CHAPTER FOURTEEN. I'LL KEEP YOUR SECRET

         There's a horse race today, organized by the Duke himself.

         On a chilly autumn day, it's one of the best decisions he's made. Summer has come and gone, now there's only the falling of leaves to bask in.

         The race is nothing formal—neither premeditated. A group of twelve is outside. It's the middle of the day and the Duke has the brilliant idea of hosting a race. It is to be believed that it's completely unrelated to the fact that Klaus has recently told him he is quite the master at horseback riding.

The Duke may be lenient about the love affair but he still has an ego. Besides, it's not out of permissiveness that he allows it but rather a lack of care.

         He seems to hold Klaus's regards higher than his future wife.

         They rally the horses. Leonas sticks to his white stallion, given to his mother as a gift from his late father. Klaus chooses a golden brown one that seems to choose him
first. It reminds him of the beauty he's fond; these majestic and loyal creatures.

An additional competitor is the young Lord Hugo who is allowed to ride upon his incessant whining.

What could be called the arena is going around the castle and back to where they started. More than a love for sport, the race becomes a classic show for ostentatious masculinity.

Among the onlookers, there's Anastasia, joined by her sister and a lady of court, Maria, who she has a catty relationship with. Ever since Maria lost her best friend, Antonia, she's been trying to cling to Anastasia, who she had initially called a scurvy bitch.

On a good day, Maria is the best gossip partner.

Still, Anastasia misses Rebekah's company. She wonders where she is, she hasn't seen much of her since she showed up at the tavern. Rhiannon has become more recurrent company. But for now, she's with Maria.

Really, the only reason they could be considered friends is for her closeness to the Duke.

It's something Penelope—Anastasia's sister—doesn't comprehend because she knows that as soon they are away from Maria, Anastasia will turn to talking shit about her. Mock the way she talks and dresses.

Penelope is glad she's as friendless as she is.

The race starts and Maria cheers excitedly, clapping like an overjoyed child. An action that Anastasia derisively chuckles at and glances at her sister for, hoping she'll share her sentiment.

Penelope doesn't because she finds such displays endearing.

though she doesn't voice it, she roots for Klaus.

In the end, he comes out as the victor.

Surprisingly, Leonas does put up good competition.

They descend their horses and wait for Hugo. The little lord arrives breathless but exhilarated. Leonas pats his nephew on the back. It's the closest display of affection Anastasia has witnessed from him, she's surprised by it.

Although, he quickly returns to the character she knows when he goes up to Klaus. His expression tells her that whatever he's about to say is better left unsaid.

         "Fair win," he says, then sneaks a glance at Anastasia who stands behind Klaus. "As fair as it can get when we're sharing her."

         The Duke grins at his own comment, then offers his hand for Klaus to shake. He doesn't join in on the joke, but he shakes his hand nonetheless.

         Though, he uses unnecessary force, so much so that a crack is heard and Leonas yelps. He snatches back his hand, squeezing it to soothe the pain.

         This time, Klaus is the one to grin.

Maria comes to his aid—as if she cares for more than just his title. "Leo! Leo, are you okay?"

Klaus turns away from the scene. If Elijah were here, he'd give him one of his reproachful looks. Since he's not, Klaus gets away with his reckless ways.

Even though she shouldn't, Anastasia trails after him, curious on what he's done to the duke. When they are away from the crowd, Anastasia asks quietly, "What did you do?"

         "I fractured some of his fingers."

         "But not all?"

         He's surprised by the discouragement in her tone, but something tells him it's because he hadn't fractured them all. He thinks he might like her more for it.

         She displays more concern for Klaus than the man with the broken hand. "And the consequences, what would you do about that?"

         "Consequences are below me, my love."

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

My love.

It's all she can think about as she makes her way to her chambers. Upon entering, the first room is a sitting area, which is where her mother has made herself comfortable.

         That pushes any cherished thoughts out of her mind.

"I think you forget that you have a mother."

Anastasia wishes she did, especially after how it's upon her belief that it was Lucia who sold her to the Duke, letting him know that she's a witch. It's a betrayal that awakens her vindictiveness most days.

Yes, she has been avoiding her mother, but only because she dwells too much on her.

A perfect world would be one where she forgets she has Lucia as a mother.

         "I'm sorry, mama. I'll go see you more often." The words are without feeling, there's only the pretense of guilt.

         Lucia stands from the couch, grabs ahold of her daughter's hands, then rubs her knuckles. She gives her a sweet, tender smile. But it's all to prepare Anastasia for her next question.

"What are you doing with him?"

Anastasia knows exactly who she's referring to, she wonders how her mother got the gossip. It must've been Penelope blabbering. Then again, Anastasia hasn't exactly been subtle with her affair.

When Anastasia doesn't answer, Lucia asks again, more stern this time. "What are you doing with him, Anastasia?"

"Nothing."

"Do not lie to me."

Anastasia purses her lips, her head drops. She doesn't speak, that only angers her mother more. Anastasia wishes she knew how to keep that anger from arising. Perhaps she does know how, only acts like she doesn't.

"Is this why you're here?"

         "It doesn't have to be the only reason," Lucia says as if they're speaking of some sort of transaction. Tell me the truth and perhaps, I could show you some love.

"I am not doing anything wrong," Anastasia pleads, thinking about how this has been permitted by her fiancé. "I promise it's not wrong."

"Cariño, you know the answer," Lucia tuts. Anastasia sees how she's reeking with righteousness. From the way Lucia looks at her, it makes Anastasia feel small, reduced to a little girl. "The right answer."

Anastasia shakes her head, feeling the unexpected urge to cry—as if she's finally realizing how wrong it is.

         (Someday she'll share her mother's gaze, those eyes that reduce you to a small, insignificant thing.)

         If her mother goes on, Anastasia will forget about all of the good moments she had with him.

         Lucia tries to reason with her, uses a gentler tone. All to make her understand that she needs to fix this mistake or else she could lose all that she's built for her, but Anastasia can't shake away her stare.

The last thing she wants is to feel guilty.

         "Get out," Anastasia says, setting down hard on her foot. "Get out! Get out!"

         The rude response peels away Lucia's graciousness. She harshly tugs down on her daughter's arm, making her wince. "You are throwing away your life. Do you think I could respect you for this?"

         She leaves and Anastasia lets the words sit around till they feel like the truth.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

         She's not sure why this is what leads her to cry. She can't recall the last time she cried. She cries for the disappointment in her mother's eyes. It makes her realize that one of the few joys she has found in this new life is one she has to let go of. Before she can control it, her eyes water with tears, and it seems that once she starts to cry, she can't bring herself to stop.

         She locks herself in her room, only deciding to go out when the sun starts to set. There's still duties she has to fulfill, like showing up to dinner and pretending, that for today, she still cares about her status.

Dinner passes by like a chore. She's silent for most of it. Her sulky expression seems to bother those around her, especially the Duke. She could never please him, she could care less about it.

         He's undeserving of what she's doing for him, she finds a bit of comfort in her superiority. She looks at his hand, fingers flexing like they'd never been mistreated. He's had them magically healed.

         Anastasia scoffs, believing she could endure the pain better.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Dinner ends, she doesn't linger to drink more wine as she usually does. She leaves the table, standing with ostentatious determination from it. She hears a snicker, she doesn't check to see who it's from.

         As she moves through the hall, she can only think of the desire to lock herself in her room and cry some more. She remembers why she doesn't let herself cry. It's a plague.

         Her desire to sulk is inhibited when she turns around a corner and is pulled by strong hands towards it. It's Klaus. He hides both of them in between a bay window and a marble pillar.

         She doesn't have time for this.

She pushes him away, harsher than intended. She gets cruel when upset, her family tells her. She's never aware of how cruel. "Don't. I'm in no mood to."

Her tone takes him by surprise. He chuckles, the sound as equally cold as her demeanor. "To think this morning you'd been so taken by me."

She picks at her cuticles, eyes casting to the ground. She doesn't say anything to him, hoping her silence will repel him.

         It doesn't. His stubbornness only serves to infuriate her. "That was this morning—not anymore."

         He brings a hand to her cheek, he thinks she's playing at being cruel. She fears he doesn't take her seriously. She's young, much younger than him. She has something to lose, he doesn't. It makes her angry...so angry.

         She leans her face away from his grasp, a grimace taking over expression. "Would you stop? I'm not. I don't..."

         He overlooks her coldness. "Have I done something wrong?"

         "Anyone could see us," she says before stepping away from him, determined to continue on her previous path.

         But he won't let her. She only gets a few steps in before he pulls at her again. He needs to know what's wrong. She's never cared, so why now?

         She huffs, nothing seems to get to him. She reveals the truth, hoping that finally will.

"My mother knows." She looks up at him. Though her eyes are on his face, it's like she doesn't see him at all. Her mind is too lost on her worries. "Everyone knows."

She steps away from him. The action doesn't align with the sentiment of her next words. "But even then, I still choose to be here—with you."

That statement is enough for him to whisk her away.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Klaus thinks he's listened to her. If her worry is that anyone could see them, granted a worry that was not there hours ago, his vampire speed solves it.

         He seems to bend time and distance to his will. Before she knows it, she's in what she recognizes as his sleeping chambers. She's never seen them before, she should never have to know what they look like.

         Still, she sees they are not much different from hers. If only smaller, though the furniture arrangement is the same.

         Her eyes zone in on the doorway. It's shut. A detail that shouldn't be possible. His ability frightens her as much as it thrills her. She avoids looking at him, avoids the emotions that can overcome her. "I shouldn't be here."

"Really, even when I decide who goes in?"

         She lets herself gaze at him then. She's unsure of how to read his demeanor. At first glance, he's playful, showing off just how much power he has. But underneath that, he seems to be telling her something more, much darker.

         She should leave, but she doesn't want to find out if he'd stop her. She's willingly taken this man—no, monster—to her bed. He flirts with her like an ordinary man would. Certainly is as persistent as one, if not more.

         In the past, she's allowed herself to be whisked into the dark fantasy of him. She finds she still wants to feel what he makes her feel.

As much as her mother's words have upset her, she stays here—with him.

In the far side of the room is the bed. It's fluffy, like it's barely used. She doesn't let herself wonder where he sleeps instead. His voice breaks her out of her dangerous train of thought. "Is that where your interests lie?"

She can tell he's teasing her. She smiles a bit, tries to move past her state of distress. "It's more than that."

He takes a seat, hoping he'll join her on the couch. "Talk to me."

She realizes she's never simply talked to him. There's always been a clear script to follow, an agenda to get something out of him. The offer to simply talk unsteadies her more than it should. But she sits beside him because she's always chosen to appear bolder than she really is.

         He looks at her with attentive eyes. It disconcerts her but she's not sure why. She's not used to feeling like this when offered admiration. The only reason she has these sudden fears is because of her mother, isn't it?

         Before her visit this morning, everything had been going fine for Anastasia.

         She decides that she can talk to Klaus, share her anguish with him. "All my life, my mother has wanted to control me. She only loves me when I do what she wants."

         Conditional love, that's what Anastasia feels from Lucia.

         She brings a hand to his arm, the touch soft. "It seems for you it's only you and your siblings. Is it better? Being without your parents?"

         "My mother was a manipulative liar," Klaus admits, choosing to uncover the scars from his childhood. The memory of his mother's death, suddenly, fresh in his mind. "And my father, he hated me. Long before he found out I was my mother's bastard child."

         "A bastard," she repeats with a tone of disbelief that makes her sound mistakenly amused. "You're a bastard?"

         He frowns, his stare hardening. A fear suddenly seeps into him—in which he'll share the thing that causes him the deepest shame and she'll turn away from him for it.

         She notices that unease. "I'm not judging you. I meant...I just meant." A shake of her head. "Nothing."

         "You can tell me."

         She ponders his invitation; how many of her secrets she is willing to share. He has lied to her but so has her family, and so much of what she's willing to put up with comes from what she grew up with. "When I was thirteen, my mother said something about my father not being my father. I searched for confirmation—not from her. She would've never told me. I started going to my father, kept challenging him, saying things such as if I was your daughter, you wouldn't do that."

         "Did you find out the truth?"

         "Of course. They beat it into me, thankfully one time was enough." She squeezes her fingers against her palm. "When time passed, they spoke of it as a phase."

         She carries his shame, but unlike him, she doesn't seem burdened by it. He wonders what it would be like—to not constantly define yourself by that word. The bastard son; the bastard brother.

         Her head drops. "It's not something I've said to anyone before. Please, don't..."

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

         "I wouldn't—not for everything I've trusted you with."

While he doesn't regret sharing all that he has with her, it doesn't particularly sit well with him either. Any time she chooses to, she could use it against him.

But, in the confines of this bedroom, he wants to be listened to. He wants to be seen.

         "My father," Klaus confesses. "He hunts for me endlessly. He is relentless and vicious in his pursuit."

         He tells her how he's tried to get away from him; how this castle has become a refuge. He and his family have done everything in their power to evade him. It hasn't been enough.

         There's a shift in Klaus's demeanor, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It makes him seem younger than he is. His eyes, often reflective of the many years he's lived, seem like they belong to a boy.

The boy he'd been in front of Mikael.

         Anastasia frowns, he looks so unlike the monster she's come to pictured him as. She sees a scared man, vulnerable even. She wonders if this is the truest version of him, if this is who he really is. She is put off by his weakness.

         They have bared the scars of their childhood and how they haunt them still.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

         She keeps his secret, just like he keeps hers.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

         The painting he's been doing of her lies finished in her room, leaned against the post of the bed. It's the first thing she notices upon arrival.

         It's a gift. But she doesn't know what for. Her vulnerability, opening up to him? Their shared affliction? Perhaps, for her confidentiality.

         She looks at the painting. He's captured a sort of beauty she didn't think she possessed, even the red dress she'd worn that fateful night seems to have come alive through his brush. But her face, it makes her in awe of how he sees her. Is it overly vain to be enthralled with herself?

         She picks up the painting and stores it in her wardrobe, right next to the drawing she keeps from him. They're gifts she'll prefer no one else knows about, especially with her mother's earlier questioning.

She realizes Klaus has distracted her enough that she doesn't feel like crying anymore. She just wants to rest, curl up in her bed, and forget about the world.

         But an intruder prevents her so.

         There's the slam of the door, then the sound of footsteps. She hides against the side of her wardrobe, attempts to hold her breath. This visit is unlike others, her instincts tell her.

         "I know you're in here."

It's Kol. She must pay her dues.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

"Look, darling, I don't think we're on the same page anymore."

"You haven't been meeting with me. Have you been avoiding me?"

"I wouldn't dare."

It's a lie.

Kol knows it. But he seems keen to play along. "Ah, so you are smart."

         His patronizing only serves to insult her. But there is no point in arguing with him, it would get her nowhere. It would just make her situation worse.

Her silence fuels Kol's monologue. "But that's because you've already told my brother, isn't it? It's the only reason you're brave enough to go about your day."

         She plays oblivious. "Tell him, what?"

         "Use your wits, little witch."

         She is using her wits, believing she has everything under careful control. The scale is just so delicate, anything could tip him over the edge.

That leaves stoicism as the best tactic.

He cranes his head to the side, just a little, feigning great interest in her. "We both know you're not that good a liar."

She breaks. "I didn't tell him, Kol!"

         Suddenly, he grips her arm. She jolts, he sneers at her. "Your heart's racing."

         Without breaking eye contact, she tries to take a step back. "Because you frighten me—not because I lie."

He contemplates what to do with her. If she were any other mortal, Kol would've ripped out her throat the moment he stepped into the room.

         (He still recalls the sweet taste of her blood.)

         But she isn't any other mortal—not when she's protected by Klaus.

         Despite his earlier patronizing, Kol knows she isn't stupid, which is why she wouldn't terminate their agreement, unless she thought she could get away with it.

         She's banded with Klaus, Kol realizes.

         It's a realization he came to before even entering the room. His visit had been with the purpose of retaliation. Fueled by impulse, he barged into her chambers, thinking to hurt her.

         Something stops him when he sees her. His brother's rage, the fear of a coffin, or the girl herself. He doesn't know.

         She waits for him to confess what he wants from this meeting—what he wants from her.

         He never does.

         He leers at her, like a savage predator. "Between my brother and I, I'm clear about my motives."

         He storms off. Anastasia doesn't feel relieved—not for the crazed look in his eyes, ready to unleash chaos.

.·*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

That night, Kol kills, just as his siblings believed he eventually would. It's this kill that counts—not the ones before. This is the one that finally crosses him out as the uncontrollable killer.

         If asked, he'll say he did it for fun.

         But that's not what he did it for, no. It all came down to his rivalry with his brother. When push comes to shove, Kol does anything to outshine Klaus—in the worst possible sense. It's a delicate scale, where depending on the circumstances, it is either be seen by him or be better than him.

         This time, it's something in between, and as they say, you reap what you sow.

Because tonight Kol has killed the Duke's sister.

         author's note. ummm...anaklaus bonding moment?????? okay. that kill is gonna trigger the last chain chain of events and the act comes to an end.

pls don't ask me how long this chapter has been sitting in my drafts for xx