The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 90

Beatrice had changed her outfit three times.

"My lady," Lily said delicately, holding up the fourth gown, "if you don’t settle on something soon, the prince might think you’ve drowned in chiffon."

"It’s not about the chiffon," Beatrice muttered, pacing.

Lily raised a brow. "Then what is it about?"

Beatrice stopped in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of the latest choice. Soft cream with blue embroidery. Modest neckline. Breezy enough for the water, formal enough for the royal docks.

"It’s just a boat ride."

Lily scoffed. "With the prince. Alone. In daylight. That’s practically a public declaration."

"It is not," Beatrice said, but she still changed her earrings.

********

The tantrum arrived shortly after breakfast.

"Why am I not invited?" Princess Lila demanded, storming into Beatrice’s chambers in a flurry of silk and indignation.

Beatrice blinked. "I... didn’t organize this?"

"He always leaves me behind lately!" Lila threw herself dramatically onto the edge of the chaise. "You two get to sneak off and be mysterious and have private tours and garden walks and now sailing? I like boats!"

"Lila," Beatrice said gently, tying the last ribbon at her sleeve, "it’s not a party. It’s barely an outing."

"And yet you look like you’re attending a coronation."

Before Beatrice could reply, a page appeared at the doorway.

"The prince is waiting at the east entrance."

Lila groaned and flopped onto her back. "Tell him I hate him."

"He already knows." Beatrice patted her arm.

The docks shimmered under a cloudless sky. The river was calm, wind cool but friendly, and the royal skiff gleamed like a polished coin in the light.

Francois waited at the bottom of the ramp, dressed in navy and gold. No sash, no crown.

Just him.

"You’re late," he said.

"You’re impatient," she replied.

He helped her onto the skiff with a steady hand. She didn’t let go right away.

The moment they were clear of the palace banks, the boat shifted into quiet ease, slicing through the water with barely a sound. Beatrice leaned back slightly against the rail, letting the wind tease strands of hair loose from her braid.

Francois watched her.

"You’re calmer out here," he said.

"Because everyone else is in there."

They sailed for a while without words. The breeze played in their silence. The oarsmen kept their eyes respectfully ahead.

Eventually, Francois moved beside her.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "we could keep going. Just... disappear for a day."

She smiled faintly. "That sounds irresponsible."

"Irresponsibly romantic."

She turned to him, eyes searching his. "Would you really?"

"Yes."

She laughed softly. "That’s dangerous."

He took her hand.

"So are you."

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Beatrice didn’t move for a moment. She just stood there, warm-faced, hand still in his. Then she glanced at the crew and gave Francois a look.

One of the oarsmen cleared his throat.

"Eyes forward, gentlemen. Unless you’re trying to swim back." The prince ordered.

A nervous chuckle rippled across the deck.

Beatrice turned slightly, cheeks tinged with heat. But she didn’t let go of his hand.

********

They returned just after sunset.

The palace loomed against the violet sky, lights beginning to flicker in the highest windows. The skiff slid back into dock with a quiet thud, and Francois helped her down again.

They walked slowly up the stone path toward the east entrance, the night crisp around them. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"You didn’t ask," Francois said casually, hands clasped behind his back.

"Ask what?"

"If I can sail."

She looked at him, amused. "You can sail?"

"I can captain, actually."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you assume I’m secretly competent."

"You are secretly dramatic."

He smirked. "Next time, no crew. Just us."

She raised a brow. "You trust me on open water with no witnesses?"

"I trust you everywhere." Francois offered a hand over his heart.

And she almost said it then.

Almost.

But instead, she stepped forward, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Next time, you bring the wine."

He watched her walk into the palace, eyes alight.

Next time was already a promise.

As Beatrice ascended the east steps, the warmth on her cheek still lingered. Not from the wind, but from the softness of that moment.

Inside, the palace corridors were quieter than expected. Most of the court had retreated after the celebration, and only a few lingering servants moved briskly with trays and folded linens. Beatrice walked slower now, not ready to let the day end too quickly.

She paused just outside her chambers.

"Anything urgent?" she asked Lily, who was already there, sorting through letters.

"Only this." Lily handed her a small envelope sealed in deep blue wax. "It was delivered while you were out."

Beatrice turned it over. No crest, no handwriting she recognized.

She slipped it open.

Inside was a folded sheet. Blank on one side, and on the other, a single sentence written in looping, careful script.

You look more dangerous when you’re happy.

There was no name. Just the strange chill of something uninvited slipping past her defenses.

She folded it again with care, then slid it into the drawer of her writing desk.

Not tonight, she thought.

Not tonight!

After changing into a loose robe and brushing the wind from her hair, she stepped out onto her private balcony. The sky was nearly black, stars faint behind the haze of distant snow. She could still smell the river and feel the pull of it.

Behind her, the palace loomed with its usual quiet weight.

But in the memory of wind and water, in the echo of the kiss she had both wanted and feared, everything else felt... manageable.

For now.

She sat, pulled a blanket over her knees, and opened her journal to a blank page.

We didn’t speak of love. But we spoke of trust. And today, that felt louder.

The wind was kind. The silence was kinder.

I don’t know what comes next. But for once, I’m not afraid of it.

The ink bled slightly, catching on the fibers of the paper.

From somewhere deeper in the palace, a bell tolled softly.

And Beatrice, alone beneath the night sky, allowed herself the smallest, most dangerous thing of all.

Hope.