Franklin narrowed his eyes. "You say stuff sometimes, man, and it makes me want to check your pupils for curses."
They drifted away from the main ballroom, Caius silently praying that Indigo had better things to do than plot his funeral yet.
It had only been a day. Surely she wouldn't jump straight to arson.
That would be excessive. …Right?
Franklin, meanwhile, was still looking at him like he was made of poor life choices and red flags. "So. You want to explain why you're suddenly on a first-name basis with people who used to throw insults at you with silver cutlery?"
Caius exhaled slowly. "Would you believe me if I said I've had a recent change of heart?"
"No."
"Spiritual awakening?"
"Nope."
"Death experience followed by reincarnation where I realized I'm the side character in a novel and now I'm trying to romance all the villainesses to avoid dying horribly?"
Franklin blinked.
Caius blinked back.
"…Okay," Caius muttered, "even I know how that one sounds."
"Yeah, maybe lead with the expired wine next time."
The two men wandered into a quieter lounge area just off the main ballroom.
The nobles here were older, sleepier, and less likely to call for duels over eye contact.
Caius collapsed onto a velvet settee like a man who had just survived a minor war, which — emotionally speaking — he had.
Franklin sat across from him, steepling his fingers like a discount therapist. "Let's get one thing straight, Caius. Lady Indigo hates you."
"I noticed."
"She hates your family."
"Yup."
"She once turned a guy's shoes into live birds just because he looked like your cousin."
"Honestly, that one might've been fair. Harold does look like he eats soup with a dagger."
Franklin ignored him. "So why, in the name of all that is vaguely noble, are you trying to flirt with her?"
Caius gave him a tired smile. "Because she doesn't deserve the ending she got."
Franklin tilted his head. "Excuse me?"
"Forget it," Caius muttered. "Let's just say I've read ahead in the playbill, and she deserves better. All of them do."
Franklin stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he leaned back. "So. This is either a breakdown… or the start of something wildly stupid."
"Can't it be both?"
"...Yes. Yes it can."
Caius groaned and buried his face in his hands.
He wasn't even mad at Indigo. Not really. If he were in her shoes, he'd probably call himself a mutt too.
Maybe something worse. The real problem wasn't that she hated him.
The problem was that, despite everything, she was still her.
Still brilliant. Still composed. Still walking into a ballroom like she owned the moon and half the stars.
In the book, she was a villainess because the narrative needed her to be. Because it made for good drama. But Caius knew the truth now.
She wasn't a villain.
She was just furious.
And he couldn't really blame her.
He leaned back, letting his head thunk softly against the cushioned wall behind the settee.
"How do you fix a reputation your predecessors ruined for you before you were even born?"
Franklin raised a brow. "Step one: don't call their daughter a sweetheart while she's holding a wineglass."
"It's supposed to be charming."
"It's not."
Caius sighed. "Back to the drawing board."
Franklin looked at him for a long moment.
Then, with the air of someone very reluctantly accepting that he was being dragged into someone else's weird redemption arc, he said:
"…You really serious about this?"
Caius nodded. "Dead serious."
"Fine." Franklin stood, downed the rest of his wine, and adjusted his coat. "Then we better get started. You'll need allies. Damage control. And a lot of luck."
Caius blinked. "Wait, you're helping?"
"I'm not letting you try to romance Lady Indigo alone. That's a death wish. If you die, who's going to split the wine bill with me?"
Caius grinned. "I knew you liked me."
"I tolerate you."
"Same thing."
...
Caius gave Franklin a lazy wave, the kind that said, "Thanks for keeping me from dying tonight" with just the right touch of "Please leave before something explodes again."
Franklin, ever the dependable enabler, saluted back with mock solemnity. "Don't talk to any more murder-prone women until I'm around to supervise."
"No promises."
"Didn't think so. Don't die."
And with that, Franklin disappeared into the night like a responsible adult with self-preservation instincts.
Caius watched him go, exhaled slowly, and let the buzz of the party finally leave his system.
The ballroom was winding down now — nobles heading for the exits, some gracefully, others in varying stages of intoxicated wobble.
A few tried to keep dancing even after the musicians had already packed up.
One man was waltzing with a coat rack. Caius decided not to engage.
The grand doors creaked open every few minutes, letting nobles filter out into the cool evening air.
Somewhere in that flow, Arden had already vanished. Sixteen years old, bright as a magical flame, and already accepted into the Royal Academy as a commoner.
A prodigy.
Caius squinted after him.
"Kid's either gonna be a hero or a headache," he muttered.
"Great. Hope it's not both."
After a few more polite waves and very forced smiles, Caius finally slipped away from the thinning crowd, making his way deeper into the Everhart estate.
Now, the Everhart mansion — if you could even call it a "mansion" without committing a crime against vocabulary — was roughly the size of a small country.
It had wings. Plural.
Corridors that zigzagged like they were built during a maze-themed drinking contest.
Decorative suits of armor that moved sometimes. Caius wasn't sure if it was magic or trauma-induced hallucination.
He didn't ask.
He wandered down one hallway, turned left, then another left, then maybe a diagonal? Was that a thing? Whatever it was, it was wrong. Very wrong.
At some point, he passed the same painting three times.
A noblewoman with judgmental eyes and a small dog that looked like it knew what Caius did last summer.
"…I'm lost," Caius admitted out loud, finally.
The house did not respond.
"I'm lost in my own house."