The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 85

Beatrice woke early. The sky beyond her window was still bruised with dawn, and frost had crept in around the corners of the glass. Her first thought wasn’t of war or titles or Da Ville whispers.

It was of Francois, still standing at her window when she finally fell asleep.

He hadn’t said goodbye. Just stayed until the air grew cold and her body gave up its fight with exhaustion. When she stirred once in the early morning, the chair beside the hearth was already empty.

By the time she dressed and emerged into the corridor, the palace was already stirring. Servants carrying trays of documents and crystal pitchers. A scribe nearly collided with her while rushing toward the strategy wing.

Beatrice turned in the opposite direction. Toward the private dining hall.

The invitation had been formal. An official breakfast with Prince Francois to review council correspondence. But Lily had smirked when she handed it over.

"Official," she rolled her eyes, grinning. "Whatever."

Beatrice found him already seated, dressed in a dark wool coat, reading over a sealed letter with a furrowed brow. His coffee sat untouched.

"You look like someone who slept badly," she said as she entered.

Francois glanced up. "You left your window open."

Beatrice smiled faintly. "Ah, you noticed. "

"I notice everything now," he said. "It’s annoying."

She took the seat opposite him. Their hands brushed briefly over the plate of dried plums. Neither pulled away.

"I’ve read through the intelligence summary," she said.

"Two provinces from Lucenbourg," Francois muttered. "Still pretending it’s a border drill."

Beatrice poured herself tea. "And we’re still pretending it’s not a warning."

Silence settled again, heavier this time.

Francois leaned back. "My father’s recovering, but slowly. The queen is taking on more of the day-to-day. Which means—"

"You’ll have more time," Beatrice said.

"To be watched."

"To use your eyes."

He looked at her and smirked.

"You always speak like someone who sees the world ten moves ahead."

"I was raised by people who played with knives instead of toys."

"Do you ever miss it?" he asked. "Before all this?"

Beatrice hesitated. "No. But I sometimes mourn the person I might’ve been."

Francois reached forward, placing his hand over hers on the table.

"You are not alone in this."

She smiled, and didn’t pull her hand away.

Not this time.

By midday, the palace seemed to lean toward her, not away. Courtiers who used to turn their backs now paused in the halls. Pages bowed deeper, guards straightened as she passed.

A chambermaid even curtsied outside the library and whispered, "Long may she reign."

Beatrice didn’t react. But her pulse ticked once, sharp and fast.

She found a quiet window seat near the archives and began scribbling on random pages.

I am not who they think I am.

But I am becoming her.

That evening, the queen summoned her again. Not for council, but something simpler.

"Walk with me," Queen Cecile said as they passed through the colonnade, their footsteps echoing softly.

They said nothing for several minutes. Just the sound of fabric brushing against stone, the hush of dusk settling into the palace walls.

"You are very quiet," the queen said at last.

"I’m thinking," Beatrice replied.

"Good. Many queens speak before they think. And the kingdom remembers every word."

Beatrice kept her eyes forward. "Is that what you’re teaching me now? How to rule?"

"No," Queen Cecile said. "I’m teaching you how not to be eaten."

Beatrice smiled faintly. "Useful."

They paused by the fountain. Moonlight glinted off the water’s surface.

"I see what he sees in you," Queen Cecile said softly.

Beatrice turned to her.

"Not just the ambition," the older woman continued. "The restraint. The hunger beneath the quiet."

Her throat tightened. "Do you approve?"

The queen looked at her.

"I do now."

Later that night, as Beatrice returned to her chambers, she found a small box left on her desk. No note, no insignia. Just silk and soft edges.

Inside, nestled in velvet... was a pin. Shaped like a rose, dark as blood, and tipped in obsidian.

She pinned it to the inside of her sleeve, close to the pulse. Then picked up her journal again.

*******

The morning sun spilled gold across her new chamber floor, catching on the polished handles of her wardrobe and the deep velvet of the drapes. Beatrice rose before the knock, before Lily could announce breakfast, before anyone could ask anything of her.

The pin still sat tucked against her sleeve. She touched it once, then let go.

A day later, Francois sent word through a steward. When she reached the east wing solarium, the room had already been cleared. No guards. No advisors. Just Francois, waiting beside the open window, one hand wrapped around a glass of tea that had long gone cold.

"I think it’s time," he said before she could even greet him.

Beatrice raised a brow. "Time for what?"

"For the court to stop calling you the prince’s betrothed like it’s still up for debate." He turned to face her fully. "I want to make it official. Publicly. Before they start sharpening knives again."

She blinked. "A formal declaration?"

Francois nodded once. "In three days. The Grand Hall. No more whispers, no more questions. You’ll be named."

Beatrice exhaled slowly.

The game board was changing again. And this time, she wasn’t just stepping onto it. She was becoming the queen it would orbit around.

Beatrice crossed the room slowly, the light from the windows casting soft lines across the tiled floor.

"And what will the court expect of me," she said carefully, "once I’m not just your betrothed in rumor, but in title?"

Francois set down the glass. "To smile. To speak only when spoken to. To host dinners with perfect grace. To nod when they tell you how lucky you are."

She rolled her eyes. "Charming."

"That’s what they expect." He looked at her. "But I didn’t fall in love with what they want."

Her breath hitched.

"I want you to be seen as you are," Francois continued. "Not as a token. Not as the villain they wrote into their stories."

She looked away, eyes falling on the distant terrace.

"Even if I still don’t know who I am becoming?"

Francois took a step closer.

"Then let them see you become it."

Beatrice gave a slow nod. "Three days, then."

"Three days." Francois smiled.

She turned towards the door, pausing just before leaving.

"Any suggestions to what I should wear?"

Francois grinned faintly. "Something that would terrify half the court when you enter."

She smirked. "Done."

When she stepped into the hallway once more, she felt it.

That quiet weight again. Only now, it didn’t feel like a burden.

It felt like a crown she hadn’t yet put on.

But soon would.