Page 20 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

"Why."

It wasn't really a question. It was more of a demand.

Carol considered lying. Considered some elaborate excuse. But something about those sharp green eyes analyzing her made her think he'd see through any deception immediately.

"Because what's done is done," she said finally. "I can't change the past. The marriage, the circumstances, any of it. But I can decide what kind of person I want to be going forward. And I've decided I'd rather not be miserable." She paused. "Or make everyone around me miserable."

Caspian studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment.

"You trapped me into this marriage with a seduction spell meant for another man," he said bluntly. "You've spent two months writing letters to your family about how much you hate being here. You threw a plate at my cook, screamed at my maids, and attempted to poison my wine." He picked up his wine glass and took a deliberate sip. "And now you expect me to believe you've suddenly decided to 'try something different.'"

Each word was a precise strike, delivered without heat but with devastating accuracy.

Carol felt her face burning with shame—shame for things she hadn't technically done but was now responsible for anyway.

"You're right," she said quietly. "All of that is true. And I understand why you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either." She looked down at her soup. "But I meant what I said. I want to build a new life here. I want to try to make the best of this situation. For both of us."

"For both of us," he repeated, his tone skeptical.

"Yes. Look—" Carol gestured around the beautiful dining room. "You've given me everything material I could want. This room, my chambers, my clothes, the gardens. You've been... generous. Despite everything."

"I provided you with comfort so you would stay in your wing and leave me alone," Caspian said flatly.

"I know." Carol met his eyes again, ignoring the flutter in her chest. "And it worked. But that's not a marriage. That's two strangers living in the same house and avoiding each other. And I—" She took a breath. "I think we could do better than that. If you're willing to try."

Silence.

Caspian set down his wine glass very carefully. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"I don't know yet," Carol admitted. "Maybe we could start with dinners? Get to know each other? I promise—" She held up one hand. "I promise I'm not plotting anything. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I just... I'd like to try being friends. Or at least friendly."

"Friends," he said, like the word was foreign.

"Is that so strange?"

"You've spent two months crying over Earl Sinclair and telling anyone who would listen that you were forced into a marriage with a monster."

Carol winced. "I—yes. I did. And I was wrong. You're not a monster."

"Everyone calls me The Butcher of the North."

"Well, yes, but—" Carol scrambled for something to say. "That's just because you're very effective at your job! Monster defense is important work. Someone has to do it. And you're obviously excellent at it. Over fifteen thousand kills is very impressive!"

Caspian stared at her.

"That came out wrong," Carol said quickly. "I mean—not that killing is impressive. Well, it is when you're killing monsters that would otherwise hurt people. Which you are. So it's good. You're doing good work. Protecting the kingdom. Very heroic."

She was rambling again. She couldn't stop herself.

"The training I saw this morning was remarkable, by the way. Your technique with the sword—very fluid. And your estate management is clearly excellent because everything runs so smoothly and the gardens are immaculate and—" Carol realized she was still talking and forced herself to stop. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"Yes," Caspian said. But something in his expression had shifted slightly. The corner of his mouth was definitely twitching now. "You've never complimented my swordsmanship before. Or my estate management."

"Well, I should have. It's all very impressive." Carol paused, then decided to risk it. "Though I have to say, the fact that you're immune to poison is both terrifying and somewhat inconvenient. From a... theoretical standpoint."

She immediately regretted it.

But then—