Page 214 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

Just like her mother.

Carol had nearly cried when Celeste's powers manifested last year. Water and Mind, the same rare combination Carol herself possessed. Caspian had immediately arranged for the best tutors, determined that his daughter would have the magical education her mother had missed.

"That's very good, Celeste," Caelan said approvingly, sounding remarkably like a miniature Caspian. "But remember to pace yourself. Father says—"

"Father says, Father says," Callum interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically.

At four years old, Callum was pure mischief. He had his father's silver hair that never stayed neat and his mother's amber eyes that sparkled with trouble, and enough energy to exhaust everyone around him.

He had no manifested powers yet, but he had a small griffin—one of Sunny's chicks—that followed him everywhere. Right now, both boy and griffin were chasing after Mochi's kitten, all three of them tumbling through the garden in a tangle of laughter and chirps and meows.

"Callum, be careful!" Caelan called. "You'll disturb—"

Too late.

Callum's wild chase brought him directly past two-year-old Cordelia, who was sitting peacefully in a patch of soft grass.

Cordelia had inherited their mother's honey-blonde hair and their father's green eyes, and a temperament so gentle that even the most nervous creatures calmed around her. She was currently petting a tiny frost serpent—barely six inches long, one of Snowball's recent hatchlings—with careful, reverent touches.

The serpent was coiled in her lap, perfectly content, exhaling small puffs of frost that made Cordelia giggle.

Callum's griffin-chasing nearly knocked into her, but Caelan's shadow wolf was already moving, positioning itself between the chaos and the toddler with practiced ease.

"Sorry, Delia!" Callum called, not slowing down at all.

Cordelia looked up, smiled her sweet smile, and went back to petting her serpent.

Carol watched all of this with a contentment so deep it almost hurt.

Five children.

Five perfect, chaotic, beloved children.

Each with their own personality. Their own gifts. Their own companion creatures who had chosen them just as Shadow and Mochi and all the others had chosen Carol.

This was her life now.

Not corporate hell. Not endless work and exhaustion. Not dying alone at a desk at twenty-eight years old.

This.

"You look happy," a familiar voice said.

Carol looked up to find Caspian approaching from the estate. He was dressed casually—no formal ducal attire, just comfortable clothes suitable for spending time with family. His silver hair caught the sunlight, and when he smiled at her, Carol's heart still skipped a beat.

Eight years of marriage, five children, and he still made her feel like this.

"I am happy," Carol said simply.

Caspian sat beside her on the bench, close enough that their shoulders touched. He looked at baby Cyrion, then at the organized chaos of the garden, then back at Carol.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to their youngest.

Carol carefully transferred Cyrion into his father's arms. The baby made a small sound of protest, then settled against Caspian's chest with a contented sigh.

Carol stretched, enjoying the freedom to move without a baby in her arms, and leaned against her husband's shoulder.

"Five children," Caspian said, watching Caelan demonstrate another earth-shaping technique. "You said we'd have five."