The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 67

The morning after the fire had gone cold, Beatrice rose before the bell.

Sleep had been shallow, riddled with fragmented dreams. She’d heard her name whispered against glass. Her mother’s voice in the dark. The scraping of a drawer being opened, over and over again.

She didn’t write anything when she woke. She simply dressed, composed, and ordered black tea instead of her usual.

When Lily entered with the tray, she said nothing at all.

There was a letter resting on the silver.

Beatrice didn’t touch the tea. Not yet.

Her eyes fixed on the envelope. Heavy parchment. Deep red wax. Pressed with her family’s seal.

Of course.

She reached for it, broke the seal cleanly, and unfolded the page. The handwriting was her father’s.

It had always been meticulous. Angular, and impersonal.

My dear Beatrice,

We were informed of your contribution to the recent council meeting. I trust you maintained composure and good judgment, as is expected of our name. Your mother and I are pleased that you continue to represent House Da Ville with tact and discipline. A sharpened mind is best sheathed in silence, after all.

Her fingers went still.

That phrase!

A sharpened mind is best sheathed in silence.

She knew that line. Because she had written it. Weeks ago, in her journal.

It wasn’t a family motto. It wasn’t something ever said aloud.

It was something she had written in a feverish haze, half as a warning to herself. And now it was staring back at her in her father’s script.

You are being trusted, my daughter. Continue to act accordingly, and you’ll find us generous in our gratitude. Should you find yourself uncertain of the path forward, remember: obedience is never punished. Only betrayal is.

Lord C. Da Ville

Beatrice folded the letter slowly. Exactly in half. Once, then again.

She didn’t tear it.

That would be a reaction. And reactions were what they wanted.

She placed the folded letter beneath her teacup. Steam curled above it, rising like a veil.

Lily hadn’t moved.

"Was it delivered directly to the door?" Beatrice asked, voice calm.

"No, my lady. The morning courier left it at the lower hall. It was brought up by the page."

Beatrice nodded. "You may go."

Lily dipped into a quiet bow and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Beatrice stood.

Crossed to the desk. Unlocked the drawer. Pulled out the main journal.

She flipped through the pages with steady fingers, past entries about the Crimson Line, the names of nobles, her notes on Lila’s unpredictability and Queen Cecile’s silences.

There.

Bottom right corner. Written in her own hand.

A sharpened mind is best sheathed in silence.

Her breath caught. There was no way they could’ve guessed that phrase. No way they could’ve stumbled on it by chance.

Which meant someone had read it. Word for word. And told her father.

She stared at the ink until the words blurred. Then she reached for the candle beside the desk.

Lit it. Turned to a blank page. And began to write, not as notes. Not as thoughts.

But as a statement.

You wanted proof. Here it is.

You’re watching me. Good. Watch closely.

Because if I’m going to be your monster, I want you to see every part of it.

She didn’t sign it. She just let the ink dry, closed the book, and locked it again.

This time, she set the entire journal into a wooden case and sealed the clasp with melted wax. Her own signet, small and unassuming.

A precaution. But not a surrender.

Let them read it next time. Let them know what she was becoming. Because if they were going to frame her life around secrets...

Then Beatrice Da Ville would make sure every secret cut both ways.

She didn’t blow the candle out. She watched it burn, slow and steady, its flame warping the air above the desk.

Her message sat sealed in wax, hidden within the spine of the journal like a blade tucked beneath silk. No one would see it. Not yet. But if they came looking again...

Let them.

Beatrice stood.

She moved to her wardrobe and pulled out a different dress, one she hadn’t worn in weeks. Not the cool tones she usually favored, but something bolder. Dark plum, trimmed in silver. Less a statement than a provocation.

She braided her hair herself, tight and sleek, and added the Da Ville signet ring she usually kept locked away.

The ring wasn’t for fashion. It was a symbol. And today, she needed it visible.

The next hour passed in stillness. No visitors, no summons. The silence was almost generous. Almost.

When she finally stepped into the hallway, the servants paused. One bowed lower than usual. Another avoided her eyes entirely.

Beatrice said nothing.

The rumors were already writing themselves. She could feel it in the shift of the air around her. In the way people looked at her now, not with disdain, but with caution.

Good.

Let them be cautious. Let them start to wonder whether the girl they’d dismissed had teeth after all.

She made her way to the eastern corridor, intending to walk through the old reading garden. It was quiet this time of day, and that was exactly what she needed. Open space and silence.

But when she rounded the marble archway into the garden path, she stopped.

Francois was already there. Alone.

Seated on a low bench beneath the stone colonnade, reading a letter.

He hadn’t seen her yet. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

She could leave. Turn around. Pretend she hadn’t come this way.

But Beatrice had played the ghost long enough.

So she kept walking.

He looked up at the sound of her footsteps. His eyes took her in immediately. The dark dress, the ring, the deliberate posture.

"Bold color," he said softly.

She stopped a few paces away. "You sound surprised."

"I’m not," Francois replied. "Just observant."

Her gaze flicked to the letter in his hand. "Bad news?"

He folded it once, and tucked it away.

"Nothing I didn’t expect."

She didn’t sit beside him. But she didn’t leave either.

"Word spreads quickly," he said, not looking at her. "About the council. About you."

"I’m sure it does."

"And now?"

Beatrice tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"What happens now, Beatrice?"

She held his gaze.

"That depends," she said quietly. "On who makes the next move."

Francois studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded, almost to himself.

And said, "Then I hope you’re ready."

Beatrice didn’t smile.

"I’ve never had the luxury of not being."