Beatrice had accepted her fate.
Not the fate where she died a humiliating death at the hands of the royal family. No, that was still firmly off the table.
She had accepted that she had no choice but to attend the palace selection.
It wasn't ideal, but she could handle it. Be polite, avoid attention, and let Johanna shine. The original story wanted Johanna to be the perfect heroine, which meant all Beatrice had to do was stay out of the way.
Easy.
Or so she thought.
The royal palace was extravagant. White marble floors, golden chandeliers, elegant tapestries. Beatrice had seen fantasy castles before in books and movies, but nothing prepared her for standing inside one.
The great banquet hall was filled with the most powerful nobles in the kingdom. High-ranking lords and ladies, ministers, royal guards. And at the very center of it all, the royal family.
Beatrice spotted King Marshall Montague sitting at the head of the long dining table, his presence alone commanding the room. Beside him was Queen Cecile, elegant and poised.
And then, of course, there was the crown prince.
Francois Montague.
Beatrice clenched her jaw.
In the novel, Francois was described as perfectly regal, tall, and devastatingly handsome. He had golden hair, sharp blue eyes, and the face of a man born to be king. Unfortunately, he also had the personality of a brick wall. Cold, calculating, and entirely uninterested in love.
He wasn't cruel, but he had a reputation for being unshakable, unreadable, and painfully blunt. In the novel, Johanna had melted his heart with her kindness and warmth. Meanwhile, Beatrice had only ever managed to annoy him.
Her plan was simple: don't get involved with him.
She took her assigned seat at the banquet table, doing her best to blend in. The other noble ladies whispered among themselves, their eyes darting toward Francois every few seconds.
Typical.
Johanna sat just a few seats away, glowing with innocence and charm. Her golden curls framed her face perfectly, and she was dressed in an elegant pale pink gown that made her look every bit the beloved heroine she was meant to be.
Beatrice sighed in relief. Good. Let her have the spotlight.
The feast began, and Beatrice's focus immediately shifted to something far more important. The food.
It was incredible.
Thick cuts of roasted meat, steaming golden bread, delicate pastries filled with honey and cream. Rich soups, exotic fruits, wine that smelled like it cost more than her entire hospital bill in her past life.
She took one bite of a buttered croissant and almost shed a tear.
This. This was living.
She barely noticed the conversation around her as she devoured the food in front of her, relishing every bite. If she had to endure a royal banquet, she might as well enjoy the best part.
A throat cleared nearby. Beatrice barely paid attention. Another bite of croissant.
Then someone called her name.
"Lady Beatrice."
She paused mid-bite, glancing up.
Francois was staring at her.
The entire table had gone silent.
Beatrice swallowed slowly.
Crap.
She hurriedly wiped her mouth with a napkin, straightened her posture, and forced a polite smile. "Yes, Your Highness?"
Francois's expression was unreadable. His piercing blue eyes studied her, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
"You seem… well."
Beatrice blinked. That was not the cold, disinterested tone she expected. It wasn't warm either, but it sounded almost... confused?
She needed to be careful. This was the first impression that could decide everything.
"I appreciate Your Highness's concern," she said smoothly. "I'm feeling much better."
Francois's gaze flickered toward her plate, then back to her.
"You certainly have an appetite."
Beatrice nearly choked. Was that... was that a joke?
Some of the noble ladies stifled giggles behind their hands. Beatrice forced herself to keep smiling.
"I do," she said simply. "The food is excellent."
He raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing more.
Beatrice let out a slow breath as the conversation moved on. Crisis avoided.
For now.
She wasn't sure why Francois had taken an interest in her tonight, but she didn't plan on letting it happen again. She needed to keep her head down, enjoy her meal, and get through this event without standing out.
Easy.
Then she accidentally knocked over her wine glass.
The deep red liquid spilled across the table, dangerously close to the prince's sleeve.
The hall fell silent again.
Beatrice froze.
Oh. Oh no.
Francois slowly looked down at the spreading stain, then back at her. His expression was unreadable, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Beatrice's soul left her body.
She had just ruined her own plan.
She gripped the table, trying to think of a way to fix this. Apologize? Offer to clean it? Laugh it off?
Before she could decide, someone else spoke.
"Oh dear! Lady Beatrice, are you alright?"
Johanna's soft voice carried through the hall, filled with genuine concern. She reached for a napkin, dabbing at the spilled wine with delicate hands. "That was quite unlucky. Here, let me help."
Beatrice turned to Johanna, surprised.
There was no mockery, no hidden malice. Just pure, heroine-level kindness.
Beatrice nearly melted. "Thank you, Lady Johanna. That's very kind of you."
Johanna beamed. "Of course! It could happen to anyone."
Beatrice swallowed a sigh of relief, wiped her hands on her napkin, and did the only thing she could think of.
She smiled, and shifted her eyes back to the prince.
"My deepest apologies, Your Highness," she said smoothly. "I must be more careful."
Then, with the most graceful movement she could manage, she picked up a fresh glass, poured herself another drink, and proceeded to ignore the entire situation.
Some nobles laughed quietly. The queen smirked. Francois said nothing, but his gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary before he finally turned away.
Beatrice forced herself to relax.
Crisis number two: survived.
But as the banquet continued, she felt something strange. A feeling like she was being watched.
She glanced up again, just for a second.
Francois was still looking at her.
Beatrice groaned internally.
She had completely failed to stay invisible.