He leaned toward Franklin. "Hey, random question. If I wanted to delay a feud between our family and that guy up there, what's the usual etiquette? A fruit basket? Maybe a mild bribe?"
Franklin squinted at him. "You ask the weirdest questions when you're drunk."
Caius straightened his shirt, already feeling the edges of the plot closing in like the walls of a very fancy trash compactor.
It wasn't that he hated Arden — he was a solid protagonist, likable, courageous, a bit too perfect if you asked Caius — but that wasn't the problem.
The problem was what came next.
Because Act Two? Oh, Act Two was a bloodbath.
And if Caius didn't start course-correcting now, he'd be just another statistic on a villainess's revenge chart.
Because once again, whether it was due to his bad luck or maybe the Universe hated him, Arden was the brother of a villainess.
He rubbed his face and mumbled under his breath.
"Caius," Franklin said, narrowing his eyes. "You're mumbling again. And it's starting to sound like a manifesto."
"Shh. I'm manifesting emotional growth."
The speech wrapped up to a round of polite applause, which was noble-speak for "we're not sure if we should clap or start plotting your downfall, but here's some vague clapping just in case."
Caius joined in, smiling like a man who wasn't sweating on the inside.
Then came the mingling.
The part he dreaded.
Where nobles floated around like judgmental ghosts, sipping wine and whispering veiled threats behind silk fans.
Where alliances were forged, enemies smiled at each other, and Caius's odds of being assassinated rose steadily with every passing minute.
He drifted from group to group, doing his best to act like he hadn't been reincarnated into a walking PR disaster.
He nodded, smiled, deflected suspicious questions, and pretended to know what a "soulsteel tariff" was.
And then — it happened.
A hush spread like a contagious yawn through the crowd as she walked in.
Lady Indigo Damaris.
Daughter of Duke Damaris. Sorceress prodigy. Owner of the most aggressive fan-flip in the empire.
Also? One of the villainesses.
Her family had once been framed for treason thanks to some delightful paperwork signed by — drumroll please — House Everhart.
In the original story, she went on to blow up a noble council chamber and give Arden a very awkward romantic subplot involving lightning magic and trauma bonding.
Caius stiffened.
This was his chance. If he was going to change the story, he had to start now.
He straightened his coat, practiced his most inoffensive smile, and walked over like a man completely unaware he was approaching a living grenade in a ballgown.
"Lady Indigo," he said, bowing.
She glanced at him with the precise level of cold curiosity someone might give a spider in their tea. "Lord Everhart."
Not "Caius." Not "My Lord."
Just straight into Everhart. Cold and sharp like a legal document.
He grinned anyway. "Wonderful speech, wasn't it?"
She arched a brow. "You mean the one where the commoner suggested nobles should care about poor people?"
"…Yes, that one."
"Hmm." She sipped her wine. "What a refreshing fiction."
Okay.
That was sarcastic. But sarcastic wasn't murderous. That was progress.
He took a small, cautious step closer. "Listen, I know our families haven't exactly… shared holiday dinners. But I'd like to — how do I say this? — not be the kind of noble who continues centuries of passive-aggressive feuding."
She stared at him.
"I'm trying to be better," he added, shrugging. "And I'm told step one is admitting your family sucks."
A long pause.
Then, to his utter surprise, she laughed.
Not a full laugh, it was more of a quiet, elegant chuckle but it was not a lightning bolt to the face, so he took it as a win.
"Is that supposed to charm me, Lord Everhart?" she asked.
"I mean, it's step one of about twelve. Step two is probably cake."
She shook her head. "You're strange. You weren't like this last season."
He spread his arms. "Maybe I hit my head. Maybe I grew a conscience. Maybe I realized that dying with generational wealth isn't as satisfying as not being set on fire by a sorceress with unresolved trauma."
She blinked.
Indigo stared at Caius like he'd just barked at her instead of politely asking not to be incinerated alive in the future.
It wasn't even a glare.
No, that would've been too easy. A glare you could dodge.
What she gave him was that quiet, piercing, "I've memorized your blood type and will use it for forensic purposes" kind of look.
The kind of look that made you check if your will was updated.
Then, as if summoned by the universe's need for backup sass,
Franklin appeared at Caius's side.
He laid a firm, smiling hand on his shoulder — like a father catching his son mid-crime — and looked to Indigo with the radiant charm of someone trying to de-escalate a knife fight with jokes.
"Don't mind him, Lady Indigo," Franklin said cheerfully. "He's been drinking. Possibly expired wine. Or maybe potion cleaner. You know how it is."
Indigo's gaze slid to Franklin with the sharpness of a guillotine. "Then perhaps you should learn to keep your mutt on a leash."
She sidestepped them both with the grace of a pissed-off swan, heels clicking sharply against marble as she vanished into the crowd.
Caius was still stuck in a stunned silence, blinking like someone whose soul had temporarily left their body for repairs.
Franklin gave him a gentle shake. "Hey. Hey. Did you not just hear her verbally castrate you in public?"
"Oh, I heard," Caius said faintly. "I'm just trying to figure out how I can still marry her without dying first."
Franklin dropped his hand from Caius's shoulder. "...You're into that?"
"No! I'm not — It's not about that, she just — " Caius sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
"Complicated like forbidden love or complicated like you forgot that woman has fantasized about setting you on fire since she was twelve?"
"She's going to try and kill me before Act 3," Caius blurted out, immediately regretting it.
Franklin blinked. "...Act three of what?"
"I mean, uh — " Caius panicked. "The social season. The third act of the season. You know. Metaphorically."