Page 147 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

This time, when they came together, it was everything the first time hadn't been.

It was slow. Tender. Deliberate.

It was a choice, freely made, by two people who wanted each other.

It was their true wedding night.

And as Caspian moved over her, his green eyes locked with hers, his hands gentle and sure, Caroline thought:

This. This is what it was supposed to be.

This is what we were always meant to find.

Chapter 31

A Bittersweet Memory

Three and a Half Months Ago

Caspian hated balls.

He stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, watching nobles swirl across the marble floor in their elaborate dances, and wished he was anywhere else. The northern border. A battlefield. Even doing paperwork in his study would be preferable to this.

"Stop scowling," his mother said quietly, appearing at his elbow with a glass of wine. "You're frightening the debutantes."

"Good," Caspian said.

"Caspian," Duchess Genevieve sighed. "You need to at least try to be sociable. Your father and I didn't drag you to the capital just so you could stand in corners looking menacing."

"I excel at looking menacing."

"Yes, but you could excel at it while also making polite conversation," his mother said. "Come. The Holloways are here. Earl Holloway is an old friend of your father's."

Caspian suppressed another sigh and followed his mother across the ballroom, his father falling into step beside them. The crowd parted automatically, nobles stepping back with poorly concealed nervousness.

He was used to it. Had been dealing with it since his powers manifested at age seven and he'd accidentally reshaped his entire nursery into a fortress of stone and metal.

The Butcher of the North. The Frost Reaper. Winter's Blade.

He'd heard all the titles. Knew exactly what people whispered when they thought he couldn't hear.

Monster. Killer. Dangerous.

They weren't entirely wrong.

Earl Holloway saw them approaching and straightened, his expression shifting to that particular blend of nervousness and forced courtesy that most nobles adopted around Caspian's family.

"Lord Holloway," his father said in that cold, formal tone. "Countess Holloway. A pleasure."

Pleasantries were exchanged. Caspian paid minimal attention, his gaze drifting over the assembled family until it landed on the daughter.

Lady Caroline Holloway.

She was beautiful—he noticed that immediately. Honey blonde hair arranged in elegant curls, an emerald gown that complemented her amber eyes, delicate features that suggested nobility and breeding.

But it was her expression that caught his attention.

She wasn't looking at him with fear or calculation or that mix of fascination and revulsion he'd grown accustomed to.