The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 42

Beatrice felt restless.

She had spent the better part of an hour wandering the palace halls, trying to shake off the unease curling in her stomach. The knowledge of what she had overheard, of the kingdom inching toward conflict, clung to her like an unwanted weight.

She hated this.

She hated knowing something and being unable to do anything about it. In the novel, Johanna had stepped into her role as queen with steady grace, facing these conflicts head-on. But Beatrice? She wasn’t supposed to be part of this story. She had never been involved in these matters before. At least, not in a way that mattered.

And yet, she was caught in it now.

She needed air.

Turning sharply, she made her way toward the palace gardens. It was late afternoon, the golden light stretching long shadows across the trimmed hedges and blooming roses.

Normally, this would be a place of peace. A retreat. But today, it felt too quiet.

Beatrice walked along the stone pathway, hands clasped behind her back, thoughts churning. The council meeting had confirmed what she already suspected. War was no longer a distant threat. It was on the horizon. The kingdom would need to act soon.

Her fingers twitched. What was she supposed to do with this information?

A rustling of fabric caught her attention.

She turned, and found Johanna standing a few feet away, watching her.

Beatrice sighed internally. Great!

This was exactly what she didn’t want to deal with right now.

Johanna hesitated, then took a slow step forward. "Lady Beatrice."

"Lady Johanna." Beatrice forced a neutral expression.

Another pause. Johanna’s hands fidgeted in front of her. A small, almost nervous gesture.

"I was hoping to speak with you."

"About?" Beatrice arched an eyebrow.

Johanna shifted, her expression carefully composed. "About earlier."

Beatrice had expected this. She exhaled, glancing away toward the hedges.

"If you’re here to get an apology, I wouldn’t hold your breath."

Johanna blinked, visibly startled. "That’s not what I—"

"I was in a bad mood," Beatrice interrupted, her voice flat. "That’s all it was."

"That’s not entirely true, is it?" Johanna frowned, tilting her head slightly.

Beatrice’s jaw tightened. Because, no. That wasn’t the truth at all.

Johanna studied her carefully. "Something is troubling you."

"How observant." Beatrice scoffed.

Johanna didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she took a step closer.

"I don’t wish to pry. But... if there is something I can do—"

"You can’t," Beatrice cut in sharply.

Johanna’s lips parted slightly, surprised at the sudden force behind Beatrice’s words.

For a moment, Beatrice regretted it. Just a little.

Johanna was trying. She was always trying. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to entertain the conversation any longer.

Because what was she supposed to say?

That she had overheard a war council meeting? That she knew the kingdom was preparing for something catastrophic? That she was painfully aware of how the story unfolded, but didn’t know if it would stay the same?

She couldn’t say any of that. So she said nothing.

After a beat of silence, Johanna lowered her gaze.

"...I see."

Beatrice nodded. "Good talk."

Johanna didn’t respond. Instead, she gave a small, polite nod and stepped back.

Beatrice watched as she walked away, her pale blue skirts trailing over the garden path.

Something in her chest twisted, but she ignored it.

Turning on her heel, she made her way back into the palace. She needed another distraction. And she knew exactly where to go.

The library was nearly empty when she arrived, just as she had hoped. The usual scholars had cleared out for the evening, leaving only the faint scent of parchment and the warm glow of candlelight behind.

Beatrice made her way to her usual corner, reaching for the hidden notebook she had left beneath a stack of older texts.

She flipped open the pages. The words she had written the night before stared back at her.

She had written down everything she could remember from the novel. Key events, character interactions, the way the court politics had unfolded. But now, with the knowledge she had gained today, it all felt... incomplete.

She chewed the end of her quill.

This was dangerous. The story was already changing, shifting away from what she knew. She could no longer rely on what she remembered.

But she needed to try.

Slowly, she dipped her quill into the ink and continued writing.

In the novel, the kingdom stood on the precipice of war. The tensions had been building for months, and soon, the first strike would come. But no one had expected what followed.

She paused. Her hand trembled slightly.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep going.

Beatrice Da Ville had been too preoccupied with her own selfish desires to see the warning signs. She had been too caught up in her own jealousy, her own need for control, to realize that everything was about to fall apart.

The ink on the page glistened under the candlelight. Beatrice stared at the words, something heavy settling in her chest.

She had changed things. But had she changed enough? Or was she still walking toward the same ending?

She clenched her jaw, tightening her grip on the quill.

No.

She refused to believe she was still on the same path. She had to be different. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

She would be different.

And if fate had other plans, she would just have to ruin them first.

Beatrice exhaled slowly, pressing the tip of her quill against the parchment as she stared at the words she had just written.

Was she making a mistake by recording all of this?

If anyone found this notebook, if Francois found this notebook, what would they think?

Her fingers twitched.

She should stop. She should burn it.

And yet, she kept writing.

The palace had been preparing for war long before the court acknowledged it. The signs were there. Tighter security, closed-door meetings, whispers among the nobles who traded in secrets instead of gold.

Beatrice should have seen it. She should have realized sooner that she was never meant to be a key player in this story. But fate had a way of dragging people into the narrative whether they wanted it or not.

She paused, tapping the quill against the page.

This was too close to the truth. Too personal.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her temples.

The candle beside her flickered, the warm glow casting shifting shadows along the walls. The library was completely silent, save for the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Beatrice should have felt at ease here.

Instead, she felt like she was being watched.

Not literally, there was no one else in the library. But the weight of everything pressed down on her shoulders like an unseen force.

She glanced back down at the notebook, her eyes scanning over the words once more.

Would this be enough?

If she wrote down everything, if she forced herself to remember, could she finally make sense of the future? Or was she only making it worse?

Her fingers hesitated over the page, uncertainty creeping in for the first time.

And then...

A soft creak.

Beatrice stiffened.

Footsteps.

Her body moved before her mind fully caught up, her hands snapping the notebook shut and shoving it beneath an open book just as the footsteps grew closer.

She barely had time to look up before a figure emerged from the dimly lit corridor.

Francois.

Of course!

Beatrice forced her expression into something neutral, folding her hands neatly in her lap as if she hadn’t just been on the verge of exposing far too much.

His gaze flickered across the desk before settling on her. He didn’t speak immediately, but she could feel it. That quiet scrutiny, the way his presence filled the space even when he wasn’t saying a word.

Beatrice exhaled through her nose.

She really, really didn’t have the patience for this right now.