Chapter 26
The Wine Attack
Lady Millicent Ironwood swayed slightly as she stepped away from her table, her wine glass sloshing dangerously.
Every conversation in the great hall had died. Eighty pairs of eyes watched with a mixture of shock, curiosity, and barely concealed anticipation.
Carol remained seated, her hands folded calmly in her lap despite the way her heart was racing.
Here we go, she thought. The system was right.
"Millicent," Earl Magnus Ironwood said urgently, half-rising from his seat. "Sit down. Now."
"No, Father," Millicent said, her words slurring slightly. "No. Someone needs to say it. Someone needs to tell the truth."
She turned to face Carol directly, her delicate features twisted with anger and wine-fueled courage.
"You trapped him," Millicent said loudly, pointing an unsteady finger at Carol. "Everyone knows it. You used a seduction spell. Got yourself pregnant. Forced the Duke into marriage with your scheming."
Gasps rippled through the hall. Several nobles shifted uncomfortably. Others leaned forward, clearly fascinated by the unfolding drama.
Carol felt Caspian move across the room—she could see him from the corner of her eye, already stepping away from the group of men he'd been speaking with.
But she held up one hand slightly, a subtle gesture asking him to wait.
She rose from her chair slowly, deliberately, maintaining perfect composure.
She could handle this.
"Lady Millicent," Carol said calmly, "perhaps you should sit down. You've had quite a bit to drink—"
"Don't patronize me!" Millicent shrieked. "You don't deserve him! You're not worthy of someone so handsome, so powerful, so—" Her voice cracked. "He should have married someone who actually loves him. Not some conniving witch who trapped him!"
The hall erupted in whispers.
Carol saw Cateline and Adrienne exchange horrified glances. Genevieve had one hand pressed to her mouth. Valerian's expression had gone glacial.
"You're pathetic," Millicent continued, tears streaming down her face now. "Clinging to a marriage you forced. Pretending you've changed when everyone knows you're still the same terrible person you always were!"
She raised her wine glass high.
"Someone should wash away your lies!"
And she threw the entire contents directly at Carol's face.
Time seemed to slow.
Carol watched the deep red wine arc through the air, droplets catching the candlelight, heading straight for her carefully arranged hair and expensive gown.
The potion better work, Carol thought.
The wine hit.
And then... nothing.
The liquid struck Carol's gown, her face, her carefully arranged hair—and simply... slid off. Like water hitting oiled canvas. The wine pooled harmlessly on the floor at her feet, leaving not a single stain on the blue fabric, not a drop on her skin or in her hair.
The stain-resistant potion had protected everything.
Carol blinked.
Two hundred and fifty gold crowns well spent.
The hall was completely silent now, everyone staring at Carol's pristine gown in confusion.
Then a translucent blue screen appeared directly in front of Carol's face, visible only to her.
SOCIAL CRISIS DETECTED!
Lady Millicent Ironwood has publicly attacked you!
How do you respond?
Choose quickly! You have 10 seconds!
Option 1: Slap her
Option 2: Pull her hair
Option 3: Run to your husband and sob dramatically on his manly chest
Option 4: Faint dramatically
Option 5: Throw wine back at her
Option 6: None of the above
Timer: 10... 9... 8...
Are you KIDDING me? Carol thought frantically. These are all terrible options!
She could hear Lumi's voice in her head: "None of the above! Choose none of the above!"
And Missy's gleeful whisper: "SLAP HER! Or the fainting! The fainting would be hilarious!"
Carol mentally jabbed at Option 6.
The screen disappeared.
Then immediately reappeared.
SECONDARY OPTIONS AVAILABLE!
Choose your response! 10 seconds!
Option 1: Faint dramatically
Option 2: Laugh it off gracefully
Option 3: Compliment her aim
Option 4: Ask if she feels better now
Option 5: Announce you needed to change anyway
Option 6: None of the above
Timer: 10... 9... 8...
WHY IS FAINTING STILL AN OPTION?! Carol screamed internally.
"Option two!" Lumi's voice urged in her mind. "Be graceful!"
"Option one!" Missy cackled. "FAINT! THE DRAMA!"
"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" Carol thought back at them.
She looked at the options again.
Option 2 was the mature choice. The diplomatic one.
But Option 5... Option 5 had potential.
Carol selected Option 5 just as the timer hit 2.
The screen vanished.
Carol smoothed her completely unstained gown with calm, deliberate movements.
Every eye in the hall was fixed on her.
She looked directly at Lady Millicent, who was staring at Carol's pristine dress with growing confusion and horror.
"Thank you, Lady Millicent," Carol said clearly, her voice carrying across the silent hall. "I was just thinking this gown could use some refreshing. How thoughtful of you to assist."
Dead silence.
Then Carol smiled—a perfectly polite, diplomatic smile that somehow managed to convey both grace and cutting sarcasm.
"Though I must say," Carol continued, "your aim could use some work. The wine didn't even reach the fabric."
A strangled sound came from somewhere in the crowd. Someone was trying very hard not to laugh.
"You—" Millicent started, her face going red. "How did you—"
"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.
The hall was still mostly silent, nobles processing what they'd just witnessed.
Then Lady Cateline started to applaud.
Slowly, others joined in—first Adrienne, then Lady Isolde, then more and more nobles until the entire hall was applauding.
For Carol.
For handling the situation with grace and wit instead of descending into drama.
Carol felt her throat tighten with emotion but kept her composure.
"Perhaps," Caspian said quietly, "we should continue the evening. Show everyone that this changes nothing."
"Good idea," Carol agreed.
Caspian raised his voice, addressing the hall. "Thank you all for your... patience during that unfortunate interruption. Please, let us continue celebrating."
The musicians, who had frozen in shock, immediately resumed playing. Conversations started up again, though Carol could tell everyone was still discussing what had just happened.
Servants appeared to clean up the spilled wine on the floor.
Carol returned to her seat, accepting a fresh glass of water from an attentive server.
Cateline and Adrienne immediately came to her side.
"That was amazing," Cateline said in an undertone. "The way you handled her—"
"She was drunk and heartbroken," Carol said quietly. "I'm not going to destroy her over it."
"Most would have," Adrienne said. "Most would have demanded she be removed from society entirely."
"What would be the point?" Carol asked. "She's humiliated enough."
Both ladies looked at her with something like wonder.
"You really have changed," Cateline said softly.
"I'm trying to," Carol said honestly.
More ladies approached—older noblewomen who had been watching with critical eyes earlier.
"Your Grace," one said—a stern-looking woman with silver hair. "I am Marchioness Eloise Stormhold. I must say, your composure was remarkable."
"Thank you, my lady," Carol said.
"I had... reservations about you," the Marchioness continued bluntly. "Your reputation preceded you. But what I witnessed just now—that was the behavior of a true duchess."
Carol felt her chest warm. "That means a great deal, my lady."
Other noblewomen echoed similar sentiments. The ones who had been coldly assessing her earlier were now looking at her with something like respect.
Even approval.
Carol had won them over. Not by being perfect, but by handling an attack with grace and wit.
The rest of the banquet continued without further incident.
More courses were served—Carol enjoyed them all, though she was slightly less enthusiastic given the adrenaline still coursing through her system.
Dancing resumed. Carol danced with Caspian twice more, and then graciously accepted requests from several of the northern lords, all of whom seemed genuinely pleased to dance with her.
As the evening wound down and guests began departing, Carol received countless compliments on the beautiful event, the excellent food, and—most frequently—her remarkable composure.
Finally, as the last guests were leaving, Carol stood beside Caspian near the entrance, accepting final farewells.
Earl Magnus Ironwood approached, his expression grim.
"Your Grace," he said to Caspian, then turned to Carol. "Your Grace. I offer my deepest apologies for my daughter's behavior. It was inexcusable."
"She was intoxicated and emotional," Carol said calmly. "I hold no grudge."
"You are more gracious than we deserve," the Earl said. He hesitated, then added, "Millicent will be returning to our estate tomorrow. She will not be troubling you again."
"I hope she finds happiness," Carol said, and meant it. "Truly."
The Earl looked stunned. Then he bowed deeply and departed.
When the last guest had finally left, Carol sagged slightly against Caspian.
"Tired?" he asked.
"Exhausted," Carol admitted. "That was... a lot."
"You were perfect," Caspian said quietly. "Absolutely perfect."
"I had wine thrown at my face," Carol pointed out.
"And you handled it with more grace than most people could manage in far easier circumstances," Caspian said. "I'm proud of you."
Carol felt tears prick her eyes—the good kind, this time.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Come on," Caspian said, offering his arm. "Let's go check on our pets and then get some sleep. You've earned it."
As they walked back through the transformed halls of Frostholme, Carol thought about the evening.
The accusations. The wine. The terrible game options. The diplomatic sarcasm that had somehow won over an entire hall of skeptical nobles.
She'd survived.
More than survived—she'd succeeded.
The northern nobility had accepted her. Respected her, even.
Not bad for a transmigrated corporate worker who just wanted to avoid death flags and eat good food.
But as the adrenaline faded, something else settled in her chest.
Guilt.