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."

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

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.