The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 61

The morning crept in behind pale clouds.

Beatrice stirred before the first bell, eyes open to a ceiling she didn’t remember staring at. Her body felt heavy, though she knew she hadn’t truly slept. Not restfully. Just closed her eyes and waited for the night to pass.

She sat up slowly. The balcony doors were still cracked open from the night before. A breeze had swept in, leaving the edges of her curtains askew and her journal slightly warped from the damp air.

She didn’t look at it.

Instead, she dressed with mechanical precision. Silk robe, hair pulled back, gold cuffs slid into place like armor. When Lily entered a few minutes later with the morning tray, Beatrice barely acknowledged her.

"Set it there."

"Yes, my lady."

Lily placed the tray on the small table near the window. A covered plate, a pot of tea, and beside them, a letter.

Not official. No wax seal. Just her name in casual, elegant script across the front.

Beatrice didn’t touch it immediately. She poured her tea first, stirring it once, twice. Then picked up the letter.

The paper was thicker than court stationery. Rich. Frivolous. Familiar.

She recognized the handwriting.

Lila.

Of course.

She slit the envelope with the tip of her spoon.

Dearest Tragedy,

I was planning to ignore you today, but watching you sulk out of supper like a stormcloud in pearls was simply too tempting.

I’m hosting a "private" lesson in the south courtyard. Nothing official. Just a few bored souls and the sharp end of a blade.

You’re welcome to join if you’re done brooding. Or if you want someone to blame for whatever’s eating you alive.

Either way, do bring proper shoes.

— L

Beatrice stared at the page a moment longer than necessary. She wanted to crumple it. Burn it. Or maybe keep it.

Instead, she folded it once, tucked it into the sleeve of her robe, and sipped her tea.

Lila had a talent for prying her out of herself. Not gently. Not kindly. But effectively.

By the time she stepped into the sunlit edge of the south courtyard, the second bell had rung and the guards posted nearby didn’t even glance in her direction. The space was technically off-duty, meant for informal drills, overlooked by most of the noble ladies.

Which is probably why Lila liked it.

Beatrice spotted her instantly.

Lila stood at the far end of the courtyard, hair tied back, sleeves rolled to her elbows, blade in hand. She was circling one of the palace guards. Not quite fighting, more like testing him. Or taunting him.

The guard lunged, fast.

Lila ducked, twisted, and drove the flat of her blade into his ribs with a satisfying crack. He stumbled back, winded. She laughed. Not cruelly. Just loud enough to make sure everyone heard it.

Beatrice didn’t announce herself. She simply stepped past the arch and into the gravel.

Lila turned, spotting her immediately.

"My, my," she called, lowering the practice blade. "I didn’t think you’d bite so soon."

Beatrice folded her arms. "I didn’t come to spar."

"Oh, I know. You came to scowl and judge." Lila tossed the blade to the ground and gestured toward a bench nearby. "Come on, then. I’ve reserved a spot just for your moral superiority."

Beatrice ignored the invitation and stepped forward instead. Closer now, she could see the sheen of sweat on Lila’s brow, the soft flush of exertion across her cheeks. She looked alive in a way few courtiers ever did. Like this world had yet to make her pretend.

"I assume you wrote the letter out of boredom," Beatrice said.

"No," Lila replied. "I wrote it because you looked like you needed to hit something, and I like to be right."

Beatrice didn’t respond.

Lila moved to grab a towel from the nearby bench, dabbing the back of her neck before tossing it aside.

"You always do that," she said after a beat.

"Do what?"

"Stand perfectly still, like you’re above it all. Like you’re carved from stone."

Beatrice raised a brow. "And you think sweat is the mark of humanity?"

"No." Lila’s eyes narrowed, amused. "But pretending you don’t bleed doesn’t make it true."

Silence settled for a moment.

Then Beatrice asked, "Why the south courtyard?"

Lila shrugged. "Fewer rules. No audience. And I prefer to bruise people without my queen mother watching."

Beatrice let that sit between them.

"Have you considered therapy?" she asked, voice dry.

"I’ve considered violence," Lila replied. "Much faster."

For a moment, it almost felt easy. Like this was normal.

Then Lila stepped closer. Not threatening. Just curious.

"What are you doing here, Beatrice?"

Beatrice met her gaze. "I haven’t decided yet."

Lila smiled, sharp and quiet. "That’s the first honest thing I’ve heard from you in weeks."

The guard she’d been sparring with finally returned, holding a second blade. Lila glanced toward him, then back at Beatrice.

"Last chance. Want to trade words for steel?"

Beatrice didn’t take the blade. But she didn’t walk away either.

Her eyes flicked to the blade in the guard’s hand. She didn’t reach for it. But her shoulders squared.

"I didn’t come here to entertain you," she said.

Lila tilted her head. "That’s not a no."

Beatrice took a step closer. "You enjoy needling people. Does it make you feel powerful?"

"No," Lila said simply. "It makes me feel awake."

The words landed oddly. Not biting. Not boastful. Just... true.

Lila turned to the guard and took the second practice blade from him. She held it out, not in mockery, but in offering.

Beatrice looked at it.

The metal was dulled, the edges rounded. Meant for training. For playing at violence, not real harm.

Still, the weight of it sat heavy in the air between them.

"I haven’t held one of those in a while," Beatrice murmured.

Lila gave a half-smile. "Then you’re overdue."

A long pause stretched. Then finally, Beatrice reached out. Her fingers curled around the hilt.

Lila stepped back, measured and fluid, giving her space.

Beatrice tested the balance, turning the blade once in her hand. She didn’t remember it feeling so natural. Or maybe that was the part of her she’d been trying not to notice.

"Don’t expect me to go easy," Lila warned, taking her stance again.

"I would never insult you like that."

The courtyard quieted. Even the guards stepped back, giving them the circle they didn’t ask for.

Beatrice moved first, careful and restrained.

Lila blocked it with ease, eyes dancing.

And for the first time in a very long while, Beatrice felt the world narrow to a single point of focus. No court. No expectations. No journal whispering old truths behind her ribs.

Just motion.

And Lila.