The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 103

Beatrice clutched the edge of her seat as the carriage bounced slightly along the palace road. Her gloves were damp from the nervous clenching of her hands. Her mind was spinning, a panicked litany rolling through her head like a cursed chant.

Palace arrival, ceremony, the dance, the garden, the prince and princess, the duel, the assassination attempt. The Lockharts....

Every scene, every Chapter. They were all going to happen again.

Her body may have been wrapped in silk and powdered to nobility, but her soul was raw. She wasn’t the clumsy, hopeful girl from months ago. That girl had died, literally...

The carriage slowed as the grand gates of the palace came into view. Beatrice swallowed hard. Her throat felt tighter than ever.

The doors opened. Beatrice stepped down slowly, and immediately, all eyes fell on her. The noble girls were already clustered in neat pastel lines, whispering and smirking.

Beatrice’s entrance was quiet, her posture straight. Regal, yes. But not warm or smiling.

Then she saw him.

Francois.

His gaze was fixed on something across the courtyard, talking casually with a cluster of courtiers. Her chest ached. Without thinking, she stepped toward him, heart pulling her forward.

"Your Highness," she said, voice softer than expected.

He turned and their eyes met.

For a split second, she let herself feel it. The longing and familiarity. The weight of all they’d been to each other.

But he stepped back. His expression shifted to something polite, and unfamiliar.

"Lady Beatrice," he said coldly.

Her heart dropped, and the ladies giggled quietly.

"How bold," someone whispered. "Barely arrived and already clinging to him."

Beatrice didn’t respond. She bowed slightly and retreated, finding her place near the end of the receiving line.

She barely spoke the entire event. She barely ate, either. Each bite turned to dust in her mouth. The palace felt colder than it had before. Much bigger and crueler.

Her eyes kept trailing back to Francois, and to Johanna.

They were talking and laughing. Johanna’s dress was modest and pretty, her hair curled with innocence. She was glowing.

Beatrice felt something twist inside her. She tried to find the queen, hoping to reintroduce herself and to be seen. But Queen Cecile brushed past her with only a nod.

That didn’t happen last time.

When the formalities were over, she was escorted to her temporary guest chambers where a familiar maid was waiting.

"My name is Lily," she said, curtsying neatly.

Beatrice stared, and her throat catches.

"Lily," she breathed, stepping forward and suddenly pulling her into a hug.

The maid tensed in shock. "My-my lady?"

Beatrice released her quickly, backing off. "Sorry. I... I just needed that."

Lily nodded hesitantly. "Shall I draw your bath?"

Beatrice shook her head. "Later. I need to... check something."

As soon as Lily left, she slipped out the door.

She remembered. The room where she’d been moved after she’s been named the future queen. She left her journal there!

If it still existed, it would be there.

She moved quickly, avoiding attention, and tracing hallways she now knew by heart. But just as she turned a corner...

"Lady Beatrice?"

She quickly froze.

Lila!

Not the teary, devoted sister figure she’d come to love. No, this was the real beginning. This was Princess Priscilla.

Beatrice turned slowly. "Lila..."

"Princess Priscilla," the girl corrected sharply. "We’re not friends."

Beatrice blinked. The sting came sharp.

"What are you doing in this wing? Guests are restricted to the east side."

"I was just—" Beatrice bit her lip. "Looking for something."

Lila folded her arms. "If it’s dignity, you might want to check your room. You lost a good deal of it throwing yourself at the prince."

"I’m not in the mood, Princess." Beatrice exhaled through her nose.

Lila stepped closer. "No one here is in the mood for another Da Ville scandal."

"You think I’d plan a scandal in slippers?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

"And yet here I am, fully dressed and unslapped."

Lila looked like she might explode.

"What is going on here?"

Francois appeared, robe tied loosely over a dark tunic, hair tousled like he’d just gotten out of the bath.

Beatrice turned and flushed.

He looked... like home.

"She was trespassing," Lila said sharply.

Francois looked between them.

"I’ll escort her back," he said.

"You don’t need to—"

"I insist."

Lila narrowed her eyes. Beatrice gave her a small, pained smile.

"Princess Priscilla," she said with a curtsy.

Francois said nothing the entire way back. At her door, Beatrice turned to him.

"Do you really not remember me?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "I barely know you, Lady Beatrice."

That broke her.

She slipped inside and collapsed onto her bed, then cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, Lily arrived with fresh water and a gown of soft lavender.

"Shall I help you dress?"

Beatrice smiled. "I’d like that."

Lily’s hands were gentle, but distant.

Beatrice tried not to mind as she remembered what comes next. The introduction in the gardens. The queen had approached her last time and complimented her.

But today, she didn’t look up once. All eyes were on Johanna.

Beatrice stood in the back, wilting. By afternoon, the ladies were invited to a ballroom session of dance etiquette.

It wasn’t mandatory. Francois had offered to partner her last time. But today, she watched from the corner as he chose Johanna.

Beatrice didn’t move even when Lila sauntered over.

"So quiet," the princess said. "Not like the girl tresspassing yesterday like she owned the crown."

Still, Beatrice remained mum.

"Losing your touch already?"

Beatrice turned her head slowly. "I’m just tired."

"Of being ignored?"

Beatrice left without another word.

She stepped out into the gardens, past the hedge maze, past the fountain, until she reached the far end of the lawn.

In the silence, she breathed. The wind rustled, and for a brief terrifying moment, she felt something heavy press against her ribs.

As if someone else was there.

The next day brought another trial. A tea gathering hosted by Queen Cecile herself. Beatrice remembered this scene too clearly. The garden courtyard, the low chatter, the warm scones and honeyed pastries that had once made her drop a whole plate in front of the royal court.

This time, she promised herself, no mistakes.

She wore a high-collared ivory gown with sheer sleeves and pearl buttons. Her hair was twisted up in a severe chignon.

She walked with measured grace across the garden stones and took her seat at the far end of the table, away from the queen and the other favored daughters of the court.

Johanna sat near the center, bathed in sunlight and soft conversation. Princess Lila leaned close to whisper something that made Johanna giggle. Beatrice kept her eyes forward, her smile polite, and movements minimal.

So far, so good.

She sipped her tea, responded to no one unless directly spoken to, and managed to hold her saucer steady even as two bees danced around the jam pots.

Then something darted across the ground.

A small and fast blur of black.

Her breath hitched. A kitten! Tiny, inky-furred, and far too familiar - tumbled beneath the table like it had no care for status or ceremony. It looked just like...

"Elisha?" she whispered, almost dropping her cup.

No, it couldn’t be.

A servant stepped forward to replenish the queen’s pot, not noticing the kitten weaving at her feet. The maid’s foot caught, twisted, and she stumbled.

The tray tilted. A full pot of steaming tea, seconds from disaster.

Beatrice moved before she could think. She lunged forward, knocking the tray’s edge just enough to redirect the fall. Away from the queen, away from the kitten, but straight onto herself.

Boiling water hit her arm and chest.

She hissed in pain, staggering back. Gasps erupted around the table.

The maid fell to her knees. "My lady! I... p-please forgive me! I didn’t see—"

Beatrice held up a shaking hand, voice tight but calm. "It’s all right. I’m fine."

"Your gown!" someone cried. "Your arm—"

The skin already blushed red beneath the fabric. But Beatrice didn’t scream. She knelt slightly, scooping up the kitten who had frozen beneath the queen’s chair.

"It’s all right," she murmured to it, as if the kitten understood. "You’re safe."

The queen rose, clearly shaken. "Lady Beatrice—"

Beatrice stood, cradling the kitten and wincing at the pain in her arm.

"It wasn’t the maid’s fault. I saw the kitten. She couldn’t have known."

The queen blinked. "The cat... belongs to me. How did it even get out here?"

Beatrice looked down at the kitten in her arms.

The same fur, the same little bent ear. It purred in her arms like it had known her forever.

Francois appeared beside her a second later, his voice unusually gentle.

"You need to see the infirmary."

"I’m fine," Beatrice said, even as her knees wobbled slightly.

"You’re not," he said firmly, already taking the kitten from her and guiding her by the uninjured arm.

The court ladies watched in stunned silence as he led her away. Once they were inside, the kitten now tucked in the crook of his elbow like it belonged there. Beatrice glanced at him.

"Elisha," she said quietly.

Francois looked over. "Hmm?"

"That’s what she looks like. My cat."

He raised an eyebrown. "Then it’s fitting. That’s her name."

Beatrice froze.

"What?"

"Elisha. My mother named her a few months ago. Took in a stray kitten found in the palace gardens. She’s been impossible to keep indoors."

She stared at him. "She wasn’t here before."

Francois gave her a look. "She was."

"No, I mean..." She stopped herself.

Not in the first run or in the original Chapters. Elisha had only shown up after she’d bonded with Francois.

But now... she was here. Early and out of place.

Out of time.

"You’re pale," Francois said, guiding her into a velvet-cushioned bench as the infirmary assistant rushed over. "You might be going into shock."

She let herself be sat down as they wrapped her in bandages. But her mind spun faster than the tea had fallen.

Elisha had come back.

Beatrice bit her lip, eyes locked on the little kitten now curled up in the crook of Francois’ arm.

This wasn’t just a restart. The book wasn’t resetting cleanly. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Something was bleeding through. Something, maybe someone still remembered just like her...