decorated her porcelain skin. Was she dead? Another complication. He sighed. The cleaners could take care of that too.


    His anger and energy spent, he turned towards the bathroom right across. The sticky blood on his fists were unpleasant, and the smell made him nauseous. Metallic and sharp, it clung to his tongue and nostrils. He turned the tap, and the water ran soothingly down the creases of his palms, sore from holding a pen all day. The paperwork had been excessive today. He would have to have a word with his secretary. Or replace him. More complications. As the water dripped from his palms, he scrubbed. There was blood everywhere, damn that stupid wife of his. He couldn''t get the rust crumbles out from under his fingernails. He scrubbed harder. There was a slight prick of pain, and he inspected the sliver of skin that he had peeled off. His flesh was raw, pink and shiny underneath. He shuddered in revulsion, not daring to touch it. He didn''t like pain. The blood was mostly gone now, anyways. Closing the tap, he wiped his hand on the towel hanging from a polished bar. The towel was soft, but he still winced when it touched the raw part of his finger.


    When he stepped out of the bathroom, obsidian tiles giving way to carpet, Selina had begun to stir, moaning softly. A sudden anger arose. She was the reason his finger throbbed. He kicked her again, neatly avoiding the bloodiest parts as to not dirty his shoe. To his surprise, it was not soft, vulnerable flesh that his loafers connected with, but a hard, solid shin.


    He yelled in surprise and pain. His toes throbbed. He was sure a nail had broken.


    The boy standing in front of him had sleep-mussed hair, but his eyes were bright and angry.


    "Father." Malice dripped from every word.


    "You little--" Lennox started furiously, but stopped when he saw what the boy was holding in his left hand.


    A kitchen knife.


    Faster than his eyes could track, the boy lunged and cold pain blossomed in his abdomen. He stared uncomprehendingly at the handle sticking out of his stomach. Then he sank to his knees, screaming, but not a sound would come out.


    A shriek was ripped out of his lungs as a kick caught him in the stomach, right where the pain was the sharpest. "You. Will. Never. Touch. Her. Again." each word was accentuated with a kick. The boy''s bloody shoe hit him again and again. The world was swimming in front of his eyes, he thought dimly. But the pain was fading. That was good. He was dimly aware of the boy helping Selina up. In the periphery of his vision, he watched numbly as his blood, thick and dark, flowed like a river from his abdomen; it dyed the rich gray carpet a dark wine red. But the cleaners could take care of that as well. The tangy rust scent flooded him until he could think of nothing else.


    His last, absurd thought was that he had won against Roy Brittersby in a race to the death.

 ONE

    <h2>Lilith</h2>


    "I am sending you to America"


    "Father?" Lilith Liu looked at the back of an impeccable gray suit. YongHe Liu turned, closing the automated curtains with the press of a button and concealing the view of Shanghai''s skylight from ceiling-to-floor glass panes. The city lights at night were Lilith''s favorite sights of the city. Her father was responsible for building many of them himself; Liu Enterprises, for all your infrastructural needs. Sweeping skyscrapers; modern; artistic buildings; company offices; anything you could dream up--and afford.


    They reminded her of stars.


    Her father was a man who could build stars on earth if so he wished.


    "I am sending you and Willow to the US," he clarified, looking at her with glittering black eyes that didn''t betray any emotions, "to forge some alliances. Have you heard of the Great Houses?"


    Lilith nodded. Brittersby, Davis, Trent--American royalty. The elite among the elite, monarchs of the American socioeconomic scene, they had been part of her lessons to prepare her for taking over Liu Enterprises someday.


    "But I heard, that the head of one of the them¡ªLennox Trent¡ªwas murdered," she said. "I understand that I need to go to forge alliances, but my sister is still young and inexperienced." and vulnerable, she added silently. But she kept that to herself. Her father despised weaknesses and Willow was hers.


    YongHe smiled, his lips slicing through the loose skin of his jowls. In the dim light, he looked more hungry predator than human, sniffing for a scent of fear. "Lennox Trent''s murder, while unfortunate, provides me with an excellent opportunity. The great houses are shaken up, and what better time than to insert one of my own amongst them? Davis is clinging on to scraps of power and Trent''s fate is uncertain now that their head is dead. Those Regents like to boast of power, when in reality, it only takes the tiniest of pushes to upset their little hierarchy. We are well known in this country; countless powerful families here would come running at the slightest beckoni of our hands. However, internationally, we are nothing but a passing mention. A potential ally among many. Old Trent has a son your age I believe, the eldest. Seize the heart of the beast, and you shall control its jaws. Do you understand what I''m saying, dear?"


    Lilith stared in shock. "But what about Liu enterprises?"


    YongHe''s eyes turned hard. Lilith internally gulped.


    "And what about it? The way I see it, you, my dear daughter, have yet to prove yourself worthy of such a prize. Your foster brother, Liang, has already married into the Qian family and thus obtained a valuable alliance. He is willing to make sacrifices for the better of the company. You have yet to prove yourself outside of your studies. Theory is one thing, practice is another. Liu Enterprises would do just as well, if perhaps not better in the hands of Liang."


    Lilith set her face in a determined expression and gave a nod. "I understand, father."


    "In that case, tell your sister to pack her suitcase. You''ll be leaving in a fortnight."


    "Yes, father."


    ?©¥©¥???????©¥©¥?


    Lilith''s hands shook as she watched Willow polish the gleaming rapier. She flipped another page of her book, eyes fixed on the words, unable to retain their meaning for longer than a second. That sword, with it''s silver lattice handle...medieval sword...collector''s set from Spain...that sharp edge...


    She remembered it very well...


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    She was sixteen again, and she had just spoken up in one of her father''s meetings with something the older men did not agree with. YongHe had smiled through it with gritted teeth, but after the meeting was over, he had pulled her into this very room.


    "What have I told you?" he said silkily, a deadly calm spreading over his features.


    Lilith gulped. "Control, constraint, responsibility," she recited nervously.


    "I have been waiting for you to grow up, but it seems that I have gotten this all wrong. Your mother implored me to be gentle on you, to protect you from the harshness and brutality in this world. But she is no longer here, and I must adapt. Time waits for no one, least of all the heir of a multi-million business. Sooner or later, it will be you sitting in that room, talking to your employees and commanding their attention, if not their loyalties." His voice grew louder and louder, going from the quietest brush of silk to filling the whole room. As he talked, he walked over to the far wall, where a collection of swords hung.


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    "France...Portugal...Italy...ah, Spain."


    He carefully ran his index finger down the blade of a short rapier with a handle meshed by intricately interwoven silver filaments. The sword stood out among the others, being no longer than a forearm. It looked delicate, its blade honed to such a fine tip that a slight movement might cause it to snap. However, appearances were deceiving, and the slightest brush of YongHe''s finger left scarlet droplets in its wake.


    He removed the sword from its holster, and held it towards Lilith for inspection. Lilith flinched, but took it in her hands anyways. Obedience. Courage. She held it up to the light, and noticed a character carved on it.


    Yong. Bravery.


    "Sit up straight," YongHe instructed. She hadn''t even realized she was slouching. "A lady cannot slouch."


    She did as he had instructed. He slid the blade down the front of her dress. She shivered as the cold metal touched her skin; goosebumps erupted in flurries. The blade settled against her stomach like a poisonous snake waiting to strike. There was a hyper awareness where the tip of the blade touched her lower ribs.. She dared not move, for fear of pricking herself, and the parts of her skin that were in contact with the blade buzzed like her nerves had decided all to migrate to cold touch.


    "This is your homework for tomorrow" said YongHe. "Profiles on all the men who were in the meeting with me today. If you need any additional resources, don''t hesitate to ring for the maid. By tomorrow, I will expect you to know what today''s meeting was about."


    A test, then. And a punishment.


    The moment the last of her father''s polished shoes vanished behind a closed door, Lilith slumped in relief, then stifled a shriek. She had forgotten about the rapier. Cautiously, she felt for it, but a glance towards the hidden camera she knew was positioned in a shadowy corner kept her from removing it. She knew without a doubt that her father would be perusing the footage later. So she kept her back ramrod straight and turned to the first of the papers.


    "Zhang YiLong, fifty-one, successful businessman and entrepreneur. Quite successful lately, blooming deals after he started associating with father. He has a son my age, and he''s on his fifth wife and is rumored to have fertility problems..."


    An hour later, eyes bleary and back aching though she did not dare remove her father''s punishment, she still had not found what she was looking for. The men, all moderately successful on their own, were all indebted to her father after he took them under his wing and gave them a foothold in certain circles they would not have had access to otherwise. But she doubted her father would hold a meeting for that reason... She flipped through the pages again...the pages all blurred into one another...she was so tired


    "Ouch!" her hand shot to the place where the blade had pierced her skin, and to her horror, inspected her hand to find deep, crimson on her fingers, not the vibrant red from a shallow cut. But she dared not remove the sword, the surveillance camera an ever-lurking presence in the periphery of her vision. She moved to rearrange the papers, then stared in dismay as her bloody hand left a streak of red upon the paper. She hoped she didn''t need to return the profiles in pristine condition, if at all. The slash of scarlet stretched from the man''s name all the way to that of his wife''s and son''s. Wait--wife...and son. Realization dawned. She flipped open the other files, and sure enough, the link lay there as clear as daylight. She could feel her stomach sinking. Surely her father didn''t have this in mind...but the connection was too obvious to ignore, and just as two plus two always equalled four, there was but this solution for the problem. Hesitantly, she rang the bell thrice. Once was for the maid. Three times, well, three times was the secret ring for her father. The tolling sound sounded a lot like the cuckoos that her mother had loved. Her father would know what it meant. Nobody used thrice in this household but for the Liu''s.


    Sure enough, within a minute or two, the doors swept open and he fixed his eyes upon hers. "I take it to mean you''ve understood what I''m trying to say?"


    She nodded mutely. All of the men profiled had been indebted to her father in one way or another. And all of them had single sons her age...


    She could already see herself in red, peering through a bridal veil. Lilith Liu, she could imagine the papers saying, heiress of not one but two great fortunes...the journalists screaming questions...the cameras clicking...


    ?©¥©¥???????©¥©¥?


    She could still hear them clicking.


    With a jolt, she snapped back to reality to find Willow walking towards her, shiny heels clicking with each step.


    "I''ve finished packing" she announced. "You did it! I can''t believe it, but you did it. How did you manage to convince father?"


    Lilith allowed a wane smile. She embraced her sister, all too aware of the camera in the corner, and whispered in her ear, "not so much convinced as hoodwinked. There''s a camera in here. The footage has no sound though."


    Willow kept her face neutral as she pulled back. "Father''s a very hard man to fool. How''d you manage it?" although she uttered the words, her lips remained fixed. Ventriloquism was a useful skill the Liu sisters had picked up. It allowed them to communicate without their father catching wind of their conversation.


    "A few suggestions here and there, especially on his social media feed, that the great houses of America were weak and of course, of the eligibility status of their children."


    At this, Willow nodded. Their father was like a shark who scented blood when he caught wind of weaknesses that he could exploit. A foothold in any one of the great houses would be profitable...especially after what had happened to Lilith''s fianc¨¦e.


    Lilith''s resolve hardened. Soon, if she played her cards right, she and Willow would be out of their father''s reaches. America would be a new beginning, a rebound from which she could start accumulating power from outside her father''s grasp. A fresh start in which she could completely reinvent herself, and make a better future for Willow.


    She smiled. You''ve made your move, father, she thought.


    My turn.

 TWO

    Quentin


    ?©¥©¥???????©¥©¥?


    Quentin Brittersby stared at the tiny painted figure depicting herself.


    The family portrait, which had been done last summer, was mounted at the center of the gallery. At the center of the painting, six pairs of bright blue eyes stared back at her. Standing at the focal point with those hard, icy eyes, Roy Brittersby, head of Brittersby House, commanded attention and respect just as he did in real life. The artist had captured his harsh jaw and stern aura perfectly. Beside him was his wife, Andreya Cox-Brittersby, looking rather out of place with her platinum hair and doe-brown eyes among the black-haired and blue-eyed Brittersby''s. Arrayed in picturesque poses, the rest of the Brittersby children surrounded their parents, each more striking than the next. On Roy''s right side, Brian, the eldest, the heir, stood in a tailored gray suit and a charming smile. Jayda, second-eldest, most ambitious, stood proud and regal next to him. Oscar, Quentin''s twin, flanked her; he stood partially in the shadows of the curtain, the only one who did not look at the painter. Instead, he stared at the rest of the family as if trying to solve some great puzzle. Mirroring him, Quentin was positioned at the left end. Slightly awkward looking, but still possessing that undeniable Brittersby grace. She had one arm over Killian''s shoulder and one hand ruffling Max''s hair. The former, second-to-last in the age hierarchy and the only Brittersby child with almond brown eyes, Killian stood stiffly in his freshly ironed suit with his hair spiked back with copious amounts of gel. Quentin smiled, remembering how, in his nervousness, Killian had gone through half a bottle of gel before he was satisfied. Max, the baby of the family and the only one sitting down, perched on his stool in front of Quentin. Unlike the rest of the Brittersby''s, there was nothing hard about his stare. Nothing hidden. His eyes were crystal clear pools revealing his every thought. There was an unspoken rule in the family that he was to stay that way: innocent, and oblivious of their games.


    Footsteps sounded on the navy blue carpet inlaid with swirls.


    "Whatcha looking at?" it was Killian, with a smirk across his face. One that invited trouble.


    Quentin sighed. Ever since last summer, Killian had gotten more and more combative, always looking for a fight. A teenage phase, Andreya insisted, but nobody else in the family was so understanding. Not even her. She couldn''t see why he was stirring trouble at a time when tensions were fraught between the family members.


    "Nothing. Go bother someone else."


    Killian''s smile turned ugly. "Look at that loving family," he cooed. "Especially that little girl who cried because of an absent father. See how prettily she smiles. I''ll admit: that artist is good. I can see the vacant look in your eyes. Blue as the rest of them, but nothing beneath. Nothing behind. What becomes of you, Quentin Brittersby, once either Jayda or Brian becomes heir? Unlike Oscar, you have no value. What becomes of you then, when you''re discarded?"


    "Go away." Quentin growled, refusing to rise to the bait.


    "Everyone in this godforsaken family fights for power. They crave it, covet it, guard it jealously even though it slips like water between their fingers. But you Quentin, you''re a dreamer. We are as blue-blooded as can be, yet you and I are different Quentin. If I were to cut Brian, Jayda or even Oscar open, they would bleed as blue as this carpet. Their blood would dribble and fall and not leave a stain, for they belong here! But you and I, Quentin, we bleed red."


    He pinched her. She slapped his hand away, but he still smirked at the flush of red that had emerged on her pale skin.


    "But you know what us Brittersby''s are best at? Secrets. All of our bloody secrets. I''m feeling generous today, so I''ll tell you one.


    What would mother say--what would the world say if they knew that the great Roy Brittersby..." He let it trail off. Tempting her. Taunting her. Daring her.


    Quentin couldn''t resist the cliffhanger she knew was aimed to get a rise out of her. "If they knew what?"


    "Oh, but I''m not supposed to say!" laughed Killian.


    "Leave her alone."


    Both Killian and Quentin jumped as Oscar emerged from the shadows like a wraith.


    Quentin watched her twin with annoyance. "Stop sticking your ugly face where it doesn''t belong, Oscar." She didn''t need his help.


    "What''s yours is mine," retorted Oscar, "and your beauty is one of your sources of pride. Besides, this concerns us all."


    "Does that mean you know what he''s talking about? Oh, of course you do. Nothing slips by you." Killian narrowed his eyes. "And how long have you known?" he asked.


    Quentin and Oscar ignored him.


    Are you going to keep it from me? asked Quentin silently, glaring at Oscar. Ever since they were little, they had been able to communicate their thoughts though expression and little tells.


    Her twin''s pale blue eyes--identical to her own--looked coolly back. Everything has a price, dear sister, his expression seemed to say.


    What''s the price for your twin?


    More than you''re willing to pay.


    Try me.


    I--


    "Hey," interrupted Killian. "In case you haven''t noticed, not all of us speak telepathy.¡±


    "Not everything in life is about you, Killian." snapped Quentin. "While you''ve been running around all summer riling people up for no reason, everyone else has been getting along just fine. Life goes on without you."


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    Killian''s face crumpled. Quentin stared in shock, and so did Oscar, although he hid it better. Anger and mischief were featured prominently on Killian''s face, but devastation...Quentin couldn''t remember the last time she had seen Killian break down. She regretted her words instantly. Before she could say anything to assuage the damage her words had caused, Killian laughed bitterly.


    "Life goes on without me, it''s true. So true, in fact, that Father has decided to send me away. Someone else will come to take my place, and life will go on without me. But that''s not why I''m getting removed. Oh no. Everybody gets along fine, because all of you don''t see--maybe you''re unwilling to see--the cracks under the surface. The terrible truths you''ve all hidden from one another. But guess what. Last summer, I stumbled across the most terrible of them all. Wanna know what it is?" He leaned forward conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper. Unconsciously, Quentin and Oscar leaned forward. "Father''s having an affair." With that, he turned and fled.


    "Killian!" Quentin cried.


    "Let him go," Oscar caught her hand as she tried to run after him.


    Quentin whirled on him angrily. "You knew, didn''t you?" she demanded. Of course he knew. Oscar heard the whispers, the rumors, the secrets. There wasn''t a stone he didn''t leave unturned and then stealthily put back in place. He had informants in every nook and cranny, and if there was an information he couldn''t obtain through his eyes and ears, you could always count him to barter and win it. Oscar dealt in information; his quick mind and silver tongue often left him the one who walked away with more than had been promised. And he was infuriatingly neutral--a broker who didn''t take sides, he liked to call himself.


    "I told you the price was more than you were willing to pay," he said. "Think, Quentin. What would going after him accomplish?


    Are you willing to part with your own secrets?"


    She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "You''re my sister, and a Brittersby. We''re made of trickery, lies and deceit.


    You''ve got as much Brittersby blood flowing in your veins as me. And the last thing our brother needs right now is another Brittersby."


    ?©¥©¥???????©¥©¥?


    Her hands were running through his hair, and he was gripping her as if she were the only person in the world. Oleander''s kisses tasted like velvet and a deep, dark tonic that soothed your throat after a long day.


    They broke apart.


    "Rough day?" his eyes roved over her hers, his face the picture of concern.


    She sighed, and buried her face in his suit. He was always immaculately dressed, more so than his brother, Lowell. Where Lowell Trent was messy, disheveled, and rumored to be slightly insane, Oleander Trent was suits and smooth words and magnetic stares. Of course, that didn''t mean he was passive: Oleander was a controlled hurricane, ready to be unleashed at any moment. Quentin always thought she saw something a bit wild behind his cunning silver eyes. A storm not far off.


    "We shouldn''t be doing this." She was all too aware that they were standing on Brittersby grounds. Even hidden in the hedge maze, any gardener could happen upon them at any moment.


    "What''s the matter?" he asked. "I thought we were past all of that."


    "It''s just--you''re a Trent, and I''m a Brittersby. And our parents are rivals--and oh, it''s just so complicated. I hate the secrets and the games, you know that." The words tumbled out one after another. She had never been able to keep anything from him. Wild as he was, he was also her secret harbor. They had attended the same middle school, although they had only spoken sparingly due to their families'' rivalries. It had only been this summer while attending a business conference with their fathers that they had met. A week had been enough for attraction to blossom into a relationship of sorts. A summer fling originally, both had thought, only now, they didn''t show signs of stopping. Looking into his soft, gray eyes, Quentin felt something akin to hope stir in her chest for the first time in ages.


    "I promised you. No games with us. I won''t ever lie to you either. So stop beating around the bush and tell me what''s wrong."


    That was another thing she liked about him: how forward he was. She was sick of all the lies and manipulations. But some little nagging voice murmured at the back of her head, he could be lying...you know...


    She pushed it aside.


    "Tell me a truth." she demanded. "One that is valuable. Then I''ll tell you mine."


    "You''re starting to sound like your brother,"


    To his credit, he acquiesced without a second thought. "Your father is starting to consider all Brittersby children as possible contenders for the position of his heir."


    She stared at him in shock. Brian Brittersby, eldest, golden child, had been the heir apparent for as long as she could remember. Everybody had expected him to inherit the bulk of the Brittersby fortune and name. What could have happened to have made her usually steadfast father become so whimsical? And more importantly, how did Oleander know? And why did he share it with her?


    But it was getting harder to think as Oleander traced his lips down the curve of her neck.


    "Stop that!" but she was giggling. "I know what you''re doing?"


    "And pray tell, what am I doing?" he arched an eyebrow at her.


    "You''re seducing me to get all my secrets!"


    "Guilty as charged." He held up his hands in surrender, but his tone and face showed anything but guilt.


    "Alright, I''ll tell you," she laughed as he turned pleading eyes on her. She could never resist those soft gray eyes. "Killian is getting sent away, and I might not get to see him again. The last thing I might ever say to him was so cruel." She didn''t tell him about her father''s affair. She hesitated, wondering what it said about her trust in him. But as she made to open her mouth, he cut her off.


    "Killian''s a big boy, and you''re not cruel by nature." He held her close and stroked her hair gently. "I''m sure he''s said some equally nasty things too."


    "But that''s just it: I don''t want everything to end on a sour note like this. Why does Father have to use Killian as a pawn? His own son!"


    "He''s a Brittersby. Besides, he might actually be doing Killian a favor. He knows the consequences of leaving the position of heir open. The struggle for it is going to begin soon, and Killian would only be collateral damage were he to get caught up in it."


    "That''s true, but what about Max? He''s only eleven. And who is going to compete for heir? Brian maybe, and Jayda, but at this point, it''s certain Jayda will win. Maybe Father orchestrated this whole thing to test Brian, but Jayda''s only a year younger than him, and twice as clever. I''m sure he had that in mind. Oscar will stand on the sidelines like he always does, so there will only be two contenders....oh," she looked up and blushed. "I''m monologuing again, aren''t I?"


    He smiled warmly at her and she felt her knees go soft. "I like it when you do that," he told her. "But you got something wrong.


    There will be three contenders, not two."


    She frowned. "Oscar''s never been that ambitious. He likes his little corner of whispers."


    "Not Oscar, you."


    "Me?"


    "Yes, you, and hear me out." he put a finger on her lips to stop her reply. "Think about it. You want to escape the games and its rules; what better way to avoid rules than to become the one that makes them! And...there''s me."


    Quentin saw a shadow of doubt flash across his face. She had never seen anything other than self-assuredness there.


    "If you were to become heir, well, your father''s old and nobody dares naysay the head of a house. There would be nothing that could stop us being together. Please, would you consider doing it for me?"


    Her breath caught in her chest. In that moment, nothing else mattered but those troubled gray eyes and the storm behind them she was willing to brave.


    "Promise me one thing." she breathed.


    "Anything."


    "Don''t you dare break my heart, Oleander Trent."


    He smiled, but strangely, his eyes were veiled. She blinked, and the moment passed. She must have imagined it. "Don''t you break mine either."


    That was answer enough for her. She seized his lapel and crushed their lips together. Crickets chirped and somewhere in the distance, she could heart faint laughter. But here in the garden hidden away under a white gazebo, nothing else existed except the souls of two wearied travelers seeking shelter.