Page 210 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

Mochi had draped himself across the back of the lounge sofa, his Dreamweaver body now the size of a small panda. He purred contentedly, his whiskers occasionally tickling Carol's shoulder. Every so often, his paw would reach out to gently pat her hair, as if reassuring himself she was still there.

Snowball, the Frost Serpent, was coiled in a patch of shade near Carol's feet. The serpent had grown to about three feet long now, her frost-white and ice-blue scales shimmering beautifully in the dappled sunlight. She radiated a gentle chill that helped keep Carol cool despite her pregnancy-induced tendency to overheat.

Sunny, the young griffin, was playing in the garden—pouncing on butterflies and chasing his own shadow—but he never strayed far. Every few minutes, he'd circle back to check on Carol, chirping softly before resuming his games. His feathers had filled out beautifully, golden-brown plumage gleaming, and his lion's tail swished with feline contentment.

In the trees above, The Murder kept watch.

The Blade Crows had simply appeared one day about two months ago. No explanation. No warning. They'd just descended from the sky, perched in the estate's trees, and refused to leave.

Carol had started feeding them treats—bits of meat, bread, the occasional cookie—and they'd apparently decided she was worth protecting. Now there were at least a dozen of them, their glossy black feathers and intelligent eyes tracking every movement in the garden. They communicated in soft caws and clicks, coordinating their surveillance like a military unit.

Caspian found them unnerving. Carol thought they were delightful.

Near the garden entrance, Medusa stood guard.

The young basilisk was about two feet long now, her scales a beautiful pattern of green and gold. She wore the flowered blindfold Carol had made for her—pastel pink with embroidered daisies—to prevent any accidental petrification. Despite being unable to see, Medusa navigated perfectly well, using her other senses to detect any approaching threats.

Caspian had found her three weeks ago during a short campaign to deal with an orc incursion. The basilisk had been orphaned when the orcs killed her mother, and of course Caspian had brought her home.

Carol had immediately fallen in love with the deadly little creature.

And then there was Mr. Whiskers.

The Eldritch Horror existed somewhere in the garden. Carol couldn't see him at the moment, but she could feel his presence—that subtle wrongness in the air, the sense of something vast and unknowable watching over her with incomprehensible devotion.

Mr. Whiskers had appeared about a month ago. Just... manifested one day in the gardens. No explanation. No origin story. He simply was.

Caspian had been deeply concerned. The household staff had been terrified. Even Shadow had been wary at first.

But Mr. Whiskers had immediately curled up near Carol's feet (or what passed for curling up when you existed partially outside normal space-time), purred (a sound like distant cosmic horror and contentment merged into one), and refused to leave.

So now they had an Eldritch Horror as a pet.

No one questioned it anymore. It was simply accepted that the Duchess of Vanthorn collected unusual and terrifying creatures, and they all adored her.

Carol shifted slightly on the lounge, trying to find a more comfortable position. At this stage of pregnancy, comfort was relative. Her back ached, her feet were swollen, and Caelan seemed determined to use her ribs as a training ground for his future kicking skills.

But the sun was warm, the garden was peaceful, her pets were close, and she was delightfully sleepy.

She was just drifting off when she heard footsteps approaching.

Shadow's ear twitched. The Murder shifted in the trees. Medusa's head turned toward the sound.

A servant—one of the braver ones who didn't mind approaching through the gauntlet of protective creatures—walked carefully into the garden. She carried a sealed letter.

"Your Grace," the servant said, her voice quiet and respectful. "Forgive the interruption. News has arrived from the capital."

Carol opened one eye. "Mm?"

"A letter for you, Your Grace." The servant approached carefully, very aware of Shadow watching her every move. She placed the letter on the small side table next to the lounge and curtsied. "Shall I bring you anything else? Tea? Water?"

"No, thank you," Carol said, already reaching for the letter. "This is fine."

The servant curtsied again and retreated quickly, clearly relieved to escape the concentrated attention of seven protective creatures.

Carol broke the seal and unfolded the letter, reading it with half-closed eyes.

It was from the capital. Official correspondence.