The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 94

The morning began like any other.

Beatrice rose early, dressing without fuss and settling into the chair by her balcony. The sky was a pale stretch of gray, the air crisp but dry. Elisha curled lazily in a patch of sunlight near the hearth, occasionally batting at the hem of Beatrice’s robe with sleepy paws.

Breakfast arrived promptly. Lily supervised the placement of pastries and fruit without the usual teasing commentary, and Beatrice found herself grateful for the quiet. She buttered a scone and nibbled without real appetite, glancing occasionally toward the door.

No knock. No message slipped under the door. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

No unexpected bouquets or summonses to the east garden or the library or the lesser council chamber.

By midmorning, Beatrice closed her book with a sigh and rose to pace the length of her chambers. It was silly, she told herself. Francois had duties, meetings. The court did not revolve around casual encounters and shared glances.

Still, she felt it. The absence. A subtle hollowing in the day.

Elisha mewed once, sensing the shift, but Beatrice only scooped her up and continued pacing.

It wasn’t until nearly noon that Lily reappeared, this time with a furrow between her brows.

"Don’t panic," Lily said immediately, which of course made her heart stutter.

"What happened?"

"The prince is unwell."

"Unwell?" Beatrice set Elisha down gently.

"Fever, they think. Nothing grave, but... he’s been ordered to stay abed."

Relief and worry tangled in her chest.

"Has he seen the physicians?"

"Two," Lily confirmed. "They’re keeping him isolated for today. The queen is furious he let it get this far without saying anything."

Beatrice pressed her lips together. That was just like him, she thought.

"Can I visit?" she asked before she could think better of it.

Lily hesitated. "Technically, no one should disturb him. But if you happened to bring..." She glanced at Elisha pointedly. "Something small and comforting, maybe the guards would be convinced."

Beatrice smiled despite herself.

Twenty minutes later, she tucked Elisha into a shallow basket lined with soft cloth and made her way toward the prince’s chambers.

The east wing was quieter than usual. The guards at Francois’ door exchanged glances as she approached, but one simply nodded and stepped aside without comment. Beatrice offered a grateful smile and slipped inside.

The room smelled faintly of herbs and fresh linens. The heavy drapes had been drawn back to let in light, but the fire blazed warmly in the hearth.

What she didn’t expect was the sight of Lila and Johanna already seated near the bed.

Johanna, pale but composed, sat with her ankle propped carefully on a cushioned stool. Lila was chattering softly, rearranging a small vase of flowers on the bedside table.

Beatrice froze, basket in hand.

Francois, propped up against a mound of pillows, looked up at the disturbance. His face was flushed with fever, but his smile was immediate and tiredly fond.

"Beatrice," he said.

Lila turned, brightening. "Oh good! He’s been impossible. Maybe you’ll convince him to rest properly."

Beatrice forced a polite nod toward Johanna, who offered a faint smile in return, and crossed carefully to the bed.

"I brought company," she said, setting the basket down on the nearby table.

Elisha poked her head out, blinking with wide green eyes.

"Perfect. A true physician." His smile deepened.

"We’ll leave you to it. Come, Jo." Lila rose, smoothing her skirts.

Johanna moved carefully, leaning on Lila’s offered arm as they exited. Beatrice waited until the door clicked shut behind them before she allowed herself to breathe properly.

Francois shifted slightly, grimacing.

"I’m fine," he said preemptively.

"You’re stubborn," Beatrice corrected.

He laughed, then winced. "Possibly that too."

She poured a cup of water from the pitcher by the bedside and handed it to him. He took it without protest, their fingers brushing briefly.

"You should have said something," she said softly.

Francois met her gaze. "I didn’t want you to worry."

"I worry anyway," she said.

He leaned back against the pillows, sipping slowly. Elisha clambered onto the foot of the bed, sniffing cautiously at the blanket before curling up with a soft huff.

For a while, they simply sat there, the fire crackling gently in the hearth. Beatrice let her head tip back against the chair, closing her eyes.

She didn’t realize she’d dozed until a polite knock sounded at the outer door.

"Lady Beatrice," came a steward’s voice. "The queen requests your presence for dinner."

Beatrice glanced at Francois, who gave a small nod.

"Go," he said. "I’ll be here."

Reluctantly, she gathered Elisha back into the basket and slipped into the corridor, returning the tiny creature back to her chambers quickly.

The royal dining hall was quieter than usual. The king was absent, likely resting. Queen Cecile presided with a sharp eye, while various dukes and councilors filled the long table with muted conversation.

Beatrice took her seat beside Lila, who whispered a quick greeting before returning to her plate.

The meal passed without incident until a footman entered, white-faced and breathless. He bowed low before approaching the queen.

"News from the border, Your Majesty."

A ripple of tension snapped down the table.

The queen gestured him forward. He murmured something too low for most to hear, but Beatrice caught the words.

"Casualties... skirmish... escalation."

Queen Cecile’s mouth tightened.

"Summon the council," she said. "Immediately."

Chairs scraped back. Servants scrambled to clear the hall. Within moments, the core of the court moved toward the strategy rooms beyond the great stair.

Beatrice found herself swept along, heart pounding. Francois... surely he would stay in bed, she told herself.

But when they entered the council chamber, he was already there, pale but upright, cloaked in determination. Their eyes met across the room. She wanted to tell him to sit, and to rest.

King Marshall, despite his frailty, took his seat at the head of the table. General Roenne and several border captains unfurled a map marked with fresh lines of conflict.

"Small engagements so far," Roenne said. "But coordinated. Too sharp to be accidents."

Whispers spread like wildfire.

Beatrice sat still, cold seeping into her fingers. She knew. She could see the edges of it already.

The Da Villes would be celebrating tonight.

"General," King Marshall rasped, "assemble a vanguard. I want firsthand reports immediately. If Lucenbourg means to test us, they’ll find us ready."

Roenne bowed, and orders flew. Pages scurried, ink spilled across parchment.

Beatrice said nothing. She folded her hands in her lap, nails biting into her palms.

Francois, despite the fever still shadowing his face, caught her gaze again. When the council finally adjourned, hours later, the palace halls were thick with tension.

Francois fell into step beside her as they left the council wing.

"You’re freezing," he said quietly.

"I’m fine."

"You look like you’re about to shatter."

She forced a brittle smile. "I thought you were supposed to be the one lying down."

"I’ll rest when you do," he said simply.

He escorted her back to her chambers without another word. The walk was slow, the palace nearly silent around them.

At her door, he paused.

"Get some sleep," he said.

"You too," she whispered.

For a moment, she thought he might lean in again, close the distance the way he had on the river.

But he only reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly against her wrist.

A promise, unspoken.

Then he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving Beatrice alone with the thundering of her heart.