Page 132 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

Eventually, the magic began to fade.

The burning need cooled gradually, like a fever breaking. Caroline's awareness returned in pieces—the cool night air on her skin, the softness of flower petals beneath her, the weight of the man lying beside her.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no—

Full consciousness returned like a bucket of ice water.

Caroline sat up abruptly, her hands reaching out in an attempt to find her dress. Her hair was completely undone, flowers tangled in the loose strands. Her gown was... was...

Saints and stars, where was her dress?

Caspian stirred beside her, his own expression shifting from dazed to confused to horrified as awareness returned.

"What—" he started, then stopped, taking in the scene. The flower bed his powers had created. The privacy screen of bushes. Caroline's state of undress.

His own state of undress.

"Lady Caroline," he said, his voice rough and uncertain. "What happened? The magic—I felt—"

"It was a spell," Caroline whispered, shame and horror flooding through her. "I cast a spell. It wasn't supposed to—you weren't supposed to—"

She fumbled with her dress, trying desperately to make herself presentable. Tears streamed down her face.

This was a disaster. A complete disaster.

The spell had been meant for Percival. For the man she loved. For the future she'd planned.

Instead, she'd accidentally trapped the most dangerous man in the kingdom. The Butcher of the North. A duke who could destroy her family with a word.

And she'd just... they'd just...

"I'm sorry," Caspian said quietly, and he sounded genuinely distressed. "I didn't mean to—the magic, it was so strong, I couldn't—" He paused. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Caroline managed, still struggling with her dress. The lacing was impossible to do alone. "No, you didn't—it wasn't your fault. The spell, it reflected, it wasn't supposed to—"

She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't admit that she'd meant to trap someone else. That Caspian had been an accident. A mistake.

Footsteps approached through the gardens—multiple sets.

Caroline's stomach dropped.

"Someone's coming," she whispered urgently.

Caspian was already on his feet, his own clothing hastily rearranged though still obviously disheveled. He tried to help Caroline with her dress, his fingers clumsy with the unfamiliar fastenings.

"Here," he said quietly, managing to get enough of the lacing done that she wasn't completely exposed.

The bushes that had provided privacy began to recede—his Matter Manipulation releasing its hold as his concentration broke.

Voices called out: "Caroline? Caroline, are you out here?"

Her father's voice.

And Earl Holloway sounded furious.

Caroline met Caspian's eyes for just a moment—jade-green and filled with guilt and confusion and something that might have been an apology.