Harewood House | a taste of bitterness ~ Invite

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Saturday, 14 July 1923
~ 3:20 pm ~
Harewood House Gardens

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Hues of lavender and periwinkle blue dappled the garden in specks of colour and life, soft as the strings of music drifting on the summer air. Streamers draped the lower branches of towering oak trees, artfully shaped and impossibly delicate, spanning from tree to tree and crisscrossing overhead. Beneath them, guests mingled in clusters, their voices blending with the music and the gentle hum of conversation.

Some couples danced upon white tiles marbled with black, a dance floor specially set up for the occasion, while others lingered at long wooden tables dressed in creamy white linen. Floral arrangements of carnations, peonies, and roses filled the spaces between them, their pale pink and purple echoing the colours scattered throughout the garden. Drinks refilled themselves at a touch, while platters of appetisers seemed never to empty.

Paper garlands, not yet lit, bobbed in mid-air. Enchanted butterflies fluttered in and out of view, appearing and disappearing among the flowers and guests.

Everything was light and pretty for Wiosna’s fifteenth birthday party. Even the girl herself was dressed to match, standing out amid the crowd clad in beige, white, and cream.

It was the first time his sister had organised an event like this on her own, with the help of a few others but without their mother’s guidance. And although she didn’t let it show, Dago knew how much that loss still pained her, especially today. It was there in the imperceptible tightness of her smile and the subtle shadow behind her eyes, in the way her happiness seemed dimmer than it had in previous years, and in the fervour with which she swept amongst the guests.

While Drago had appreciated and respected their mother—despite her many flaws—Wiosna had idolised and revered her like no other. Doing this alone weighed heavier than most would ever begin to recognise. She was hiding it well.

But Wiosna had always been the picture-perfect image of Zdravkova poise and elegance, even at her young age.

Catching her eye from a distance, Drago gave her a subtle smile and a faint nod. He would find her later. With Lev and Liliya as company, she was in good hands, and besides, he didn’t feel like subjecting Matilda to his brother’s quips if he could help it.

Instead, Drago slowed their idle stroll and looked around at Matilda. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, voice lowered and lips curling slightly. Since their arrival, they had been tied up in one conversation after another, practically handed from one person to the next. He could almost see the pent-up energy simmering beneath her skin, only waiting to explode. Better to give her a break while they could.

“A few more hours.” He kept his smile contained, but gently flicked her nose anyway. “You can do that. Would you like to dance for a bit?”

Getting ready for this event was more difficult than any other single event in Matilda’s history. It wasn’t just a fancy event, or a gala where everyone would be judging your outfit. No, this was at the Zdravkova estate, with the entire family in attendance. Well, the British contingent at least.

The amount of clothing in her closet had nearly tripled since Paris. Silk, satin, beading and embroidery was represented in mass. Every color of the rainbow was represented for every occasion and every season. It was a ridiculous amount of fabric, but while standing in front of the rows of dresses, she was happy with the selection.

The instructions were to wear white, ivory or cream, which helped a lot in her choosing. Narrowing down the options considerably. There were three she was looking at, finally opting for the more conservative of the choices.

The ivory dress had a straight, drop waist silhouette with an intricate beaded sheer overlay. The delicate pleated chiffon skirt moved lightly with every step, hitting mid calf. To not draw attention, she was wearing the magical stockings, hiding her green scar, no need to discuss THAT today of all days. Her hair was up and out of the way, but still like a beacon to those around her.

With the muted color palette, Matilda had hoped she could blend in with the other party guests, but with a head of bright red hair, that was never an option.

The estate looked like it had been plucked out of a fairytale. Roses, peonies and carnations were everywhere, filling the air with a beautiful floral smell. Crystal glasses glittered in the sun and music drifted through the crowd. Gentle laughter could be heard, coming from the small groups of party goers as they discussed everything from the party to politics and every subject in between. It should have been enchanting.

Instead, Matilda’s thoughts sounded a lot like her grandmother.

Shoulders back.
Smile.
Not too much.
Never be the first to speak.
A gentleman introduces the lady, not the other way around.
Keep pace with Drago.
Do not swing your arms.
Hands still.
Do not laugh loudly.
Never let anyone know what you are thinking.

The instructions were on a loop in her head, like a test she was on the verge of failing. Every smile was measured. Every greeting was tempered. Even the way she accepted a glass of champagne required thought.

She desperately wanted to ask questions, compliment the flowers, tell stories that fit the conversation or laugh with the other ladies near the fountain, but each desire was quickly halted and tucked away.

It was exhausting. It was maddening.

It was her life now.

More than once she caught herself before opening her mouth to say something that would be frowned upon. She had never realized how much she enjoyed talking until she spent an afternoon convincing herself not to.

Instead, she busied herself with soft smiles, graceful nods and occasionally answering questions when it was appropriate.

Every now and then she would look to Drago for reassurance. Silently checking to see if she was doing everything correctly. Had she smiled too brightly? Had she spoken too much? The questions continued while they walked around the garden. Somewhere between introductions and polite discussions, she stopped worrying about the other guests opinions, and focused more on if Drago was proud of how she was acting.

Not only Drago, but the other Zdravkova’s. It felt constantly like there were eyes on her. Assessing, judging.

Matilda sighed as Drago walked them away from their last group. Her smile faltering, a large sigh escaping her mouth. Her feet hurt, her back was sore from maintaining a stiff posture, there was a headache brewing and she was pretty sure her molars were chipped from the tense set of her jaw.

As they slowed, Drago spoke low, just for her to hear. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a small upturn to his lips. Not HER smile, the dimples wouldn’t be coming out in this crowd.

“A few more hours.” He continued, flicking her nose playfully. Causing her smile to spread. “You can do that. Would you like to dance for a bit?”

Ugh, a few hours sounded like a lifetime, but she had made it this far.

”Dancing sounds lovely.”

Her perfectly poised mask lifted, offering him a genuine smile. Only for him. She slipped her hand in his as they walked towards the dance floor. For the first time since arriving, she didn't think about the eyes that were inevitably on her.
Perhaps she was still being judged. Perhaps every Zdravkova family member was looking at her arm placement and footwork, the tilt of her head and the smile on her face. She should care, but she didn’t.

For the next few minutes, she didn’t have to think.

She only had to follow his lead. And that, surprisingly, felt much easier than pretending to be perfect.

Liliya has had the best of times so far. She loved a good garden party, so much more than a gala in another grand ballroom. The breeze felt lovely against her skin and through her hair. The sky was open, the sun warm, and the air lighter than it ever could be trapped inside four walls. Although events like these, of any kind and in any setting, had once felt like torture, Liliya found herself growing rather fond of them.

Not just the attending either, but even the part that involved planning.

She hadn’t done much. Not anything, really. Mostly, she had observed, watched, and listened. Studied the way Danika and Wiosna had arranged a litany of little details with a casualness she could only follow with silent awe. Her etiquette training since becoming part of the family had covered many things—still did, in fact—but this had felt like an entirely different level of knowledge. She hadn’t the faintest idea how she was supposed to manage all of it one day.

The thought still brought a queasiness to her stomach, but Liliya tried not to dwell on it. If she could learn Legilimency, she could learn how to be a wife. The wife of an heir.

Even that thought sat uncomfortably. Not in an aversive sort of way, not anymore. More like worry. Like doubt.

In the past, Ruslana had been the one to organise things like these. Before her death. Danika had stepped up since, and as the oldest woman in the family, the responsibility had fallen to her. Seamlessly, perfectly, she had taken over, flawless as all these Zdravkova women and girls seemed to be. Standing in their orbit always made Liliya feel small. Undeserving even.

Maybe she was.

Still, she had grown to fit her place a little better. Ever since…then. Things felt easier, at the very least. Especially her relationship with the rest of the family. She thought some of them looked at her with just that little bit less critique in their eye.

Smiling at Wiosna, Liliya let her expression warm with genuine affection. “Everything came out so beautiful,” she said, willing the subtle shade of melancholy from her cousin’s eyes. “You did a wonderful job, truly. I’m having such a good time.”

Wiosna smiled, only slightly tinged with sadness. “Thank you, Liliya. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Lev before returning to her cousin. “Please, don’t let me hold you up. Go and dance. The music is only getting better. I’ll come find you later.”

Liliya smiled and nodded, watching the girl as she found another group of guests to check in on. Her heart ached for Wiosna, despite the aversion to her mother. Ruslana had never regarded her with anything more than contempt, but watching Wiosna struggle was gut-wrenching.

After a moment, Liliya took a breath.

Pushing the gloom away, she turned to look up at Lev, face bright with hope. “Can we dance?” She loved dancing. “Please?”

But his answer didn’t matter.

Movement over his shoulder caught her eye, and her gaze landed squarely on Tilly. Eyes rounding, Liliya gasped in excitement. “Tilly!” Dragging Lev along, she intercepted the redhead and her fiancé on their stroll. “And Drago.” Her gaze flicked up to him for a second, accompanied by the proper smile, before returning to her friend.

“How has your summer been?” she asked, feeling giddiness spiral through her chest. She really needed to find a way to stop that. “Are you excited for term? It’s your last, isn’t it? I can’t wait for you to live with us finally! You’ll have to finish school and get married first, of course, but after you and I can hang out!”

Little Wiosna was growing up.

Lev could still remember the day she was born and the way her delicate little wails had filled the halls of their home. Soft, tempered, as though she'd come into the world knowing she was a lady. She had always been the picture of a perfect Zdravkova girl, the pride of her mother and all those that had the privilege of doting on her.

Now fifteen, she was all but a woman, preparing for the life that lay ahead of her, whatever Father's plan was. Likely a strategic marriage the moment it was appropriate, and no doubt she would make someone a dutiful wife. Did he wish such simplicity for his sisters? Lev didn't know what else could wait for them. Girls like Danika and Wiosna and Natalya were raised for such a life. Career ambitions were unheard of. A life of being single and fleeting from one adventure to the next wasn't possible. They'd been raised to marry, produce more heirs and continue the lineage of whatever family they were married to.

Wiosna knew it as well as any of the other women here did. It was their lot in life, just as the life that laid ahead of him was his. "Happy Birthday, solnyshko." He smiled at his sister, playfully pinching her chin with a soft brush of his fingers. She beamed up at him, before turning her attentions to Liliya while he glanced out across the party.

His father would be pleased. Danika and Wisona had put together a beautiful event, one that would rival even Ruslana's. It was good to see that just because the woman he held no affection for was no longer here, it didn't mean the talents she had possessed were gone as well.

“Can we dance? Please?”

Was he allowed to answer? A small smile crept at the corner of his lips but before he could say one word she was squealing, nearly in his ear.

“Tilly!”

Fucking hell. He was being dragged like a child's plaything across the grass towards his brother and his....betrothed before he could command his feet to stop. Liliya loved her friends, that much was apparent to anyone who spent any time with her and Matilda Nordstrom was one of them. But for the love of God, did he have to endure the schoolgirl shrieking? His eyes found Drago's, sharing an exasperated look with his younger brother as Liliya gushed.

“Are you excited for term? It’s your last, isn’t it? I can’t wait for you to live with us finally! You’ll have to finish school and get married first, of course, but after you and I can hang out!”

Well Lev could certainly wait if this was what he could expect his every day to sound like. As much as he enjoyed Liliya's happier, exuberant side, he could certainly survive without the dramatics. A gentle shush, as he took her hand in his, tugging her back to his side with a soft pull. "Drago, look at you. Father let you out of your cage for the day, and how nicely you've cleaned up. Nearly a gentleman." He chuckled, slapping his brother lightly on the shoulder with his tease.

Finally his eyes drifted to the child on his arm. Tilly. What an appropriate nickname for a girl who played in the dirt.

"Matilda," Lev offered politely, if not a bit stiff. "Did your family accompany you today?" He hadn't seen her grandparents thus far, but perhaps they had opted not to come.

Matilda’s hand slipped into his, but they didn’t make it far.

“Tilly!”

Drago came to a halt, sighing inwardly at the sight of his cousin hurrying their way. Not necessarily because of her—he thought he might have been the very first in their family to truly accept her as one of them, long before any of the others had—but because Matilda seemed about ready to explode, and he wasn’t entirely in the mood to discover just how much energy Liliya intended to unleash. Not to speak of his brother's usually barely concealed disapproval.

His hand briefly tightened around Matilda's in a reassuring squeeze.

Though, he couldn't deny it was greatly amusing to watch his older brother get pulled along like a puppy by the very same betrothed he’d once been so adamant about keeping a firm hand with, looking thoroughly annoyed but uttering not a word of complaint. Despite Liliya’a flaws, despite Drago's own frequent critique of her behaviour and manners, she bore the Zdravkova name, and that had always been enough for him to treat her with compassion rather than contempt.

Softness made women bent easier than force.

He remembered saying something like that almost a year ago to the very brother now being dragged toward them, and being lectured about its inappropriateness. And look at him now.

How the tables had turned.

Drago swallowed the amused grin threatening to break across his face.

Once Liliya remembered he existed, he gave her a brief nod and a smile, finding Lev’s gaze a moment later to share a look of quiet exasperation as she proceeded to smatter Matilda with a series of questions. It was almost ironic that both Lev and he had ended up with the same kind of wired woman, the sort who never seemed able to stand still for long. He supposed it was nice that Matilda and Liliya would have each other once his fiancée came to live at Harewood.

Hopefully, they’d do it somewhere he didn’t have to bear witness, however. Merlin knew the sort of girlish chaos the two of them were capable of.

Sometimes he wondered where Liliya got all that enthusiasm from. Or even how she had managed to preserve it. He was glad she had recovered and seemed much happier than the previous years, but he had to admit he wished she would unload all that energy somewhere else right now. Even he could do with a reprieve from the endless socialising they’d been subjected to.

Instead, Lev had his own input to share, as he always did.

"Drago, look at you. Father let you out of your cage for the day, and how nicely you've cleaned up. Nearly a gentleman."

Drago grinned slightly. “Nearly,” he said, giving his brother a once-over. “I thought I’d give you something to aspire to.” His gaze paused briefly at Lev’s collar. "Though your collar looks a little off. Almost like you’ve been dragged around too much today.”

His lips tugged wider as his eyes rose to meet his brother’s again, amusement playing across his face.

The boys were talking, completely fine with the bomb that was just dropped. A loud wooshing sound was suddenly obscuring her hearing, in tune with her racing heart.

It was obviously a joke.

Obviously

Matilda laughed hysterically. The sound came out louder than was polite, but it was just so ridiculous, that she couldn’t help herself.

As she regained her composure her eyes went to Eira, then Lev and then landed on Drago. None of them were laughing.

”Oh…”

But it couldn’t be… ”You mean for visits right?” Her voice, an octave higher than usual. She paused, the wheels in her head turning, trying to comprehend the absurdity. The pieces just didn’t fit, but they were still not laughing. In fact, the looks on their faces had zero humor. ”Oh shoot… you’re serious.”

Finally, her brain started to process what this meant. It was like a row of dominoes tumbling one by one. No small home with Drago. No garden in the back where he would find her after work. Always finding her. No dancing in the kitchen while they smiled, kissed and laughed. No pitter patter of little feet and childish giggles running down the hall.

Harewood House didn't seem like the place for playful laughter.

They were childish dreams, maybe. Silly thoughts that kept her up at night, but they were her thoughts. Her dreams.

And there it was. Throughout this entire situation. For nearly a year, not once had her wishes been taken into account. Matilda was told what to do and everyone just expected her to follow along with a small unassuming smile on her face and all thoughts kept to herself.

Not only was she not consulted, but once again, others were deciding her life. It seemed that everyone loved making decisions about her and her future. And then they were surprised at her reaction when she found out in the most shocking ways possible.

The color was rising in her cheeks. She could feel the heat as the anger and anxiety rose. Her heart beating heavily in her chest, her breaths coming faster. Turning slowly towards Drago, she took a measured breath before speaking. ”Dearest,” she said through gritted teeth. ”Is there something I should know?”

Matilda was mad. It was more than obvious.

Was it shocking that they would be expected to live with his family? No, Oleg seemed like the type to want his family under his thumb at all times, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

”I guess it shouldn’t surprise me at this point. I seem to learn everything about my future at the most inopportune times. Who I’m to marry, that he’s transferred to my school, the etiquette training, and now this?!” Her voice was rising with every word.

Not that she cared, or noticed, but there were a few eyes on her. Sensing that there was an issue, people’s heads started to turn.

Like a bucket of cold water, a voice stopped her tirade. ”Matilda, what on earth is the issue?!”

Fingers, rough and wrinkled with age, closed around her wrist. The grip was strong for an old hag. Before Matilda had the chance to protest, Allegra had already pulled her several steps away, turning them away from prying eyes. To anyone watching, it might look like the older woman was speaking to her granddaughter in private, just a calm conversation.

Matilda winced from the pain in her wrist, her grandmother squeezing tightly. Like a switch had been flipped, any anger towards Drago evaporated. Everything finally made sense.

It was her. SHE was the one that agreed on the contract. SHE was the one that made the arrangements. Everyone else knew the details. Allegra chose to keep Matilda in the dark about everything.

Allegra looked down at Matilda with disdain and embarrassment in her eyes. She was livid. Quietly, with her jaw set in stone, she made sure that Matilda knew exactly what she was thinking. ”You will stop this instant. You will not embarrass me or this family with your childish behaviour.”

Matilda didn't pull away. She met her grandmother's eyes head on, blue eyes still bright with anger.

"No."

The single word came quietly, but with more conviction than she had ever spoken to Allegra before. "I'm done pretending this is ok. You keep deciding things about my future without asking me. Then I'm expected to smile politely when I find out by accident."

Her voice never rose again. If anything, it became calmer, clear, direct.

"What else is there Grandmother? What else haven’t you told me about my future? How many kids will I have to produce? One, five, or is the number up for negotiation? Do I get any say in planning my wedding? My career? What dress I wear on Wednesdays? Or has that all been outlined in the contract?" Allegra’s eyes were bright with anger. Matilda watched as they found something over her shoulder and didn’t look away. She could hear the footsteps approaching. Strong. Heavy. Not a woman.

Matilda sighed and straightened her spine. She didn’t need to look, she knew who was coming.

Oleg was satisfied with his daughters’ work. Everything thus far was running smoothly, leaving little room for critique. Quite the rarety. Though Wisona had always been a step ahead, wittier than her sisters and quicker to pick up on her lessons. He hadn’t expected anything less today.

At least Ruslana had done that one thing right.

Her talent for event organisation had been unmatched, and thanfully she had managed to pass it on to Wiosna and Danika alike before getting herself killed, taking her flaws with her to the grave and leaving behind only the useful parts. Oleg had to admit, it was quite the relief.

Nonetheless, he kept a watchfgul eye on his late wife’s oldest daughter. There was no reason to allow her the room to slip into a dead woman’s habits. Not an unreasonable concern, as smitten as she had been with Ruslana, emulating her every move and striving to be the same. Not in every aspect, Oleg hoped.

He could see the lingering grief in Wiosna’s gaze. She hid it well, but he saw.

And he watched.

His attention finally let go when she turned away from Lev and Liliya, attending to another cluster of guests, and Oleg at last broke from his still position. Turning, he caught the eye of one of their guests.

“Mr Pritchard,” he said pleasantly.

He crossed the short distance between them and extended his free hand, clasping the other man’s in a firm, cordial grip. Ever inch of him suggested the gracious host making conversation with a guest at his daughter’s birthday. But he had already learned enough about Pritchard after Liliya had given him the name to make the encounter worthwhile. He was curious to see what the man might reveal when he had no reason to suspect he was being examined.

“How are things at the Ministry? I hear preparations for the 1926 Quidditch World Cup are well underway. It must be keeping the Department of Magical Games and Sports rather bu—”

Laughter rang through the garden, loud and shrill.

Cut off, Oleg half-turned. His gaze landed on Matilda Nordstrom and her three companions, drawing more attention than he would have liked. He watched for a moment, mildly irritated but willing to overlook her display of exuberance. When the girl’s voice rose above the murmur of the crowd, however, Oleg clicked his tongue.

Turning back to Pritchard, he smiled apologetically.

“Pardon me.”

He inclining his head before leaving his half-empty class of scotch on a waiter’s tray. Slowly, he made his way across the garden, hands folding behind his back as he approached Matilda and her grandmother, apparantly in the midst of an argument.

Oleg’s lips curled slightly.

“Mrs Nordstrom,” he said, meeting the older woman’s eyes. His gaze briefly dropped to her hand wrapped around Matilda’s wrist before flicking back up. “Is there some difficulty?”

"Mr. Zdravkova,” the woman said. “It’s nice to see you again. I was just explaining to Matilda that her behaviour is unbecoming of our families.”

Oleg hummed, shifting his gaze to Matilda. A wince flickered across her features as Mrs Nordstrom released her wrist. Looking back at the older woman, Oleg widened his smile.

“Allow me to borrow your granddaughter, yes?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he gestured with one hand and waited for Matilda to oblige. Turning, he met Dragomir’s eyes, and for the briefest moment, a warning flickered behind his gaze. He could see the struggle in the boy, but he knew better than to intervene.

Once they had passed through the crowd and reached the terrace steps, Oleg spoke without looking at Matilda.

“Tell me, what upset you, Miss Nordstrom? It must have been quite something, judging by your volume.”

Lev’s shush and the tug on her hand made Liliya’s heart sink a little, but she tucked the unease beneath a softer smile and reigned herself in. As much as she liked to believe she had the chaotic energy swimming through her blood under control, she never quite felt herself slipping. It was a switch, and she was not the one controlling it.

Giving Lev a quick squeeze of her hand, Liliya gently untangled herself from his grasp.

And then Tilly burst into hysterical laughter.

Liliya stared frozen mid-breath, face blank in bewilderment. Had she said something funny? Had she missed something? Her gaze flicked to Drago, then Lev, before returning to Matilda, but she was none the wiser. Neither of them seemed to understand either.

“You mean for visits right?”

“Uhm…” Liliya’s eyes flicked from face to face, suddenly nervous. Had she just messed something up? Had she said something she shouldn't have? The conversation she had expected to be lighthearted and fun had quickly derailed into self-doubt and confusion, subtly shadowed by fear. She had used up all the missteps she could afford long ago, and the thought that she might have made another, unwittingly, sent a cold rush through her body. Whatever it was, though, it had clearly hit a nerve. Tilly’s face grew redder by the second, anger flashing in her eyes as she turned to Drago.

“Dearest. Is there something I should know?”

Tense and watching with bated breath, Liliya caught the look on Drago’s face: equally confused, if not more so. He was cut off before he could answer.

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me at this point. I seem to learn everything about my future at the most inopportune times. Who I’m to marry, that he’s transferred to my school, the etiquette training, and now this?!”

Eyes turned in their direction. Nearby conversations faltered, and Liliya stepped closer. “Tilly,” she hissed, voice low and alarmed, one hand reaching for the girl’s wrist, but someone else was quicker. The next moment, Tilly was being dragged away by her grandmother.

Liliya briefly thought she looked like an evil little bitch, but the thought was quickly drowned beneath more pressing concerns. She spun back toward Drago, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper, incredulity sharpening every word. “You didn’t tell her she would live at Harewood?” She regarded him as though he were the first human being ever to walk the earth.

And in a way, he was.

“She—I thought that was foreseeable,” Drago mumbled, his eyes still fixed on Tilly and Mrs Nordstrom a short distance away. His posture had gone even more rigid than usual.

Liliya stifled the urge to slap the stupidity out of him, settling for a low groan instead.

By now one would think Drago had developed at least a basic understanding of how different he and the Zdravkova world were from everything Tilly knew. Liliya couldn’t blame her for being angry with him. Though she wished she hadn’t lost her composure quite so publicly. A few curious eyes still refused to leave them alone.

“Foreseeable,” Liliya muttered, giving her head a small shake. “You know what else is foreseeable—”

But the look darkening Drago’s face lodged the rest of her comment in her throat. Her gaze followed his. Her heart flipped inside her chest.

Carrying a smile cold enough to freeze an ocean, Oleg slowly came to stand beside Tilly and Mrs Nordstrom. Only a moment later, he was walking towards the open terrace doors of Harewood House, Tilly at his side.

Liliya felt it grip her again, fear. Not for herself.

“He wouldn’t,” she whispered, her eyes still fixed on Oleg and Tilly as they disappeared inside. At last, her eyes shifted to Lev’s face. “Would he?”

“I thought I’d give you something to aspire to. Though your collar looks a little off. Almost like you’ve been dragged around too much today.”

"My collar is fine," Lev said, his repressed grin finally widening into something more visible. Drago was right; Lev was being dragged around far too much, but he wasn't exactly complaining. Liliya's interest in keeping him at her side was a vast improvement to the antagonism that had flown back and forth between them for months - years even. Her small hand felt soft and warm in his larger, and he supposed he didn't mind it as much as he'd liked to put on.

His brother was finally home for good, his schooling finished - at least for the next few months - and in many ways, Lev felt like his closest ally had returned. He certainly didn't feel like he was unable to manage things, their father especially, without his little brother nearby, but having someone to help lighten the mood now and then was nice.

Liliya squeezed his hand, and he relented, understanding the quiet implication that she knew what he meant, and there was nothing further to try and impress. Over the past several months, the two had come to a better understanding. Lev had come to learn that Liliya needed room to breathe and to keep the parts of herself that illuminated those icy blue eyes. Alternately, he believed she'd come to learn his intentions were good, and meant to keep her safe, rather than control. At one time, certainly, he had wanted to control, if only because she'd felt so out of his grasp.

It was a relief, how far had the come in just a few months. It made the future feel doable and not quite as daunting as it once had.

In any case, Liliya likely wouldn't end up committed to St. Mungo's when his father died.

Matilda suddenly burst into a fit of hysterics, her laughter so loud and garish that it caused an almost startling between the three Zdravkovas. He exchanged a look with Drago, his eyebrows lowering in consternation. What was amusing? Had he misheard something? Liliya had merely mentioned the horrific day when the gardener would come to haunt their halls for good and -

“Dearest. Is there something I should know?”

Lev said nothing, his eyes meeting Liliya's only momentarily, noticing the sudden anxiety in her expression. His own softened slightly, wrapping his arm gently around her waist to reassure her. She hadn't said anything that the rest of them didn't already know - or at least wasn't common sense or knowledge. If the Nordstrom girl didn't realize she'd live amongst the family when she and Dragomir married, then she truly was at an intellectual disadvantage.

Where else did she assume they'd reside? Some little flat in London where the family would have no oversight on her? It was then that Lev realized, perhaps it wasn't all Matilda's fault. Her family had obviously woefully underprepared her.

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me at this point. I seem to learn everything about my future at the most inopportune times. Who I’m to marry, that he’s transferred to my school, the etiquette training, and now this?!”

His eyebrow arched, not appreciating the insolence in the girl's voice. Was this how she planned to speak to her husband? Was this what Drago would allow? A girl who disrespected him, not just privately, but in front of others? Liliya had done the same, but with time, they'd learned to give and take. Lev had no insight into who Matilda was, nor did he particularly want any, but something told him Drago wouldn't fair as fortunately as he had.

He had half a mind to admonish the girl then and there, and remind her of her place, but that was Drago's job. Liliya's if all else failed, considering she'd be overseeing the girls of the family when they stepped forward to run the family. Lev had little interest in engaging a petulant child, considering he'd barely managed to find compromise with one.

A woman stepped in, one he recognized as Matilda's grandmother, taking hold of her wrist to pull her away. Lev's eyebrows raised again, this time unimpressed with the entire scene, but he knew better than to say anything. Until she was married, he supposed it was the Nordstroms' place to correct her as needed.

“You didn’t tell her she would live at Harewood?”

"That is common sense, no?" Lev asked, glancing back between his brother and cousin, "If not, it was her family's responsibility to set expectations." His brother wasn't the girl's babysitter or guardian. When married, then she'd become his responsibility but until then...

“She—I thought that was foreseeable."

One would certainly think. He didn't blame his brother, though Drago didn't always think about the details in the same way some of the others in their family did.

“You know what else is foreseeable—”

Lev couldn't help the amusement that threatened to take him again, but it immediately dissipated at the sight of his father. A cold chill ran down the skin of his back, watching as Oleg approached the Nordstroms, that predatory smile curling across his lips. "Shit." The curse came quiet and low as Matilda was handed off to their father, and led back towards the house. Oleg turned, staring down his younger brother with a look that Lev knew all too well.

Immediately, Lev looked to Drago, seeing the way his brother's face had gone nearly pale and he immediately dropped his arm from Liliya.

“He wouldn’t. Would he?”

Of course he would. Oleg Zdravkova was more than cruel. He was a man that basked in the fear he could invoke in others, especially his own children, reminding them with every move, with every stride, that he held their happiness, their devastation, their survival in his very hands. If it meant he achieved his means through those they cared about, he did it without a second thought.

Knowing his brother, Lev moved quickly, a firm hand coming to rest on Drago's shoulder. "Calm, Drago," he whispered through clenched teeth, unwilling to expose their discomfort to the surrounding guests. "React and Father will do worse and make you watch." He turned his eyes to meet his brother's, giving him a small nod. "Don't give him the pleasure." He squeezed his brother's shoulder, knowing that despite his own dislike of the girl, Drago had developed a fondness for the uncouth redhead.

He glanced back to Liliya. "He won't go as far as he would with us," he said quietly. "He won't want to anger her family more than necessary." At least not yet. Once she was Zdravkova, Oleg would have little qualms about treating Drago's wife the same as he would any other member of the family.

With any luck, he'd do it himself, instead of forcing her young husband to do it.

Drago’s grin matched his brother’s.

"My collar is fine."

He shrugged lightly. “Sure, if you say so.”

Bantering with Lev was both something he had missed and something he hadn’t while away at Hogwarts. He supposed it depended on the context and timing, but butting heads with each other always ended in one of two ways: a jolly good time and shared laughs, or a fist fight neither survived unscathed. Unless they were forced to stay professional.

In that case, however, the latter was merely delayed.

Drago had to admit he liked both.

It felt good to be home. To stay, now that his schooling was finished for good and Auror training allowed him to return to Harewood after classes. Hogwarts had been quite the journey—he was grateful it had lasted only one year—and settling into adulthood, finally being able to become the man he was expected to be, felt like a relief. A chance to prove himself. To become a real Zdravkova man.

He could never match Lev’s status, but he could excel in his own field.

And he could keep his brother’s feet on the ground once in a while.

“I’d check, though,” he added, giving Lev a subtle upward tilt of his chin, brows flicking teasingly. “I think I can see last night’s eviden—”

Beside him, Matilda burst into hysterical laughter.

Drago looked around at her, lips still parted mid-sentence, staring. Caught off guard, he didn’t know how to react for a moment. What the hell was so funny?

His eyes flicked to Liliya, but she looked just as confused, so he concluded this couldn’t be blamed on two unsupervised girls’ reckless behaviour, though it had to have been something his cousin had said. Unfortunately, Drago hadn’t been listening. Either way, it hardly mattered. Matilda might not be the most composed lady at the venue, but she knew well enough that emotional displays like this weren’t appreciated.

Before he could pull her aside, however, Matilda was already turning toward him, and the sheer anger in her expression left him entirely speechless again.

“Dearest. Is there something I should know?”

His brow furrowed. He had no fucking idea. Was there?!

“Matilda, what are you—”

She cut him off, and Drago could only stare, incredulity widening his eyes with every word she said, her voice climbing to levels even her laughter hadn’t reached. She had never spoken to him like this before. Agitated, yes. Angered, certainly. But never this outright furious, and never in public. In front of his family, no less. It was enough to stun him into silence.

It took him a split second too long to regain his bearings. Mrs Nordstrom was pulling Matilda away before he could say another word, and his expression hardened. Grown as still and rigid as a tree, Drago watched the two women take several steps away. He had heard enough from Matilda about her grandmother to know this would not be a friendly conversation. The continued grip around his betrothed’s wrist did not go unnoticed.

“You didn’t tell her she would live at Harewood?”

Liliya’s voice, low and indignant, was the first to break the silence between the three Zdravkova.

Had that been it then? The fact that Matilda would live with the Zdravkova after their wedding—her husband’s family? How could she not have known? How could no one have mentioned it, taught her? What else had she expected?

"That is common sense, no?”

His brother voiced his opinion next, flat and dry as always, but Drago barely heard him. His eyes remained fixed on Allegra’s hand around Matilda’s wrist.

“If not, it was her family's responsibility to set expectations."

“She—” Drago cut himself off. “I thought that was foreseeable.”

Allegra’s grip tightened visibly.

The intention to rip the woman’s hand from Matilda was immediate and hot, his jaw setting as his body reacted before his mind could catch up. He took half a step forward, and stopped.

The expression on his father’s face as he joined the Nordstroms sent ice through his veins. Drago’s breath shallowed, expression hardening to stone. Shit. His hands curled into fists at his sides as Oleg’s gaze locked onto him—cold and warning, dangerously knowing. Adrenaline flooded his system, pumping his blood faster, sending his thoughts into overdrive. He knew that look. Watching Father and Matilda disappear inside the house almost tipped him over then. For one unthinking moment, all good reason and judgment abandoned him.

"Calm, Drago.”

His brother’s hand on his shoulder was like an anchor dragging him back into his own body, rattling him out of his head.

"React and Father will do worse and make you watch.”

Drago glanced at Lev, catching his gaze. His jaw tightened further. He knew Lev was right, and it did nothing to ease the anxiety clawing its way through his chest. He was stuck. Forced to wait, forced to hope. Expected to stand here and act composed.

While Matilda experienced exactly what it meant to become Zdravkova. The very thing he had tried to prevent.

He should have stopped her.

He should have interrupted her, dragged her away, wrapped a fucking hand over her mouth and shut her up. Anything.

Instead, he had stood by. Silent and complicit.

Drago’s stomach clenched violently. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do. How to stay calm, how to push everything into the recesses of his mind and carry on as he had been taught. He couldn’t look away from the empty terrace doors of Harewood House.

He barely heard the rest of Lev and Liliya’s conversation. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart, beating inside his skull.

“Allow me to borrow your granddaughter, yes?”

The voice sent a shiver down Matilda’s spine. Nothing good would come of this. No surprise to anyone, Allegra let her go with Oleg. Happy to have someone else deal with her disappointment of a granddaughter.

The sound of her heels echoed on the brick walkway, two steps for every one of Oleg’s, causing her to walk faster than was comfortable for her short stature. Her mind was working in overtime, processing the present while remembering all the things Mrs Beaumont taught her.

Posture. Poise. Keep your tongue. Chin up. Don’t argue. Don’t fidget.

She could feel a small bead of sweat run down her spine. It gave her something to focus on, instead of the fear brewing inside her.

“Tell me, what upset you, Miss Nordstrom? It must have been quite something, judging by your volume.”

She came to a stop, hands clasped in front of her, just below her waist. Her thumb rubbing circles on her still throbbing wrist.

”I was surprised sir. I wasn't aware that after our marriage I would be residing at Harewood House." She kept her voice even, not wanting to show too much emotion after her outburst in the garden.

Everything about her relationship with Drago had been a surprise. None more than actually falling for him.

She had thought she was finally beginning to understand what her future might look like. Apparently, there were still pieces everyone else knew except her.

Her natural instinct was to fill the silence. Ramble. Apologize. She didn’t do either. Instead, in a very un-Tilly like move, she stood in front of her future father in law and stayed quiet. Hands folded, chin up, shoulders back, eyes forward. Mrs Beaumont would be so proud.

When Matilda stopped, so did Oleg. His cool gaze settled on her as he turned, the faint curl of his lips considerably less warm than before.

“I was surprised sir. I wasn't aware that after our marriage I would be residing at Harewood House.”

That widened his smile, if only briefly. Amusement flickered across his features before his expression settled once more into composed cordiality, another low hum vibrating in his chest, almost a chuckle.

It was quite ironic, really, that this girl just continued to prove him right.

Oleg had known from the very beginning that the Nordstrom girl was hardly suitable. The Zdravkova should have found a more appropriate match for one of their own without sacrificing the advantages she brought with her. But there had been no room for negotiation with Aleksandr, and Oleg understood why.

The Nordstroms had been among the few willing to contract with a foreign family while simultaneously possessing enough influence to make the arrangement worthwhile. Bertram’s connections within the Ministry were undeniably useful. Even Oleg could admit that.

If only he could have been spared the ordeal that was Matilda Nordstrom. It had been easy enough to downplay the girl’s temperament from Russia. He was the one who now had to contend with it.

Unaware she’d be residing at Harewood House.

Laughable.

Oleg allowed the silence to stretch, waiting until it became just uncomfortable enough for her to grow restless. Her grandmother had informed him of her extensive etiquette training earlier that summer, and he supposed some of it showed. A mask, though, nothing more. At last, Oleg tilted his head.

“Why don’t you allow me to explain what becoming a Zdravkova means, hm?” His smile was sly and confident, the tone of his voice unequivocal—this was no request. He paused for merely a beat. “So that you understand. It appears no one has taken the time to show you properly. Perhaps it is time.”

Keeping his eyes on Matilda, Oleg waited. When she finally stepped through the doors, he followed, leading her toward a nearby sitting room. The one he knew Nadežda would be occupying.

Oleg held the door open for Matilda. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing towards the sofa opposite the one his cousin had claimed.

“Nadežda.”

Oleg crossed the room and settled in the armchair beside the sofas. The woman looked up, her gaze flicking toward Matilda before returning to him. “Miss Nordstrom has expressed some confusion regarding what her future life will look like once she marries my son. She was quite vocal about it. I thought perhaps you could assist me in resolving any lingering misunderstandings.”

A tiny, knowing flicker sparked behind Nadežda’s eyes, gone before it fully formed, and she smiled. “Certainly.” She set aside the letter she had been reading and settled her attention upon Matilda.

Oleg crossed one leg over the other. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands across his stomach and smiled at Matilda. “Now,” he said, his smile as icy as his voice, “let us begin with the rather profound understanding that a Zdravkova woman does not raise her voice like that in public. And especially not towards her husband.”

His gaze held hers.

“Is that clear?”

“Why don’t you allow me to explain what becoming a Zdravkova means, hm?So that you understand. It appears no one has taken the time to show you properly. Perhaps it is time.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t dare. The last thing she wanted was to be in a room alone with Drago’s father. There was no winning him over. No making him happy. Although learning what was expected of her would help in the future, hopefully stop these conversations from being needed in the future.

One could only hope.

Following Oleg into the house, the cold air of the temperature controlled room hit her, causing a shiver to run through her body.

“Please, sit.”

Matilda did as instructed. Crossing her ankles and tucking her feet neatly beneath her chair, she sat with her back straight, chin lifted, lips closed and hands folded carefully in her lap. Slow measured breaths helped calm her pounding heart, it didn’t last long when she made eye contact with the other woman in the room.

Not trusting her voice, Matilda inclined her head in greeting.

“Nadežda. Miss Nordstrom has expressed some confusion regarding what her future life will look like once she marries my son. She was quite vocal about it. I thought perhaps you could assist me in resolving any lingering misunderstandings.”

What she wouldn't have given to have Drago beside her. He had a way of making impossible situations feel manageable, of calming her with a quiet look or a hand at the small of her back. Alone, she felt painfully outnumbered. The pair sitting across from her were frightening in their intimidation. And she suspected they knew it.

“Now,” his tone was bitterly cold as he started “let us begin with the rather profound understanding that a Zdravkova woman does not raise her voice like that in public. And especially not towards her husband.”

Mentioning that he hadn’t proposed and no ring had been given was probably not the right move, even though she joked about it in their letters. Something told her they would not find it as funny.

His gaze never left hers. Her body wanted to curl in on itself, hide her face and throw up. She suspected that it wouldn't go over well.

“Is that clear?” She felt as big as a worm sitting on the sofa, his eyes drilling into her. The breath that escaped her mouth was shaky, but she managed a small nod to her head and a simple, ”Yes sir.”

It was all she trusted herself to say.

“Good.”

Oleg paused, his smile widening slightly as he continued to hold Matilda’s gaze.

She was squirming on the inside—it was difficult not to notice. But that was precisely what he was looking to achieve. Discomfort. Awareness. A confrontation with reality. Make her feel small enough to understand how small she really was within the hierarchy she was about to enter. Knock that overconfidence down a peg or two. Teach her where she belonged.

Healthy fear. Useful fear.

Enough to instil the respect expected of her. Enough to keep her in line.

Oleg knew that Matilda had not been raised in a respectable, pureblood household as she should have been. That she therefore lacked the poise, understanding, and elegance required of her. That she had not been taught the rules of their world because she had never truly been part of it. It was the same, unbearable story as Liliya.

Lost causes, in his opinion.

And judging by Matilda’s reaction to the obvious fact that she would live with her future husband beneath his family’s roof, Oleg suspected the girl did not even understand the most fundamental realities of the life awaiting her. It was ridiculous, really. A seventeen-year-old girl, a young woman, and here he sat, having to explain what should have been ingrained into her mind from the moment she could walk.

Oleg’s foot bobbed once before becoming still.

“Once you finish your education at Hogwarts,” he began, keeping his tone level and cool, his eyes trained steadily upon Matilda, “your engagement to my son will be formally announced. There will be a celebration, an event hosted by the family, and you will conduct yourself as the happy, grateful future wife you are expected to be.”

He allowed a moment for that to settle.

“The following year, at a date of our choosing, you and Dragomir will be married at Harewood House. In the meanwhile, you will attend events, galas, dinners—wherever you are required to be seen. You will be pleasant. Graceful. Accommodating. You will give people every reason to believe you are delighted to be joining this family.”

Another beat.

“You will not work. You will not study. You will not pursue a career. You will direct your attention towards your future duties as wife, and once you are married, you will bear children and raise them accordingly. Two sons, at the very least. You will maintain the household expected of a Zdravkova woman. You will conduct yourself with dignity, discretion, and loyalty. You will represent the name you take as your own, and you will do everything within your power to ensure that name is never diminished by your behaviour.”

The words settled heavily into the silence of the room.

Oleg stared at Matilda, all traces of the faux cordiality from minutes earlier gone from his face. There was only unbending hardness now. Sharpness.

“You will know your place, you will fulfil your duties, and you will never give my family reason to regret bringing you into it.” His voice had lowered, quiet, traced with something distinctly warning. “Do you understand?”

Sitting on the couch, quiet, poised, hands in her lap. Her knuckles were blanched white with tension as Oleg layed out the life that was waiting for her. Her eyes gave her away, speaking even though no words were said.

Engagement to Drago: Butterflies in her stomach, happiness and warmth. Even with the man in front of her explaining all she would have to give up, marrying Drago was still a plus. She couldn’t explain it. When they were together, everything else seemed to float away. He made her feel safe, loved, wanted, and desired.

Galas & Events: Resignation. She knew this would be a major part of her life. It wasn’t her favorite, but she was also ok with this expectation.

Happy to be a Zdravkova. That was a double edged sword. Happy to be Drago’s wife, yes. Happy to have any connection to Oleg… NOPE, but she couldn’t have one without the other. She nodded once to show the man that she was listening.

No reason to speak, she had a feeling he didn’t want to hear anything coming from her mouth.

“The following year, at a date of our choosing…” ‘Our choosing.’ Not hers, not Dragos. They were just pawns in the larger chess game being played. Their lives were not their own.

“You will not work. You will not study. You will not pursue a career. You will direct your attention towards your future duties as wife, and once you are married, you will bear children and raise them accordingly. Two sons, at the very least. You will maintain the household expected of a Zdravkova woman. You will conduct yourself with dignity, discretion, and loyalty. You will represent the name you take as your own, and you will do everything within your power to ensure that name is never diminished by your behaviour.”

Deep down, she knew studying at St Mungo’s was never going to happen. Six years of putting in her blood, sweat and tears. Her dreams had been shrouded in hope, not wanting to look at the reality of the situation. Oleg did that for her, laying it all out.

The idea of not continuing her studies in Herbology made her stomach flip. He said she wasn’t allowed to study, but he couldn’t stop her from buying books and reading. Working in the greenhouse, might get more infrequent, but she would find a way.

Two sons… at the very least. Because she had control of such things. Her face drained of color, thinking what lives her future children would be expected to lead. No running around the yard laughing and playing, that was for sure. Silently, she vowed to do everything in her power to protect the lives and innocence of her future children.

Matilda’s jaw tensed, her teeth clenched. Again, her face giving away the smallest amount of anger and dismay. A breathe escaped, shaky on her lips.

“You will know your place, you will fulfil your duties, and you will never give my family reason to regret bringing you into it. Do you understand?”

Opening her mouth, a long breath escaped. It took her a second to reply, but finally, eyes on Oleg she nodded again once and simply said, ”Yes sir.”

Oleg didn’t care to interpret the myriad of emotions chasing behind Matilda’s eyes, flickering across her face like ill-disguised confessions. They didn’t matter to him. Only her obedience did. Though the mask was fickle.

Once she stepped out of this room and back into the gardens, her jaw-clenched words of submission would be little more than dust in the wind, and Oleg knew it. He had watched the pattern unfold many times. The moment people believed his eyes no longer lingered, that he could no longer see or hear their defiant actions or words, they assumed the leash had somehow slackened. That he wouldn’t know anyway. That whatever they chose to do beyond his immediate reach could somehow escape consequence.

His children had done it. Liliya had done it. Matilda was doing it right before his eyes.

The willfulness radiated off her in waves. It was in the tension of her jaw, the measured breaths, the words he could see forming behind her lips that she thought better of speaking aloud. She was listening, certainly. Whether the message was sinking in was another matter entirely.

But that could be helped.

Oleg’s expression remained unchanged. His eyes lingered on Matilda for another moment before his lips finally curved into a faint smile.

“I’m glad we can agree. But why don’t you allow us to demonstrate what it means to forget, yes?”

His gaze flicked toward Nadežda before returning to Matilda. The smile remained as he settled a little further into his chair, his fingers intertwining over his stomach.

“This will pinch a little.”

Nadežda didn’t hesitate. The flick of her wand was so quick and subtle that it was barely noticeable. Her magic surged forward, into Matilda’s mind, waiting neither for permission nor protest, and slipped past the edges of her consciousness with startling ease.

She didn’t rip. She didn’t shred.

She simply floated, her presence like a subtle pressure behind the eyes, an ache that scraped gently at the inside of Matilda’s skull without ever quite becoming pain. But it left the message clear in its wake.

They could.

The memory of the garden rushed to the forefront as though dragged there by invisible strings. Every detail returned in unsettling detail—the conversation, the emotions behind it. Nadežda remained there only long enough to make the point. Once the memory ended, the woman withdrew. No more than half a minute had passed.

Oleg’s gaze had never left Matilda. A faint glimmer of satisfaction settled into his eyes when hers finally met his again.

“I hope this conversation cleared up the rest of your confusion, Matilda,” he said slowly. “This family succeeds through obedience and duty. I suggest you don’t forget.”

He allowed a beat of silence to pass.

At last, his smile tugged wider.

“I believe it is time to return to the party.” Oleg rose from his chair, his hands folding behind his back as he waited for Matilda to stand. “We don’t want anyone wondering for too long, now, do we?”

He cast Nadežda one final look before turning toward the door, gesturing for Matilda to follow.

Time would tell.

The smile on Oleg's face made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "I'm glad we can agree. But why don't you allow us to demonstrate what it means to forget, yes?"

Forget?

Before she had time to process what he meant, Nadežda lifted her wand. The movement was so quick Matilda almost missed it. At first she thought nothing had happened. Then she frowned.

A strange pressure settled behind her eyes. Not painful, but wrong. Like invisible fingers pressing against the inside of her skull, slowly spreading through her temples. Her stomach tightened, then flipped. Everything in her screamed that something wasn't right.

Then she knew. She wasn't alone. There was a presence with her, and not one she welcomed.

Matilda’s eyes shut, as if that would help block out the intrusion.

Her breath caught in her throat as panic bubbled beneath the surface. She couldn't explain how she knew, only that she did. Someone else was there. Somewhere inside her own mind.

She wanted to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. Then, without her consent, the garden came rushing back without warning.

The memory was chosen for her. She had no desire to relive the earlier situation, yet there it was, every word, every face, every feeling replaying before her. Matilda watched herself standing there, heard her own voice. Felt the anger, the humiliation, the fear.

Only this time she wasn't the only one watching. The realization made her feel sick. Nadežda was there with her. Watching. Judging no doubt.

Seeing every thought that had crossed her mind. Every fear. Every doubt. Every embarrassing little dream she had for her and Drago. It felt impossibly violating, like someone had opened a locked diary and read each page while she stood unable to stop them.

And then, the presence was gone.

The pressure disappeared. The headache did not.

It started behind her eyes, dull and heavy, making it difficult to focus. Her ears rang softly. The room seemed to sway before settling again. She swallowed against the wave of nausea climbing her throat, her mouth suddenly dry.

A sweat broke out on the back of her neck, goosebumps erupting over her body. The room felt too warm, and chilled all at the same time.

"I hope this conversation cleared up the rest of your confusion, Matilda."

She lifted her eyes to Oleg again, though it took more effort than before. Everything had a fuzzy edge around it.

"This family succeeds through obedience and duty. I suggest you don't forget."

Forget. The irony almost made her laugh. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to.

When Oleg rose, she followed a moment later, careful not to stand too quickly. Her legs felt strangely unsteady beneath her, but she forced herself to keep her posture straight, her expression composed. Mrs. Beaumont would have been proud.

She didn't feel composed. Not even close. Her right hand went to her stomach, resting there, as her left trailed on every available surface to steady her for the walk back to the garden.

---

The warmth of the afternoon sun hit her face the moment she stepped outside. Matilda stopped, swaying on her feet, letting out a long slow breath to calm herself.

Music still played through the gardens. Party guests wandered through the flower beds, talking and laughing, enjoying their time at Harewood House. Everything looked exactly the same.

Matilda wasn't sure she did.

Her head throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull ache pressing behind her eyes. She blinked against the brightness, waiting for the world to settle before taking another step. The walk back into the gardens couldn't have been more than a minute, but it felt much longer.

Then she saw him. Drago stood where she left him, waiting with Liliya and Lev. Straight-backed. Hands clasped neatly behind him. Patient.

Just seeing him standing there eased something inside her. Only a little.

One moment he was several yards away, the next she was standing in front of him, searching his face, not entirely sure how she'd crossed the garden without falling.

Everything she wanted to say was tangled in her mind. The pounding in her head made speech difficult. Instead, she stepped closer.

Matilda leaned lightly against his arm, her fingers finding the sleeve of his jacket before curling into the fabric. She barely held on. Just enough to remind herself he was there. The tension in her shoulders eased.

For the first time since she'd walked into that sitting room… she felt safe.

It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.

To Drago, it felt like an eternity.

When she finally reemerged through the terrace doors, she stopped for a moment, swaying on her feet, and Drago had to suppress the instinct to walk up to her and catch her. Behind her, Father followed.

His eyes found Drago almost instantly. The glint in them, visible even across the distance, rooted him to the spot before he could move. A self-satisfied smile tugged at the man’s lips, accompanied by an air of accomplishment that made Drago’s stomach clench.

Father had gotten what he’d wanted. Whatever had passed between them, Matilda’s unsteadiness was the proof of it.

Remaining where he stood, wearing an expression bordering on indifference, took all the discipline of eighteen years of conditioning. Lev’s words echoed in his head. He couldn’t let his father see his concern. Don't react.

Matilda made her way into the garden, each step looking as though it might send her stumbling, Father remaining only a pace behind her, and as he waited, Drago felt something crack. No more than a fissure. But it was there.

There, as he released his arms from behind his back, holding his father’s eyes while Matilda’s hand slipped into the crook of his arm, fingers curling into his sleeve.

“Continue enjoying the party,” Father said, tipping his head slightly before turning and disappearing back into the crowd.

Drago looked after him for merely a second.

Matilda was leaning against his side, barely perceptible, but he felt it. His first instinct was to pick her up and carry her upstairs, away from the eyes of curious onlookers still lingering at the outskirts, away from Father, somewhere private. But of course that wasn’t an option. Father’s subliminal message had been unmistakable.

Drago looked towards Lev, holding his brother’s gaze for a moment.

At last, he nodded. “We’ll take a walk.”

His arm tightened around Matilda’s, guiding her away from the gathering and towards a quieter stretch of the gardens. She needed to get away, if only for a moment, and if the house was no option, the farthest reaches of the garden would have to do.