The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 70

The sun rose too quickly.

Beatrice hadn’t slept. Not properly. She’d changed, bathed, moved through the rituals of morning like clockwork, but her mind hadn’t stopped spinning since the night before.

Francois.

The warmth of his voice still lingered behind her ear. That near-touch, that look, not pity, not strategy, but something dangerously close to recognition.

She stood at her vanity, running a brush through her hair with mechanical efficiency. The reflection in the glass didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. And when she finally met her own eyes, the only word that surfaced was: careful.

Lily arrived precisely on time.

"You have an escort request this morning, my lady," she said, setting a tray beside the window. "His Highness."

Beatrice stilled. "He sent for me?"

"He asked if you were attending the royal stables this morning. I told him you hadn’t decided."

Beatrice gave a quiet breath of something between exasperation and disbelief.

"Then I suppose I have decided."

She dressed in navy and silver, understated but sharp. Her boots laced high, gloves buttoned with precision. It wasn’t armor. But it was close.

When she stepped into the sunlit courtyard that led to the stables, he was already there.

Francois stood beside his gelding, speaking with one of the stable hands. He turned the moment he heard her steps.

"Lady Beatrice."

No titles. No tension. Just her name, spoken with the weight of last night still resting between them.

She didn’t smile. "You’re very persistent."

"I prefer consistent."

A second gelding waited beside his. White and sleek, already saddled.

Francois nodded toward it. "I thought you might need the air."

"How thoughtful of you," she said, brushing a hand over the horse’s shoulder. "Should I be flattered or suspicious?"

"Both. Keeps things interesting."

They rode in silence at first.

The path beyond the outer gardens wove through a sparse wood, half-wild and rarely used. It was quiet here, with birdsong cutting through the soft crunch of hooves. No guards followed. No eyes lingered.

Beatrice let the stillness settle around her like a second cloak.

Halfway through the trail, Francois finally said, "You love writing."

She glanced at him. "What makes you say that?"

"The way you think. The way you speak," he paused. "And the many times I have caught you deeply occupied in your journals."

"And if I do?"

"Then I hope I find my way into the margins."

Beatrice looked ahead again. "You don’t want to be in my margins."

"Maybe not. But I want to understand the story you’re telling."

She tugged her reins slightly, slowing her horse.

"You say that like it’s mine to tell."

Francois studied her profile. "Isn’t it?"

"It was. Once."

They rode farther, the woods growing denser. The path narrowed, forcing them side by side.

Francois didn’t speak again until the trees thinned into a glade. Sunlight spilled between the branches. It would have been peaceful if not for the weight between them.

"You’re afraid," he said.

Beatrice dismounted without answering. She walked to the edge of the glade, where the stream ran shallow and fast. Her gloves came off slowly, fingers curling as she knelt beside the water.

"I’m aware," she said.

Francois followed, stopping a few steps behind her.

"Of what?"

"Of what I’ll become if I keep going."

The water rushed past, uncaring. Beatrice stood again, slipping her gloves back on with calm precision.

"And yet you keep going," he said.

"There isn’t another path."

"Then let me walk it with you."

She turned to face him. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"You don’t know what you’re offering."

"I know what you’re worth."

Silence again.

Then she said, softly, "If you come with me, you don’t get to look away."

"I won’t."

"And if I ruin you?"

Francois stepped forward, closing the space between them.

"Then at least I won’t be ruined alone."

Her breath caught. She wanted to lean into him. To believe him.

But belief had never been safe.

So instead, she reached for the reins of her horse and said, "Let’s head back."

Francois didn’t argue.

But as they rode, side by side once more, she felt it.

Not safety. But the beginning of trust. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

By the time they reached the stables again, the sun had climbed high enough to paint the palace in white-gold. It should have been warm. Comforting, even. But Beatrice felt the tension return the moment they crossed beneath the western archway.

Francois dismounted first, handing off his reins to the stable hand with a nod. When he turned to her, his expression had shifted, just enough for her to notice. The softness was gone. Not in anger, but in preparation.

"We’re being watched again," she said quietly, sliding from the saddle.

Francois offered his arm out of habit. She didn’t take it, but she didn’t step away either.

"They never stopped," he replied. "They’re just better at pretending than I am."

Her jaw tightened slightly. "You shouldn’t be near me."

"Then stop meeting me in places where we can’t be overheard."

That startled a faint smile from her. Brief and unguarded. Dangerous.

"I didn’t meet you," she murmured. "You followed."

They walked side by side, steps measured as they passed the row of clipped hedges that bordered the royal wing. A pair of court advisors were speaking near the eastern stairs, one of them glancing toward Beatrice before pretending not to.

"Something’s coming," she said low.

Francois didn’t question it. "Your family?"

She hesitated. "Maybe. Or the crown. Or both."

He nodded once, slowly. "Then we prepare."

"What does that mean, for you?" Beatrice stopped walking.

He looked at her with the kind of clarity she didn’t know how to return.

"It means I stop pretending to be neutral."

"You might regret that."

"Maybe," he said. "But I’ve regretted worse."

Before she could answer, a page emerged from the archway ahead, breathless and pale.

"Lady Beatrice," he said, bowing quickly. "A summons. From Her Majesty the Queen. You’re expected immediately."

Her pulse didn’t change. But the flicker behind her eyes sharpened.

She nodded. "Thank you."

The page turned and fled. As if merely delivering the message might’ve incriminated him.

She turned to Francois.

"You were right," she said softly. "They never stopped watching."

Without waiting for his reply, she stepped into the light and didn’t look back.