Page 18 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

"Very helpful, thank you," Carol muttered.

"This is going to be a disaster," Missy said cheerfully. "I can't wait to watch."

◆◆◆

The walk to the dining room felt like a march to the gallows.

Every step echoed in the hallway. Every servant she passed gave her wide-eyed looks of shock—the lady who rarely left her chambers, now calmly walking to dinner with the Duke. It was apparently the scandal of the century.

She reached the dining room doors. The butler—an elderly man named Edmund who had been avoiding her for two months—stood at attention. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing. "His Grace is already seated."

"Thank you, Edmund," Carol said, proud that her voice didn't shake.

He opened the doors.

The dining room was still intimidating—that long table stretching between them like a metaphorical battlefield—but tonight, only two places were set. Not at opposite ends of the table, but facing each other, near the middle.

Someone had made a decision to reduce the distance.

And at one of those places sat Caspian Vanthorn.

He looked up as she entered, and Carol's breath caught.

If he'd been breathtaking in training clothes, he was devastating in formal attire. He wore a deep navy jacket over a crisp white shirt, his silver hair swept back and tied at the nape of his neck—more formal than the training ground but still showing the length that fell past his shoulders. His green eyes were sharp and assessing as they locked onto her.

"Good evening," he said. His voice was deep, measured, and completely neutral.

"Good evening," Carol managed, forcing her feet to move toward the table. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."

One silver eyebrow rose slightly. "You're... thanking me."

"Yes?" Carol said, confused. "Should I not?"

"You've never thanked me for anything before," he said flatly.

Oh god, Original Caroline was even worse than I thought.

"Well," Carol said, settling into her seat as gracefully as she could manage. "I'm working on being more appreciative."

Caspian studied her for a long moment, those green eyes analyzing her like she was a tactical problem to solve. Carol felt her cheeks warming under his gaze and quickly looked down at her plate.

Stop blushing. Stop blushing. He's going to think—

"Water or juice, Your Grace?" A servant appeared at her elbow.

"Juice, please," Carol said.

The servant nodded and moved away to pour.

Carol glanced at Caspian's wine glass, already filled. He caught her looking. There was something in that look—a challenge, maybe. Or a test.

Right. Because I tried to poison him. This is fine. Everything is fine.

The first course arrived—a delicate soup that smelled amazing. Carol picked up her spoon and tried to think of something, anything, to say.

How was your day? That's what normal people say at dinner, right?