The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 65

By morning, the palace had remembered her name.

She noticed it in the way courtiers stepped aside in the corridor, just a hair too late. In the glances traded between aides as she passed, in the small lull that followed her footsteps when she entered a room. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

They didn’t bow. They didn’t fawn. But they were watching now.

Word had traveled fast, as it always did in places like this. No one said it aloud, but she could feel the shift in the air. She was no longer just a Da Ville daughter with a temper and a bloodline.

She was the girl who had spoken in the war room and hadn’t embarrassed herself.

Worse, she had said something worth remembering.

Beatrice moved through the corridors with quiet grace, her head high. If it unsettled her, she didn’t show it. She wore deep blue today, embroidered at the sleeves, a silver clasp at her throat. Understated power.

She didn’t stop to greet anyone. She rarely did.

At midmorning, an attendant found her outside the solarium, where she’d gone to escape the noise.

"A summons, my lady," he said. "From the queen."

Beatrice didn’t flinch. "Now?"

"She requests your presence in the east wing. The private receiving room."

The message was clear. Not court business. Not an audience.

An invitation. Or a warning.

She dismissed the attendant with a nod and walked the path herself.

The east wing was quieter than the rest of the palace. Colder, and more restrained. The tapestries were older here. The windows taller. Everything felt deliberate and precise.

Queen Cecile’s receiving room was softly lit, elegant in its stillness. No guards inside. No attendants.

Just the queen.

Seated in a high-backed chair near the hearth, dressed in layered white silk with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression, as always, revealed nothing.

Beatrice stepped inside and bowed.

"Your Majesty."

The queen nodded once. "Lady Beatrice."

She gestured to the chair opposite hers.

Beatrice sat.

Silence lingered between them. Not uncomfortable. Just... intentional.

The queen reached for a teacup and poured for both of them. No silver tray. No servant. Just two women and a table between them.

"Thank you." Beatrice accepted the cup with both hands.

Queen Cecile studied her for a moment, then said, "You held your own yesterday."

It wasn’t praise. It wasn’t disapproval either.

Beatrice kept her tone light. "I tried not to embarrass the family name."

Queen Cecile’s gaze sharpened, barely.

"That’s a dangerous goal, depending on which part of the name you mean to protect."

Beatrice said nothing.

The queen sipped her tea. Beatrice followed, if only to break the sudden dryness in her throat.

"The king appreciated your suggestion," Queen Cecile said. "So did General Roenne. Lord Marelen, however, seemed displeased."

"He often is," Beatrice replied.

That earned her a faint, almost invisible curve of the queen’s lips. Not quite a smile.

"You remind me of your mother," Queen Cecile said softly.

Beatrice froze, just slightly.

"Not her face," she went on. "But the way you hold your tongue."

Beatrice placed her cup gently on the saucer. "I didn’t know you knew her well."

"I didn’t. She avoided people like me." The queen’s voice was calm. "But I remember watching her at court. Even then, she had a talent for silence. And for striking when no one expected it."

Beatrice said nothing.

Queen Cecile looked at her directly now.

"You’re not your mother," she said. "You’re not your father either."

Beatrice met her gaze. "Then what am I, Your Majesty?"

"A question," the queen replied. "And a very dangerous answer."

The fire crackled softly behind them.

Queen Cecile leaned back, her tone gentler. "I’m not here to accuse you of anything, Beatrice. I invited you because I want to understand what you intend to do next."

Beatrice blinked. "Do next?"

"You’ve stepped into a room you cannot easily leave," Queen Cecile said. "One suggestion in front of the king can be dismissed. Two becomes influence. And influence becomes accountability."

Beatrice didn’t look away.

The queen continued, voice even. "You are not invisible anymore. The moment you opened your mouth in that table, you traded safety for visibility."

"I didn’t ask to speak."

"No," Queen Cecile said. "But you knew exactly what you were doing when you did."

Beatrice felt the truth of it settle in her chest like iron.

Queen Cecile rose, setting her cup aside.

"You’re very clever. That will help you, until it doesn’t."

She crossed the room to the window, gazing out over the east gardens.

Beatrice stood slowly.

"Your Majesty," she said carefully, "was this a warning?"

Queen Cecile didn’t turn around.

"It was a courtesy."

Silence fell again.

Beatrice bowed once, more deeply this time. "Then thank you for your time."

"Don’t mistake being useful for being safe, Lady Beatrice."

Beatrice’s lips parted, then closed again.

She left the room without another word. And Queen Cecile, alone with the silence, watched the trees shift in the wind.

The corridor felt colder on the way out.

Beatrice’s steps were steady, but her pulse wasn’t. Queen Cecile hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t accused. She hadn’t threatened.

But somehow, it felt more dangerous than if she had.

Not invisible anymore.

The words looped in her skull, low and exacting.

A maid passed her in the hallway and curtsied hastily, eyes downcast. Two guards turned to glance her way, then quickly turned back.

Beatrice walked on.

When she reached the stairwell near the western wing, she paused.

Below her, the hallway opened to one of the inner courtyards, the same place she’d sparred with Lila just a day ago. Sunlight bathed the stone paths in gold. Somewhere out of sight, someone was laughing.

Beatrice didn’t move. She rested her hand lightly against the wall, fingers grazing the cold stone.

A question.

That’s what Queen Cecile had called her.

A question wrapped in a noble name. A polite threat with a pretty face. A Da Ville too clever to trust, and too quiet to read.

She didn’t remember choosing this. But she’d walked into the war room. She’d answered the king.

And now the queen had taken notice.

Beatrice turned from the stairwell and walked the long way back to her chambers.

Not because she was avoiding anyone. But because she needed time to remember who she was supposed to be.