The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 41

Beatrice barely made it five steps down the corridor before the weight of what had just happened caught up to her.

She had snapped.

At Johanna.

In front of people.

The realization made her stomach twist, though whether it was from guilt or frustration, she wasn’t sure. She knew how the court worked. A single moment of temper, a single misstep, and the rumors would spread like wildfire.

And Francois...

Beatrice exhaled sharply, shaking her head. She didn’t have time to worry about that. Not when her mind was still reeling from Magnus’s letter, from the quiet, looming threat of whatever was happening beyond the palace walls.

The kingdom was stirring.

And she was running out of time. She needed to move.

The letter from Magnus still burned in her mind, its words gnawing at the edge of her thoughts. She knew tensions in the kingdom were rising, but seeing it written out so bluntly, so urgently, made it feel more real. More dangerous.

She barely registered where her feet were taking her until she turned a corner and heard voices. Low, urgent, and coming from behind the heavy doors of the war council chamber.

Beatrice froze.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

This was where the king and his advisors gathered to discuss matters of state. It was where the most important decisions were made, where the future of the kingdom was shaped.

And right now, they were talking about something she wasn’t meant to hear.

Her heart pounded as she carefully stepped closer, pressing herself against the wall beside the door.

"—must act carefully," a firm voice said. The king.

Another voice, lower, rougher. A military official, maybe. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, we can’t afford to wait much longer. If the reports are true—"

"They are." Francois’ voice, calm and cold. "The eastern territories have already begun consolidating their forces. Their movements are too deliberate to be ignored."

Beatrice’s fingers curled against her skirts.

She had known the tensions would escalate. But hearing Francois confirm it, hearing the quiet certainty in his voice, made it all the more real.

The room fell silent for a beat before the king spoke again.

"We will not be the first to draw blood," he said, his tone measured but firm. "Not without undeniable cause."

"And if that cause comes?" someone asked.

A pause. Then Francois answered.

"Then we will be ready."

Beatrice inhaled slowly, barely realizing she had been holding her breath.

She needed to leave before she was caught, before she did something reckless, before she let herself spiral into thoughts of how much this was already diverging from what she remembered.

But as she turned to go, her foot shifted against the polished floor. Too loud!

Inside, the voices stilled.

Beatrice’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Move. Now!

Before she could think, she pivoted sharply and strode away down the hall, keeping her pace measured. Natural, like she had never stopped at all.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.

Because she could feel it.

A gaze. Heavy. Unwavering.

Francois had noticed. Of course!

And Beatrice had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last time she’d find herself too close to the truth.

She kept her pace steady, her breathing controlled, even as her mind raced.

She could still hear the faint murmurs behind the chamber doors, muffled now, but she knew what she had heard.

They were preparing.

She turned a corner, heading toward a quieter part of the palace, away from watchful eyes. She needed a moment to think, to process.

But just as she exhaled, trying to steady herself, a voice broke the silence.

"Leaving in such a hurry, Lady Beatrice?"

Her steps faltered.

Slowly, she turned to see Francois standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

Beatrice forced a smile, feigning indifference. "Oh, Your Highness. Fancy meeting you here."

Francois didn’t return the sentiment. "Were you looking for something?"

She tilted her head, playing innocent. "Should I have been?"

Francois took a slow step forward.

Beatrice refused to let herself waver. She was good at this. Masking, dodging, slipping out of trouble with carefully chosen words.

She exhaled, feigning mild amusement. "Your Highness, if I were trying to spy on royal affairs, don’t you think I’d be a little more discreet?"

Francois studied her for a beat too long.

"That would depend," he said finally. "Were you listening?"

There it was. The test.

She held his gaze, letting the silence stretch between them, daring him to read too much into it.

Then she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"What exactly do you think I would’ve heard? Military tactics? Diplomatic strategies?" She laughed lightly. "I can assure you, I have no interest in such things."

Francois didn’t look convinced.

"You expect me to believe that?" he asked.

She placed a hand over her chest, dramatically offended. "I’m hurt, truly. If I were eavesdropping, don’t you think I’d have fled the moment I got caught?"

"You did leave rather quickly."

"I walk quickly."

Silence again.

He was weighing her words, analyzing every reaction. She could feel the scrutiny, the quiet pressure of his gaze.

Then finally, he let it go.

"I see," Francois said, his tone as unreadable as ever.

Beatrice gave a small curtsy. "Always a pleasure, Your Highness."

And before he could press further, she turned and walked away, forcing herself not to rush, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching her. And that thought unsettled her more than it should have.

Beatrice forced herself to walk at a steady pace, even though her instincts screamed at her to put as much distance as possible between herself and Francois.

The hallway felt longer than usual, each step echoing against the polished marble floors. She kept her head high, posture composed. But she could feel it, his presence still rooted in place behind her. Watching.

She wasn’t sure why that unsettled her so much.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t dealt with suspicion before. Beatrice Da Ville had been under scrutiny her entire life. People had always expected something from her. An angle, a ploy, a carefully concealed scheme.

And yet, this felt different.

Francois wasn’t just watching her like a prince wary of a noblewoman’s ambitions. He was watching her like someone trying to solve a puzzle.

And Beatrice absolutely did not want to be a puzzle to him.

She turned the next corner, finally breaking out of his line of sight, and only then did she let out a slow, steady breath.

Her heartbeat was still too fast.

Damn it!

She had been careful. She had played it off well, but Francois was sharp. He didn’t always press for answers immediately, but that didn’t mean he let things go.

No, he would wait. Observe.

And that was worse.

Because the moment she made a mistake, he would remember this conversation.

Beatrice clenched her jaw, forcing down the unease bubbling in her chest.

There was nothing she could do about it now.

All she could do was move forward.