The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 104

The palace felt quieter than usual, though that may have been because Beatrice hadn’t left her guest chambers since the tea incident. The burn on her arm had blistered slightly despite the ointment, and the skin around her collarbone still stung whenever the fabric of her dress shifted too roughly. She kept her movements minimal and her expression blank, and no one pressed her to rejoin the court.

The archery session that Lila had once arranged never happened. Nor did the silly wooden dueling match with Francois, back when things were easier. She remembered it clearly from the first time around. Lila’s smug challenge, the laughter from the sidelines, Francois surprising everyone by siding with her instead. That version of Beatrice had fought awkwardly but laughed until her stomach hurt.

Now, no one even knocked on her door.

It was sometime past noon when another knock finally came. Beatrice rose carefully, her arm still bandaged, and opened the door.

Queen Cecile stood in the corridor, dressed in a pale blue gown that shimmered in the light. And in her arms, curled neatly against her chest, was the black kitten.

"May I come in?" the queen asked.

Beatrice blinked. "Of course, Your Majesty."

She moved aside, and the queen stepped in. The kitten immediately leapt from her arms and explored the room like it belonged there.

"She seems fond of you," Queen Cecile said. Her voice held something different today. Less steel, and more curiosity.

Beatrice watched the kitten circle her writing desk. "I... didn’t know she was yours."

"She’s the palace’s, really. Found her mewling under the lilacs near the west gate. I named her Elisha."

Beatrice froze. "That was months ago?"

The queen raised an eyebrow. "Yes, around midsummer. Why?"

Beatrice hesitated. "It... just feels like I’ve met her before."

The queen gave her a long look, then sat at the edge of the sofa.

"You protected her yesterday. Most people wouldn’t have moved."

"I reacted," Beatrice said softly. "It didn’t feel like a choice."

Queen Cecile nodded. Her gaze flicked toward the bandages under Beatrice’s sleeve.

"And you’re certain you’re all right?"

"It’s nothing, I’ll live." Then she added, "Thank you for checking."

The queen gave a single nod. "It was the least I could do."

After she left, Beatrice lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. It was hours before she stirred again. Once the sun dipped below the windows and the bells marked the evening hour, she rose slowly.

After her bath, wrapped in a light silk gown, she stared at her reflection and then the door. Her mind returned to the journals she’d left behind. Still on edge from the day, she slipped on a cloak and crept through the dim corridors.

The hallway to her old chamber was darker than she remembered. The guards were stationed two doors down, focused on their dice game. Beatrice crept to the ornate door and gave the handle a quiet turn.

Locked.

She frowned.

She glanced around, then knelt to inspect the lock. It wasn’t as if she could pick it, but she tugged gently, trying to see if the door would yield. The scene must have looked ridiculous.

"I’d offer you a hairpin if you looked like you knew what you were doing."

Beatrice gasped, standing so fast that she stumbled.

Francois leaned against the wall behind her, arms crossed, face half-lit by the lanterns.

"Your Highness," she stammered.

"This room," he said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. "It will be the future queen’s suite."

Beatrice tried to compose herself. "I... didn’t realize."

"Really? You’ve tried to get in twice."

She flushed. "I was just... I thought I left something behind before returning to the palace."

He tilted his head. "You’re not a very good liar, Lady Beatrice."

"I wasn’t trying to lie. Not exactly." She looked down.

Something unreadable passed through his gaze.

"Come back tomorrow. I’ll show you the inside." He said.

Her head snapped up quickly. "You will?"

"Only if you stop sneaking around like a thief," he said, amused. "Besides, I’m curious now."

Beatrice nodded in excitement, hiding her sudden warmth.

The next morning, she joined the ladies for brunch. Whispers fell quiet as she entered the room. She wore a muted gray-blue gown, high-necked and simple. She looked more statue than scandal.

Expectedly, no one greeted her.

Princess Lila, of course, sat near Johanna. Beatrice took the farthest seat, and for the first ten minutes, no one spoke.

Then Johanna turned, voice tentative. "Lady Beatrice, your arm... is it healing well?"

Beatrice blinked. "It is, thank you."

"That was very brave," Johanna said, almost shyly.

Princess Lila rolled her eyes. "It was impulsive."

Beatrice looked at her, voice even. "So is saying things no one asked for."

The other girls stilled.

Lila narrowed her eyes. "Is that meant to be a barb?"

"Only if you think it is."

The table was quiet for a long while after that.

That night, Beatrice waited. She wore a pale robe and left her hair loose, seated by the window of her chambers.

She waited an hour. Then two. Then three.

But he never came.

Her heart, despite all its warnings, sank.

The next morning, the palace buzzed. Princess Lila had suffered an allergic reaction during the night. A pastry, carelessly made with ground peanuts. She had nearly stopped breathing.

Beatrice paled when she overheard the servants whispering. Of course Francois couldn’t come.

But he could have told her.

Later in the garden, he found her sitting beneath the oleander trees.

"Lady Beatrice," he greeted.

She looked up, but didn’t speak.

"I apologize for last night. I should have sent word."

Beatrice nodded once. "The princess?"

"Stable now. But it was close."

They sat in silence for a moment.

He added, "You waited?"

"I said I would."

Something softened in his expression.

Beatrice looked away. "We used to talk more, didn’t we?"

"Did we?" his head tilted, visibly confused by her question. "I barely know you, Lady Beatrice."

"Then I hope you get to know me. The real me."

The she stood, the breeze tugging at her skirts. Before turning her back, she added shyly... "I’ll see you tonight, then?"

This time, he nodded.

Beatrice returned to her chambers with a slow careful step, replaying every word of their conversation in her head.

He nodded, he agreed!

It wasn’t a promise. But it was close enough to make her heart stir.

She spent the rest of the day in a strange, quiet daze. It was unlike the first time she had lived this Chapter. Then, she would’ve been pacing, fretting over her hair or practicing something clever to say. This version of Beatrice did none of that.

She simply waited and kept to herself.

The evening passed in its usual rhythm. Supper was uneventful. Lily helped her into a more formal robe, deep blue with silver stitching, and brushed her hair carefully. The maid still seemed uneasy around her, but Beatrice was gentle. Kindness didn’t fix timelines, but it softened the silence between them.

As the palace halls grew dimmer and quieter, she made her way back towards the east wing.

The moonlight filtered through tall windows, throwing patterns across the floor. Her steps were silent on the polished stone, and her heart beat a little faster with each one.

Francois was waiting at the end of the corridor, hands clasped behind his back.

"You came!" she exclamed, almost sounding like a squeal.

"I said I would." He gestured toward the locked door, then produced a key from his coat pocket.

With a soft click, the door opened.

Beatrice hesitated in the doorway. She had been here before, after her name was announced, after everything shifted. But now, the room looked untouched. No personal items, no monogrammed linens. Just possibility.

Francois watched her closely.

"Did you expect something else?"

She stepped in. "I think... I expected it to remember me."

There was a silence that followed, deep and almost reverent.

He leaned against the doorframe. "Tell me what you’re looking for."

"I left a journal here. Weeks ago, or what felt like weeks ago." Her hands hovered over the dresser. Nothing... just empty drawers and a hollow vanity.

Francois chuckled while watching her, clearly amused. "You’re a strange woman, Lady Beatrice."

She looked at him. "You have no idea."

"You can come here again, if you like. If you need a quiet place."

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Francois stepped forward, fingers brushing the corner of the empty writing desk. He turned to her again. "Goodnight, Beatrice."

The use of her name... her first name, landed like a soft touch against a bruise.

"Goodnight," she said back, her voice steadier than she felt.

She waited until he disappeared down the hallway before she turned back to the room. She lingered a little longer in the doorway, then closed it softly behind her.

There was nothing left of her old journals. But tonight, something had opened again.

Not a door, but a window. Just enough to let the wind back in.