Page 170 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

On screen, Caspian looked up at the sky briefly, and for just a moment, Carol could have sworn he smiled.

As if somehow, he knew she was watching.

Chapter 36

The Grumpiest Dragon Slayer

Caspian was in a foul mood.

He'd been away from Frostholme for five days now. Five days of fighting Blightspawn, camping in the wilderness, and dealing with corrupted creatures that seemed determined to test his patience.

Five days away from Caroline.

From their chambers. Their bed. Waking up beside her warm body, feeling their child move beneath his hand during quiet morning moments.

Five days too long.

"Your Grace," Edwin called, riding up beside him. "Scouts report movement ahead. Large signatures."

"How large?" Caspian asked, his tone clipped.

"Very large, Your Grace. Dragon-sized."

Of course. Because corrupted wolves and bears weren't enough. Now the Blight had gotten to dragons.

Caspian's jaw tightened. "How many?"

"At least four confirmed. Possibly more."

"Wonderful," Caspian said flatly.

Edwin glanced at him sidelong. "You're in a particularly foul temper today."

"I want to go home," Caspian said bluntly. "I'm tired of sleeping on the ground. I'm tired of fighting monsters. I'm tired of being away from my wife."

"Understandable," Edwin said, fighting back a grin. "Though I've never heard you complain about monster-slaying before."

"I've never had a reason to be elsewhere before," Caspian pointed out.

They crested a ridge, and the corrupted dragons came into view.

Four of them—massive creatures that darkened the sky. Two were Earth dragons, bulky and powerful, easily sixty feet from snout to tail. The other two were Wind dragons, sleeker but longer—seventy feet or more with wingspans twice that length.

All four had the telltale signs of corruption—eyes glowing with unnatural light, movements jerky and aggressive, the miasma of the Blight hanging around them like a shroud.

"Saints preserve us," Lieutenant Marcus muttered. "Those are massive."

"I've fought bigger," Caspian said, dismounting smoothly. He drew Wintersbane and Frostreaver, the legendary blades singing as they left their sheaths.

"Sir," one of the younger soldiers said nervously. "Shouldn't we—"

"Stay back and guard the horses," Caspian ordered. "I'll handle this."

"By yourself?" the soldier asked.

"Yes."

Caspian walked toward the corrupted dragons with purposeful strides, his silver hair catching the wind, his expression cold and focused.