The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 91

Beatrice took her breakfast on the balcony.

The skies were clear, the wind mild, and for once the palace was quiet in a way that felt earned. The linens on her table fluttered gently, and her tea stayed warm longer than expected. She ate slowly, letting herself enjoy it. A rare moment untouched by strategy or scrutiny.

A knock came at the chamber doors. Lily peeked in, grinning widely. "Good morning, my lady!"

"You look suspiciously excited," Beatrice said.

"He sent flowers."

Beatrice blinked. "He who?"

Lily stepped inside holding a modest but elegant bouquet. Dark violet peonies, ink-tipped lilies, and a single sprig of sweetbriar. All tied with a silver ribbon.

"The prince," Lily confirmed. "The steward said he picked them himself."

Beatrice tried not to smile.

And failed.

"Would you like them here or on your desk?"

"Desk," she said, brushing her fingers over the sweetbriar. "Somewhere I can pretend they don’t mean anything."

"Of course," Lily said, already moving. "Would you also like to pretend you didn’t float back into the palace last night like you’d been dipped in honey?"

"Out!"

Lily only laughed.

Left alone again, Beatrice sat back in her chair and tilted her face toward the sun.

She thought, briefly, of her old apartment. The one with flickering bulbs and a temperamental heater. The electric kettle that always rattled when it boiled. The constant hum of city life just beyond the windows.

She missed it in strange fragments. Phone screens, takeout menus, hated blankets, and music that didn’t come from string quartets.

But mostly, she missed anonymity. The freedom to be no one.

The clatter of hurried footsteps broke the stillness. A sharp yelp followed.

Beatrice stood, stepping into the hallway just in time to see Johanna tumble down the last three steps of the west stairwell, landing awkwardly with a stifled cry.

A flurry of motion followed. A courtier called for help. Lila knelt beside her friend in a panic. And Francois, somehow appearing from the adjacent corridor, was already there.

Beatrice didn’t move.

She watched as Francois crouched and murmured something to Johanna. When she winced, he didn’t hesitate. He lifted her carefully into his arms, holding her like she weighed nothing.

He didn’t look toward Beatrice as he passed, but Lila did. Eyes wide with something between worry and apology.

Beatrice said nothing. She waited until the hallway had cleared before turning back into her chambers.

She wasn’t angry, but jealousy was a subtle thing. It arrived not with rage but with questions.

Was she lighter to carry? Did she wince in a way that made people want to soothe her?

Would he have picked her up if I had fallen instead?

Beatrice stared at the bouquet on her desk and considered whether it looked better before or after she set it facedown.

The day passed without further drama. The court had quieted, most too distracted by the previous celebrations to stir trouble so soon. Beatrice stayed in her chambers longer than usual, thumbing through old correspondence and drafting notes she didn’t send.

The sun had already begun to lower when a knock came at the door again. Firmer this time, but not urgent.

She opened it to find Francois leaning casually against the frame, a folded letter in one hand and a faint crease between his brows.

"I thought I’d check in," he said. "You’ve been suspiciously quiet today."

She stepped aside. "I wasn’t aware that required explanation." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"It doesn’t," he said lightly, walking in. "But you’re usually more... visible."

"Maybe I just wanted a quiet day."

He eyed her for a moment. "You always want quiet days. But usually you’re humming."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "I do not hum."

"You hum when you’re smug," he said. "Or when you win something. Or when Lily brings you sweetbread from the upper kitchens."

"I wasn’t aware I was being surveilled."

Francois leaned against the windowsill. "Not surveilled. Just... noticed."

Beatrice stayed by the desk. She didn’t look at the bouquet still sitting in the corner.

"How’s Johanna?"

Francois glanced over. "Sprained ankle. The physician said she’ll be off it for a few days."

Beatrice didn’t answer. Francois tilted his head, watching her more closely now.

"Did I do something?"

She looked up. "No."

"You’re sure? You’ve got that face."

"What face?"

"The one you get when someone eats the last of the lemon cakes and you pretend it doesn’t matter."

Her lips twitched. "Maybe I just like lemon cakes."

"I’ll have the kitchens bring you five."

"Then it’ll look like I’m sulking."

Francois stepped forward carefully. "Are you sulking?"

"Would you deserve it if I were?" She raised a brow.

"Not that I know of. But I’m open to being educated."

Beatrice shook her head, but her posture softened slightly.

"You didn’t do anything," she said at last.

"Good." He moved to the door. "I’ll leave you to your silence, then."

She nodded, expecting him to go.

"I’ll be back tonight."

And with that, he slipped out before she could reply further.

That evening, Beatrice declined dinner in the great hall. Not out of spite. She just didn’t feel like watching the way the court turned when she entered. Not after watching Francois carry someone else.

Instead, she let Lily bring her a plate of roasted squash and spiced lentils, which she barely touched. The bouquet still sat upright on her desk. She hadn’t thrown it, hadn’t buried it under books or shoved it behind the curtains.

She’d just left it there. Being stupid, and beautiful.

She was halfway through brushing out her hair when a soft knock came at the outer door.

Lily poked her head in, slightly breathless. "The prince is here."

Beatrice froze. "Now?"

"He says he won’t stay long. But... he’s holding something. And it’s moving."

Her eyes widened a fraction. "What?"

Francois stepped into the room without his usual guards, dressed in a dark tunic and travel boots. Cradled carefully in the crook of one arm was a small, restless bundle wrapped in a knit blanket.

Beatrice stood slowly. "Is that...?"

"A bribe," Francois said solemnly and pulled the blanket to reveal a kitten.

Soot-black, tiny, and scowling at the world like it had already been personally offended by life.

Beatrice gasped. "You brought me a cat?!"

"I brought you a diplomat in fur," Francois said, crossing to the sofa. "She was the runt of the litter. Tried to bite the stablemaster."

The kitten squirmed, pawing at the blanket. Beatrice sat beside him, careful not to crowd the creature, or him.

"She looks like judgment incarnate."

"I thought you’d relate."

Beatrice hid a smile. "Did something happen?"

"Not really." He glanced at her, studying her a little too closely. "I just thought you might like something that doesn’t ask questions."

Beatrice met his gaze. He wasn’t pushing or interrogating. But she saw it, the edge of concern. The gentle nudge beneath the joke.

She cleared her throat, keeping her voice light. "Does she have a name?"

Francois looked down at the kitten, who was now engaged in a fierce battle with the corner of the blanket.

"I thought I’d leave that to you."

"What if I name her something terrible? Like Duchess Doom?"

"She looks like she’d approve," he said. "But if you’d rather, we can hold a formal naming ceremony. I’ll fetch a priest."

She smirked. "No need. I already have one in mind."

Francois waited, expectant.

"Elisha."

The name landed softly in the space between them.

He didn’t ask where it came from. Didn’t tilt his head or press her with the same curiosity she’d grown used to. He just nodded, as if he understood without needing the explanation.

"Fitting," he said quietly. "She already looks like she owns the room."

Beatrice reached out and ran a finger gently along the kitten’s spine. Elisha arched in approval, eyes slitting contentedly.

"She’ll be impossible to manage," Beatrice murmured.

Francois smiled. "You’ve managed worse."

There was a brief silence, comfortable and not stiff. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting over his knees, but his eyes stayed on her.

"I didn’t mean to ignore you earlier," he said at last.

Beatrice looked away. "You didn’t."

"I should’ve seen your face when I picked her up." He meant Johanna, but didn’t say her name.

She shrugged. "You were helping someone. It’s not a crime."

"No. But I should’ve checked on the person I care about more."

Her eyes snapped to his, caught off guard.

"That’s all," Francois said. "I just wanted you to know."

Beatrice felt her breath catch a little, as if some knot had loosened in her chest. The kitten sneezed once, then promptly curled into a tight ball on the edge of the blanket, dismissing both royals entirely.

"She’s dramatic," Beatrice said.

"So are you."

She elbowed him gently. "That’s slander."

"I’ve been watching you charm an entire kingdom while pretending you hate attention. I think I’m qualified to assess your dramatics."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugged at her mouth anyway. He stood after a moment, slowly so as not to disturb the kitten.

"I’ll let you rest. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t stay long."

Beatrice rose with him. "You can stay longer next time."

Francois looked at her, pleased.

"I’ll bring more bribes," he said.

She followed him to the door. And just before he stepped into the hallway, he turned back.

"Goodnight, Beatrice."

She hesitated only a second.

"Goodnight, my prince."

Beatrice closed the door and returned to the kitten, who had sprawled across the blanket like royalty. She knelt, smoothing one edge of the fabric.

"Elisha," she murmured again.

The kitten blinked once, unimpressed. She smiled and let her fingers rest lightly against the tiny creature’s side.

Maybe this wasn’t a peace offering. Maybe it was a reminder.

That even in a world built on careful alliances and brittle titles, someone had seen the quiet beneath her sharpness, and stayed.