Page 213 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

And somewhere in the garden, Mr. Whiskers existed, pleased that his chosen person was resting comfortably.

Carol drifted back to sleep, one hand resting on her belly where Caelan kicked gently, the other trailing over the edge of the lounge where Shadow could sniff it reassuringly.

Lucinda Harcourt's fate was sealed.

Carol's fate was happiness.

And she knew which one she preferred.

The afternoon sun continued its lazy journey across the sky, and the Duchess of Vanthorn napped in perfect peace, surrounded by love and protected by creatures who would destroy worlds for her comfort.

Exactly as it should be.

Epilogue

Kids, Pets, and Zero Regrets

Seven Years Later

The afternoon sun cast golden light across the gardens of Frostholme, turning everything soft and warm.

Carol sat on her favorite garden bench—the one positioned perfectly to catch the breeze but avoid too much direct sunlight—with her youngest child cradled in her arms.

Baby Cyrion was six months old, all chubby cheeks and curious eyes. He had inherited his father's silver hair and striking green eyes that seemed to track everything with unusual focus for one so young.

But right now, he was content to drowse in her arms, occasionally making soft baby sounds that melted her heart.

Carol wasn't watching Cyrion, though.

She was watching the beautiful chaos unfolding in the gardens before her.

Caelan Holloway Vanthorn, at seven years old, was already showing signs of becoming exactly like his father.

He had inherited Caspian's silver hair—though it was slightly longer, since Carol refused to let anyone cut it too short—and Carol's warm amber eyes. His expression was serious as he demonstrated something to his younger siblings, his small hands moving with careful precision.

Beside him sat his companion—a young shadow wolf that was already the size of a large dog. The pup was one of Shadow's offspring, born a year ago, and had bonded with Caelan immediately. The wolf watched the younger children with the same protective intensity that Shadow had always shown Carol.

"Watch carefully," Caelan was saying, his voice carrying that particular tone of an older sibling trying to teach. "Father says you have to visualize what you want the earth to do before you use your power."

He held out his hand, and the ground in front of him rippled. Small stones rose up, arranging themselves into a perfect flower shape before settling back down.

Matter Manipulation.

Just like his father.

Caelan had manifested the Vanthorn family's legendary power at age five, and Caspian had been both proud and careful in teaching him control.

"My turn!" Celeste announced.

At five years old, Celeste was a whirlwind of energy wrapped in honey-blonde curls inherited from her mother and bright green eyes from her father. She had Carol's coloring and Caspian's determination, which made for an interesting combination.

Draped across her shoulders was a baby Dreamweaver—one of Mochi's kittens, barely a foot long, with soft purple-blue fur and enormous eyes. The little creature purred contentedly as Celeste knelt beside the garden flowers.

"I'm going to make them grow," Celeste declared. She placed her small hands near a rosebush and concentrated, her face scrunching up with effort.

Water from the soil rose up through the stems, and the roses shivered—new buds swelling with moisture and opening into full flowers in seconds.

Dual affinity.