The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 82

Beatrice was invited to dine with the royal family for luncheon the following day.

The long table had been set with pale linens and trimmed with fresh winter blooms, white narcissus, silverleaf, and small yellow blossoms that brightened the cold. A fire crackled gently at the far end of the room, casting soft light over the polished crystal and gold-rimmed dishes.

Beatrice sat at Francois’ right. Lila, across from her, leaned back in her chair like she’s watching another puppet show.

Queen Cecile sat at the head of the table, as composed as ever. King Marshall, a little less so, was already halfway through a second roll, ignoring the pacing of courses entirely.

No one mentioned the courtyard, no one mentioned the near-death. No one mentioned the announcement.

Beatrice picked at her citrus-glazed duck. Francois hadn’t stopped glancing sideways at her since the soup.

Princess Lila, of course, noticed.

"You two look exhausted," she said, tone dry. "Did you stay up planning wedding colors or just redecorating the line of succession?"

Francois lifted his glass. "We went walking."

"I’m sure you did."

Queen Cecile raised an eyebrow at her daughter who only offered a faint, unapologetic smile.

"Princess Lila," the queen said lightly. "I assume you’ve read the latest from the eastern border?"

"Of course," Lila replied, straightening. "It’s mostly noise. But Lucenbourg’s timing isn’t accidental. They think the crown is divided."

"Let them think it." Beatrice spoke before she could stop herself.

All heads turned. She met the queen’s gaze.

"If they believe we’re split, they’ll be more reckless. More visible, and easier to expose."

King Marshall let out a soft whistle. "Not bad."

Queen Cecile said nothing, but Beatrice saw the corner of her mouth lift.

Lila tilted her head. "You’re starting to sound like one of us."

"Maybe I am."

Beatrice took another sip of her wine.

******

The Lockhart carriage waited just past the palace gates. Beatrice had known they were leaving, but she didn’t expect Johanna to seek her out.

As she stepped into the front garden after the luncheon, there she was...

Johanna stood beneath the frost-covered archway of ivy, her coat buttoned to the throat, her gloved hands clasped.

Beatrice slowed.

"You’re leaving."

Johanna nodded. "My parents think it best."

The sound of wind echoed through bare branches.

"You could still stay," Beatrice said.

Johanna smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "No. I don’t belong here anymore. Not like this."

"It was never about you losing," Beatrice said carefully. "It just happened this way."

Johanna laughed once. "That’s the cruelest thing about fate, isn’t it? It always just happens."

Beatrice didn’t respond.

Johanna stepped forward. "I don’t hate you, Beatrice. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish it had been me."

Beatrice nodded slowly. "You would’ve been a good queen."

"Maybe. But Francois didn’t want good. He wanted you."

That landed sharper than it should have.

Johanna leaned in, just enough.

"He’ll love you, you know. The real kind. Not the polished one we were raised to mimic. And it will terrify you."

Beatrice swallowed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because when it happens, don’t push him away just to prove you can. Some of us never even get the chance."

Then she turned. No embrace, no final parting words. Just the sound of her footsteps disappearing toward the carriage.

Beatrice stayed where she was, the frost melting slowly beneath her boots. She had barely turned the corner from the front archway when a blur of motion passed her.

Princess Lila.

She was half-running down the gravel path toward the departing Lockhart carriage, her coat trailing behind her, hair unpinned and wild. One of the guards made a move to stop her, but Beatrice waved him off.

The footman had just opened the door when Lila caught up.

"Wait!"

Johanna stepped down, already halfway inside the carriage, her gloves still in her hand. Her brows lifted in surprise, more at Lila’s disheveled state than the outburst itself.

"Princess," Johanna smiled sadly.

"You didn’t even say goodbye." Lila said, breathless.

"I didn’t think you’d care."

Lila flinched. "You know that’s not true."

Johanna looked away for a moment, then back. "No, I don’t. Not anymore."

Lila exhaled.

"My brother made his choice. But I’d hope we could still remain friends?"

Johanna’s expression softened, but only slightly. "Of course, Princess. As long as you want."

Lila reached out and gently gripped her arm. "You still matter. You always did."

"Just not enough." Johanna gave her a tired smile. "

Beatrice stayed back in the shadows, pretending not to listen. But she saw it, the flicker of something unresolved in Johanna’s eyes. Not hatred. But something bitter, like the aftertaste of a too-sweet wine.

Johanna looked over Lila’s shoulder once, just once, and caught Beatrice’s gaze.

Their eyes met. And for a moment, the bitterness cracked.

"Good luck," Johanna said softly.

She stepped into the carriage and didn’t look back.

The door shut. The horses moved. And the last of the Lockharts disappeared through the gates.

Lila stood still until the carriage vanished. Then she turned, spotting Beatrice without surprise.

"She’s braver than she lets on," Lila said.

"I never doubted that."

Lila walked toward her, hands stuffed into her coat pockets.

"Fancy a walk?" she asked.

Beatrice arched a brow. "Since when do you ask?"

"I’m trying to be civil," Lila muttered. "Don’t ruin it."

Beatrice followed her toward the garden paths. The frost was beginning to melt from the grass, leaving everything smelling damp and alive.

They walked in silence for a while.

"So... engaged?"

Beatrice looked at her.

Lila rolled her eyes. "Relax, I’m not going to draw a dagger or anything. I just... didn’t expect it."

"Neither did I."

"My brother does things like that," she said. "Jumps into the fire without checking the depth."

"He didn’t jump. I think he just... chose."

Lila looked at her. "Do you even want it?"

Beatrice stopped walking.

"I didn’t ask for it," she said. "But I’m not going to give it back."

Lila smirked. "That sounds about right."

They kept walking.

Eventually, Lila continued, "You terrify the court. You know that?"

Beatrice looked sideways at her. "Good."

"I meant it as a compliment."

"I took it as one."

Lila gave a huff of something that might have been a laugh.

"Francois needs someone who won’t crumble when the knives come out."

"Then he’s in luck," Beatrice said.

They walked a few more steps before Lila asked, casually, "Will you still be Beatrice once you wear the crown?"

Beatrice smirked at her question.

"I think I’ll be sharper. But not different."

Lila nodded. "Good."

They circled back toward the palace, where the sun had begun breaking fully through the clouds. A new day, pressing forward like it had something to prove.

At the base of the stairs, Lila stopped.

"You’ll be a better queen than most," she said. "Maybe even better than my mother. Hopefully."

Beatrice paused, clearly surprised. "That sounds like an admission."

"No," Lila said. "Just a temporary ceasefire."

And with a sharp nod, she turned and walked inside.

Beatrice stood for a moment longer, watching the frost burn off the stone beneath her feet.

Then she smiled, small and private.

The pieces were still shifting. But some of them, finally, were starting to fit.