Page 125 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

"Magic is a wonderful thing," Carol said smoothly. "As is preparation. And self-control." She paused meaningfully. "Perhaps you should try the latter sometime."

A notification appeared briefly in Carol's peripheral vision:

DIPLOMATIC SARCASM ROUTE CHOSEN!

+15 Social Grace

+5 Wit

+10 Reputation (Northern Nobility)

Achievement Unlocked: "Grace Under Fire"

Earl Magnus Ironwood had finally reached his daughter. His face was purple with rage and embarrassment.

"Millicent," he growled, gripping her arm. "Outside. Now."

"But Father—"

"NOW."

He practically dragged her toward the exit, her protests fading as they disappeared through the doors.

Countess Gwyneth Ironwood followed, her face pale with mortification.

Carol remained standing, perfectly composed, as if having wine thrown at her was a minor inconvenience rather than a public attack.

Caspian reached her side in three strides.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his hand finding the small of her back.

"I'm fine," Carol said. "Completely fine."

"Your dress—"

"Is also fine," Carol said, gesturing to the unstained fabric. "I took... precautions."

Caspian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Precautions?"

"I'll explain later," Carol murmured.

He studied her face for a moment, then something that might have been pride flickered in his expression.

"You handled that beautifully," he said quietly.

"Thank you."

Genevieve appeared on Carol's other side, her eyes bright with barely suppressed emotion.

"Oh my dear," she said. "That was magnificent."

"I didn't want to cause more of a scene," Carol said.

"You didn't," Valerian said, approaching with his usual measured pace. "You de-escalated it with remarkable poise. Well done."

Coming from the cold Duke Winterhelm, that was extremely high praise.

Carol felt warmth spread through her chest.