The Villainess Refuses to Follow the Script-Chapter 96

Beatrice sat by the window with Elisha curled against her side, the kitten’s steady breathing grounding her more than any words could. She had let the worst of yesterday’s anger slip away overnight, burned out like the final embers of a dying fire.

It had been petty, maybe, to snap at Johanna the way she had. The girl hadn’t meant any real harm.

And it was her last day.

Beatrice sighed and rose, brushing cat hair from her skirts. She would find Johanna. Offer some brief apology, say goodbye, and move on.

The halls were quiet as she stepped out, servants moving briskly in the late morning hush. She adjusted the sleeve of her dress, fingers smoothing the silk more out of habit than nervousness.

But she didn’t make it far.

A steward intercepted her just past the east corridor, bowing low.

"My lady. The queen summons you."

Beatrice paused. "Now?"

"Immediately."

The summons left no room for refusal. Beatrice followed him, pulse steady but uneasy. She was led to the smaller royal audience chamber, a room too intimate for full court but far too formal for casual conversation.

Queen Cecile stood by the window, arms folded. King Marshall was seated at the head of the small table, looking as if he’d been carved from the stone walls themselves. Francois leaned against the far wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, face unreadable.

And Johanna.

Standing stiffly at the side, hands clasped in front of her, eyes wide but determined.

Beatrice stepped into the room. The door shut behind her with a quiet finality.

"Lady Beatrice," Queen Cecile said, her tone clipped. "We have something that demands explanation."

Beatrice inclined her head. "Of course, Your Majesty."

King Marshall gestured, and Johanna stepped forward. In her hands, she held a crumpled, slightly torn piece of parchment.

"This," the king said, "was discovered in the guest chamber your brother formerly occupied."

Beatrice blinked once. "Guest chamber?"

"The one Lady Johanna was given," the queen clarified.

Her heart and mind raced. Magnus’ old guest suites.

"I found this," Johanna said, voice thin but steady, "inside the writing desk, jammed between the drawers. It bears..." She hesitated. "It bears the Da Ville seal."

Beatrice did not move. She kept her spine straight, her hands still.

"I see," she said quietly.

"Do you deny knowledge of it?" King Marshall asked, voice deceptively mild.

"May I read it?" Beatrice asked.

The parchment was handed over, then she scanned the contents quickly. A few short lines referencing shipments, "discreet support," and "destabilization at the northern borders."

Her stomach knotted. The handwriting was her father’s secretary.

"I have never seen this letter before today," Beatrice said, lifting her gaze calmly.

The queen’s mouth thinned. "And yet it was found hidden in a room associated with your family."

"A room," Beatrice said carefully, "assigned to Magnus Da Ville. Not me."

Beatrice pressed forward.

"If I may," she continued, voice level, "the timing and placement of this discovery are... remarkable."

Johanna flinched slightly.

"A letter," Beatrice said, "found at the precise moment tensions flare at the border, conveniently discovered by a member of the Lockhart family. A family with historical ties to Lucenbourg."

The queen’s eyes sharpened. "Tread carefully, Lady Beatrice."

"I intend to," Beatrice said. "Because I am curious, Your Majesty. Very curious indeed."

She let her gaze shift briefly to Francois.

He watched her, silent, but there was a shadow of doubt in his eyes now.

"Furthermore," Beatrice said, straightening, "this is not the first unsettling event tied to the Lockhart name."

She reached into the pocket sewn discreetly at her hip, withdrawing a folded scrap of dark linen.

"Some weeks ago," she said, "I received this."

She set it on the table and the queen unfolded it with gloved fingers.

Inside was the velvet rose. The faint Lockhart crest pressed into the wax seal.

"No message, no sender. Only this."

A tense silence gripped the room.

"And you did not think to report this?" the queen demanded.

"I did not want to stir unfounded fears," Beatrice said. "At the time, I believed it to be a warning, a threat meant for me alone. I understand some people may have certain feelings about the recent bethrotal announcement."

The king leaned back in his chair, expression grim.

"It seems," Queen Cecile said slowly, "that prudence has not served us well."

Johanna looked stricken. "I had nothing to do with—"

"No one is accusing," King Marshall said, though his tone lacked conviction.

Francois finally spoke, his voice low. "There is too much coincidence here."

Beatrice didn’t dare glance at him.

"Until a thorough investigation is complete," the king said, rising to his feet, "both Lady Beatrice and Lady Johanna will remain under house arrest within the palace grounds."

Beatrice bowed her head slightly, hiding the cold rage simmering in her veins.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Johanna swallowed and nodded.

"Further," the king continued, "summons will be sent at once to House Lockhart and House Da Ville. Both families will answer for this mess."

Her throat tightened.

She had tried so hard to separate herself from their poison. And now, she was drowning in it again.

The queen dismissed them with a wave of her hand. Beatrice turned, feeling the weight of Francois’ gaze burning between her shoulder blades.

Johanna stumbled to a stop beside her.

"I didn’t mean—"

"Save it," Beatrice said, voice cutting. "We’re both prisoners now."

She gathered her skirts and walked away, heart hammering against her ribs.

Beatrice barely felt the cold floor under her heels as she stepped out of the room. Her mind ran blank and ragged at once, pieces of thought scraping against each other without forming anything solid.

The heavy doors shut behind her with a hollow echo. Guards posted at either side gave no indication they’d heard the confrontation from within, but Beatrice knew how this court worked. News would travel fast. Whispers faster.

House arrest.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or be sick.

"My lady," Lily called softly from the end of the corridor, rushing forward, skirts gathered in her fists. "What happened?"

Beatrice couldn’t speak. She just shook her head and kept walking. Lily fell in step beside her without another word.

It wasn’t until they reached her chambers that she finally let herself exhale. She patted Elisha gently. The kitten immediately circled her ankles, sensing the unease in the air.

Lily hovered by the door. "Should I send for the steward? For... anything?"

Beatrice shook her head. "No. Just... close the doors. No one comes in."

"Yes, my lady."

The moment she was alone, Beatrice paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her mind clawed at options, explanations, or angles.

The letter... she may be able to find a way and salvage something.

Then her mind drifted to Francois during he meeting. He had said nothing at all.

No protest. No defense. Just... silence. Watching her with those unreadable eyes.

Beatrice closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the door. She remembered how it had felt only nights ago to sail with him under clear skies. His kiss on her cheek and the promise of next time.

Foolish girl.

Outside, she could hear the court stirring to life. Johanna’s discovery would already be taking shape into a thousand different versions, each more damning than the last.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, willing herself to think.

The Lockhart crest. The old Lucenbourg ties. If they believe that Johanna had reason to forge a letter, if they believe it was an attempt to discredit the crown, then maybe... maybe there was a way out through this.

But it would take time. She needs proof and witnesses she didn’t have yet. And right now, she was locked away from every possible ally except the tiny, oblivious kitten batting at the hem of her gown.

A knock sounded at the door and she almost jumped on her feet from the tension.

"Beatrice," came his voice, low and muffled.

Her heart leapt painfully before slamming back down. She hesitated only a second before unbolting the door.

Francois slipped inside, closing it quickly behind him. He was pale, still too thin from his illness, but his eyes were intent on her.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Elisha mewed softly in the heavy silence.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said, voice rough.

"I know," he said as he scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking more unraveled than she’d ever seen him.

"Then why are you here?"

He looked at her for a long moment.

"I want to check up on you."

She exhaled deeply, her body almost folding into itself from the weight of it.

Francois stepped closer, but she stepped back.

"Beatrice—"

"You didn’t say a word!" she hissed, keeping her voice low enough not to carry through the walls. "You.... you just watched."

"I didn’t know what to say!" he said helplessly. "I don’t even know the truth."

"Then you don’t trust me."

Francois closed his eyes briefly, pain flickering across his features.

"I’m sorry," he said, and the words were raw. Honest.

She believed he meant them, but it wasn’t enough.

Beatrice straightened, arms folding across her chest.

"Leave me be. I need to think," she said coldly.

Francois watched her for a long moment, then silently stepped outside to giver her some space.

Outside, the bells tolled again, marking the end of another hour. And inside her gilded cage, Beatrice prepared for war.