Harewood House :: Even Flowers Need Shade :: DraMa

Just after this
Garden Party

"Continue enjoying the party."

The sound of Oleg's voice from behind her made her flinch. She hadn't realized he'd followed her out. Not that it was surprising. He wanted to make sure his point had gotten through.

It had.

Clearly.

"We'll take a walk." Now THAT voice was welcome.

Safe. Steady. Affection.

An L word she wasn't quite ready to investigate.

Matilda didn't say goodbye to Liliya or Lev. She barely acknowledged either of them after returning to the garden. There was a question lingering at the back of her mind, one she would need to ask Liliya eventually.

Bram had told her about the work Liliya was doing with Everleigh.

Now that she'd experienced even the smallest glimpse of what the Zdravkovas could do, she needed to know that Ever wasn't going through the same treatment.

The fog in her vision slowly lifted, everything sharpening back into focus. It should have been a relief. Instead, every ray of sunlight felt like it was driving deeper behind her eyes. Sharp and painful.

She wanted darkness. Silence. A bed. Instead, she had to play her part at the party.

Drago guided her away from the guests without a word, leading her down winding paths bordered by sculpted hedges, ornamental grasses and flower beds so perfectly manicured they almost looked painted. Nothing dared to grow where it didn’t belong.

It felt very Oleg.

Another turn revealed a small shaded area tucked beneath the branches of a flowering Kousa dogwood. A simple stone bench rested beneath it, hidden just enough from the main path to offer a little privacy.

"There."

It was barely more than a whisper as she lifted a hand toward it.

The moment they reached the bench, Matilda sank onto it with a quiet sigh. Her eyes slipped shut as she tipped her head back, rolling her neck in an attempt to ease the tightness that had settled in her shoulders.

It didn't help.

The music had faded into the distance now, replaced by the steady pounding inside her skull. For several long moments, she simply breathed.

Her eyes remained closed as he sat next to her. Not ready to look into his brown eyes and face the reality of their situation. He knew what happened in that room.

Of course he did.

"In my clutch..." She swallowed before trying again. "There's a small tincture bottle. The label says Soothe. Would you get it for me, please?"

The beaded clutch rested in her lap, a gift from Bram. Small on the outside, magically expanded on the inside. Somewhere among her wand, compact, hairpins and the other odds and ends she always carried sat two tiny glass bottles.

One for pain. One for the days where she needed more energy.

Right now, she just wanted the pounding in her head to stop.

The music soon faded into the background, chattering crowds giving way to towering hedges, the quiet rustle of leaves replacing a party that had quickly grown oppressive. Gravel crunched beneath their feet, but the steady rhythm did nothing to ease the tension coiled through Drago’s body.

After a short while, Matilda pointed toward a shaded bench, and Drago let her guide them there. She sank onto it, but he remained standing for a moment, looking down at her with a mixture of sorrow, concern, and an anger he couldn’t quite name and didn’t particularly care to examine.

Not for her. Certainly not her.

Reason enough to push it as far aside as he could.

Matilda looked as though she might faint—her voice frail, her steps slow, her skin paler than usual—but she closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, breathing. Drago remained silent, unable to speak. Something inside his chest clumped into a hard, shapeless knot.

God, he should have done something.

Hadn’t he, though? Hadn’t he tried? Or should he have done more? He had thought about it before. Every time she came into contact with one of his family members, he had considered warning her—telling her exactly what they were capable of, what they expected, what she would have to endure if she was anything less than perfect.

But he hadn’t wanted to frighten her. Least of all, frighten her off.

And now here she sat. Pale and shaken, carrying the consequences of everything he had chosen not to tell her.

Drago’s stomach clenched. At last, he sat beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as his eyes settled on her profile.

"In my clutch...There's a small tincture bottle. The label says Soothe. Would you get it for me, please?"

Desperate to be useful, Drago moved immediately.

He took the clutch from her lap and searched through its contents until he found the small glass vial.

“Here.” He set the clutch beside him on the bench and carefully placed the tincture into her hand. “I can summon you a pain potion. Or Pepper-Up. We always have them stocked.”

She felt him sit down on the bench. The simple action helped calm her.

“Here.” She could hear him rustling in her clutch, then felt the small glass vial in her hand. [i]“I can summon you a pain potion. Or Pepper-Up. We always have them stocked.”[/b]

Eyes still shut, she uncorked the vial and took a swig of the spicy liquid. Thankfully, it was highly concentrated and a little went a long way. Matilda sighed, feeling the cooling mint run down her throat.

She let out a slow breath. The knot in her stomach began to loosen.

Inside the bottle, she had mixed peppermint, ginger, white willow bark and feverfew. There was no magic. No caudron or spells to make the concoction. This was herbology at it’s core. The mixing of herbs and plants to aid in healing.

”No, I’ll be ok in a minute, I promise.” Her head rested against his shoulder, a sigh released some of the tension in her body. The silence was easier than trying to find the right words to say.

The ginger settled the nausea almost immediately, while the willow bark slowly eased the pressure behind her eyes. It wasn't instant, but the effects were familiar.

"I can't take pain potions." Her voice was quieter now. "Or most medicines, honestly. They don't agree with me. My mother spent years trying to find one that didn't make me sick."

She turned the little bottle between her fingers.

"Apparently redheads can be more sensitive to them. I don't know if that's actually true, but..." She lifted the vial slightly. "This works."

Her thumb traced the glass. "Peppermint. Ginger. White willow bark. Feverfew." A tiny smile finally returned. "No magic. Just plants."

Her head settled against his shoulder, and Drago reached for her hand. Gently, he laced their fingers together, his thumb brushing slow strokes along the outside of her index finger, a gesture where words failed him to express the grief sitting heavily in his chest.

Seeing her in pain had always hit him straight in the heart. The first time she had told him about her grandmother. That time he had kissed Alice. Now.

Every time, he had wanted to do something. Fix something. Take the hurt away. But this time, he had nothing. No explanation, no excuse, no encouraging words that could soften what had happened. This was his family. And one day it would be hers too. This was how it worked and how it always had. Punishment, immediate and indelible.

Drago knew what Matilda had faced minutes ago was merely a taste. Nothing compared to what he and Lev had endured before, or what Danika and Liliya had.

A warning. To both of them.

His gaze dropped absently to their joined hands, following the movement of his thumb against her skin as Matilda spoke.

"I can't take pain potions. Or most medicines, honestly. They don't agree with me. My mother spent years trying to find one that didn't make me sick. Apparently redheads can be more sensitive to them. I don't know if that's actually true, but…This works. Peppermint. Ginger. White willow bark. Feverfew. No magic. Just plants."

He could hear the faint smile in her voice, even through its thinness, and all it served to do was make his chest ache a little more.

Perhaps he had expected her to be angry with him. Perhaps he had thought she’d cry. This resignation was worse than either.

Drago tightened his fingers around hers, turning his head to press a kiss to her hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into it, the only thing he knew to say. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

Eyes still shut, Matilda kept her breaths slow and steady. There was a little of the tincture left on her fingers. Bringing them to her nose, she took a long, deep breath, focusing on the peppermint and ginger.

The fresh spicy scent helped clear the fog.

His hand squeezing hers cleared it even more. Then the kiss to the hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want this to happen.”

It was all the confirmation she needed. He knew what happened, had been on the receiving end of his Aunt’s wand no doubt, many times, judging by the sadness in his voice.

She had every reason to be angry. Once again, she'd been blindsided by something no one had thought to tell her.

Even so, Matilda held no anger towards Drago.

"You didn't do it. You don't have anything to apologize for." Her fingers tightened around his.[/b] She hesitated before the next words left her mouth.

"I do." Opening her eyes at last, she blinked, trying to adjust to the light. The pounding behind her eyes had dulled to something manageable now, the herbs finally beginning to do their work.

She turned toward him, never letting go of his hand. "I'm sorry I acted out. I know I embarrassed you... and your family."

She took a slow breath before continuing, looking down at their hands. Her thumb making circles around his knuckles.

”I told myself before arriving that I needed to do everything right. Stand the right way. Say all the right things. Smile at the right times and keep my opinions to myself.” She swallowed, blowing a breath out while avoiding eye contact.

"I want them to think I’m... enough. Not just for the family." She swallowed. "For you." The words came out softer than the rest.

”I Just… I don’t want you to be embarrassed to be with me." Her confession came out in a rush, afraid to look at Drago, afraid that she would find a look of disappointment on his face.

After her time with Oleg and Nadežda, Matilda had learned a lot about their expectations. She knew more about their arrangement, her future… their future.

Her shoulders fell. "I know I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I was just caught off guard, again. I’m so tired of being the last person to know what my future holds. But, if anything good came out of today, your father told me everything I can expect, so at least going forward I won’t be caught off guard.”

Matilda looked away again, blinking hard, trying to keep the tears at bay.

She still needed to digest all the information, no St Mungo’s. Two baby boys. The engagement and wedding were nearly planned. She was just a passenger in her future. No one cared what she thought or wanted… except maybe the man sitting with her, holding her hand.

"You didn't do it. You don't have anything to apologize for."

He hadn’t wielded the wand, but still, Drago felt the need to apologise. This was precisely what he had tried so hard to keep from her—not merely the knowledge of what his family was capable of, but the experience of it. He had wanted to spare her all of this, to keep her safe from the worst of what being a Zdravkova would entail. And yet, he hadn't managed to prevent any of it. Father had managed to get his hands on her after all. The truth of that sat heavily on his chest.

“I do.”

She what—?

Drago lifted his head, brow drawn as he searched her face, confusion momentarily replacing regret.

"I'm sorry I acted out. I know I embarrassed you... and your family."

Oh.

Drago stilled.

Somehow, he had completely pushed aside why any of this had happened in the first place—Matilda’s outburst, loud and shrill, in the middle of a gathering attended by half of Britain's high society. As much as he wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, he knew better than to lie. He knew she shouldn’t have, and he wished she hadn’t. People would talk. Father would hold him responsible. Drago would likely face his own punishment once Matilda and the rest of the guests had left.

He had nothing to say to ease the impact of her actions. She had embarrassed the family. Him, too, whether he liked to admit it or not. While he wasn’t angry with her, Drago understood the consequences far better than she did. These things lingered. It had been drilled into the Zdravkova siblings’ minds from the moment they could talk.

Perfection, always.

Anything less was unacceptable.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel for Matilda as she continued speaking, his expression softening with every word. He knew she tried. He knew she struggled. He knew this wasn’t her world. But none of that would excuse her in his father’s eyes, and he knew that too. What he didn’t know was how to help her navigate a temper that seemed to break free in a matter of seconds. How to intervene before it got the better of her. How to recognise the moment her frustration became too much.

He didn’t want to change that part of her. He only wished to help her control it.

Drago listened silently, keeping his eyes on her face. When she admitted she didn’t want him to be embarrassed by her, something inside him gave a painful little twist. She fell quiet after a moment, and Drago gave her hand a gentle tug.

“Come here, lisichka.”

He guided her into his lap, one arm settling around her waist, his hand resting loosely against her thigh, the other brushing fingertips through the hair at her temple, voice low.

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you. I never will be.” He paused, swallowing before continuing, his voice dropping further. “I should have told you what they’re capable of. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t want to frighten you.”

And look where that had gotten him.

Drago sighed softly through his nose, resting his cheek against her forehead. He wished it hadn’t taken this for Matilda to understand the full scope of the future awaiting her. He wished he’d known just how little she had been told. Perhaps, if he’d explained things sooner, some of this could have been avoided. Perhaps not. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could at least try to help her understand better now.

“We should talk more,” he murmured. “About the future.” His fingers traced absentminded patterns against the fabric of her dress, his arm remaining snug around her waist. “You can ask me anything, Flower. I’ll do my best to explain what I can.”

He drew back just enough to look at her.

“If there’s anything you don’t understand, anything you’re unsure about, I want you to tell me, yes?” His thumb brushed gently against her cheek. “I don’t want this to happen again.”

“If there’s anything you don’t understand, anything you’re unsure about, I want you to tell me, yes? I don’t want this to happen again.”

For several seconds, Matilda simply looked at him. Anything. He wanted this to work, just as much as she did. It was obvious in the way he held her, spoke to her, touched her softly, that he didn’t like to see her in pain.

It warmed something inside her to know he was with her in this fight. He had loyalties to his family, there was no changing that, but he was there to help her through it. He wanted her to succeed.

"Anything?" The word came quietly. Almost cautiously. There was a lot she wanted to know. Needed to know. But it was difficult to put everything into words.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to ask. I’m being told what my future is going to look like. So I have some idea, but how we get there is still a mystery. I guess…” Her fingers curled lightly against his shirt, taking a slow breath. ”I know the end game, but not everything in the middle.”

Every second that passed her head cleared. The pounding was barely noticeable. Her mind finally started to come back, the fog lifting. ”I guess everything in between will happen when it happens. I think if I think less about the details and just try and… be what they want, things will go better.”

Her gaze drifted toward the gardens just beyond the tree that had become their sanctuary. Perfect rows, perfect hedges, not a single flower out of place or deciding to wither before its time.

Her expression softened, but there was something tired behind her eyes. "I know what your father expects from me now. I know what your family expects from me. I know where we're going to live and that apparently our wedding is already half planned."

She gave a tiny incredulous shake of her head. "I know I'm expected to give you two sons." Her cheeks warmed, embarrassed by the requirement. Oleg could demand it, but there was only so much Matilda and Drago could control. The gender of any future children wasn’t in their control.

As her mind and body cleared, she felt the need to move. Getting up off Drago’s lap, she stood between his legs, taller than him for once. Matilda leaned into him, her forehead resting against his, her arms resting on his shoulders.

”I know this isn’t going to be easy. I will try my best, but there will be more mistakes. It’s inevitable. I didn’t grow up in this life, so there will be times I do things wrong. As long as you’re after, everything will be ok.”

She was marrying Drago. Not Oleg. Not Nadežda. Not Lev or any other member of the Zdravkova family.

Drago.

She tightened her arms around him, her face tucking into his neck as she breathed him in.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to guess which version of me is going to make everyone happy."

Her voice was quiet now. Honest. "I know there are things I'm going to have to change, but I need to know that I can still be me with you. That you'll be okay with both versions."

She swallowed. "Matilda Zdravkova..."

The name felt strange coming from her own lips. Heavy. Real. But not quite as frightening as it had been a few hours ago.

Her arms tightened around his shoulders. "...and your Sunflower."

That was the first time she had said her future name. Wife. Husband. Marriage. The words still felt enormous. But for the first time, they didn't taste bitter on her tongue.

Oleg had given her a great deal to think about. He had told her what would be expected of her. What her life would look like. What would be required. And strangely enough, that was better than not knowing. At least now there were no more surprises hiding behind polite smiles and closed doors.

Matilda knew what she was walking into. And she knew who she would be walking into it with.

He really should have questioned Matilda’s understanding of the future more. He had assumed too much. Assumed that what was obvious and ordinary to him would become so to her, eventually, gradually, despite knowing how differently she had been raised. After all the training she had received, after years of living to a pureblood girl’s expectations and standards, shouldn’t that have been enough?

Apparently not.

Neither etiquette lessons nor Mrs Nordstrom’s strictness had prepared her for what awaited her. They had taught her how to perform the part without teaching what it truly meant to live it.

Oleg’s influence certainly had.

Drago couldn’t help wondering whether he should have known. Whether he should have noticed the gaps, asked about her vision of their future, made certain she knew what she was walking into. But to him, it had already been written in stone, so why ask at all? She hadn’t asked either. So wasn’t the most logical conclusion that there hadn't been anything to explain at all?

Apparently not.

No matter how he twisted and turned it, though, Drago kept arriving at the same conclusion. He could have prevented this. Preparing her had been his responsibility. Father had made that perfectly clear. But Drago hadn’t realised how much there was to prepare her for or how impossible the task would become. Or maybe he had simply failed.

"I know what your father expects from me now. I know what your family expects from me. I know where we're going to live and that apparently our wedding is already half planned. I know I'm expected to give you two sons."

All things Drago had known instinctively, so fundamental he had never thought to question them. Hearing Matilda list them aloud only tightened the knot around his chest.

What else was there? What other expectations had he never thought to explain because they seemed too obvious to mention? How many more times would something be revealed to her only after she’d already made a mistake? Could he do enough to steer them through this?

Matilda rose from his lap, and Drago briefly closed his eyes as her forehead came to rest against his.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy. I will try my best, but there will be more mistakes. It’s inevitable. I didn’t grow up in this life, so there will be times I do things wrong. As long as you’re after, everything will be ok.”

As though she’d read his mind, her words did little to soothe his worry. Would everything be okay? With Father looming over them, always watching for another misstep, waiting? Could she learn to navigate this world? Could he help her do it? He supposed they had no other choice but to try.

Matilda’s arms tightened around his shoulders as her face disappeared into the crook of his neck. Drago didn’t say anything, just held her.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to guess which version of me is going to make everyone happy. I know there are things I'm going to have to change, but I need to know that I can still be me with you. That you'll be okay with both versions."

Drago sighed softly. “Matilda…”

How could she doubt this? He was about to draw back when her next words came.

"Matilda Zdravkova...and your Sunflower."

A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Gently, Drago placed his hands on her hips and eased her back just enough to see her face. “You’ll always be my sunflower,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You know that. And you know you can be yourself with me. You have been from the beginning. If I haven’t run by now, you can be certain I won’t start.”

A hint of his familiar grin returned.

“You’re my Carrot, aren’t you?”

He let the tease linger for a moment before his expression settled again.

“We’ll be okay,” he said, sounding more reassuring than he felt. He couldn’t guarantee evading Father’s watchful eye or his unbending punishments. But he could promise they’d face it together. That’s all he had, anyway.

Before Matilda could search his face too closely, Drago drew her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her against him. “I promise, Flower.”

“You’ll always be my sunflower,” he said, tucking some loose hair behind her ear. “You know that. And you know you can be yourself with me. You have been from the beginning. If I haven’t run by now, you can be certain I won’t start.”

Matilda chuckled. It was a miracle he hadn’t run for the hills. She was more often than not a mess of epic proportions. Thankfully, he seemed to like her that way. As long as they were alone.

It occurred to her that they both played different characters while in the company of others. A year ago, she would have never believed that Drago could joke and tease her. Smile with dimples. Soften the rough edges just for her.

“You’re my Carrot, aren’t you?” Matilda groaned dramatically. That nickname would apparently never be forgotten. ”How very original of you sir. Calling the red head a carrot.” Her voice took on a regal mocking tone.

“We’ll be okay.” He wrapped her up in his arms, bringing with it a sense of safety and security. ”I promise, Flower.”

The headache that was once pounding in her skull had dulled. Barely noticeable in his arms.

Even with Oleg's words still echoing in the back of her mind, they no longer felt quite so suffocating. Nothing about becoming a Zdravkova had become easier in the last half hour. She still had expectations to meet, lessons to learn, and a family that intimidated her more than she cared to admit. But somehow, standing beside Drago, those expectations felt easier, knowing that he would share the burden.

"It's probably best if we go back before your father sends out a search party." Matilda sighed dramatically. "Or worse... Lev." She wanted to stay in their little bubble under the dogwood, but that wouldn’t be acceptable. Oleg would undoubtedly come looking for them.

Tightening her arms around him one last time, she stole a quick kiss before stepping back. She smoothed the wrinkles from his jacket, then looked up with a sweet smile.

"Mr. Zdravkova." She offered him an exaggeratedly proper curtsy that would have made Mrs. Beaumont cringe. "Would you like to dance?"