There were many ways to die.
Beatrice had already experienced one of them—a slow, tragic illness in her past life.
Now, she was about to experience another.
Public humiliation.
She stared blankly at the grand ballroom before her. The polished marble floors gleamed under the golden chandeliers, the towering windows cast elegant light across the nobles, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and crushed dreams.
This wasn't just any ballroom. This was a royal dance lesson.
And Beatrice was about to be forced to participate.
She turned sharply to the palace attendant beside her. "I think I've been kidnapped."
The attendant smiled politely. "Lady Beatrice, all noble maidens participating in the selection must attend."
Beatrice clenched her jaw. Of course.
She needed to escape before this got worse. Maybe she could fake a headache? Pretend to faint? Just walk out of the room like a normal person?
Before she could try anything, a cheerful voice rang through the air.
"Oh, Beatrice! You're here!"
Beatrice barely had time to react before Johanna appeared beside her, effortlessly graceful as always.
"This is wonderful, isn't it?" Johanna beamed, linking arms with her. "The royal instructors are teaching us the proper waltz. It's such a wonderful opportunity."
Beatrice wanted to scream. It wasn't fair.
Johanna was naturally good at everything. She was light on her feet, elegant in every movement, and looked like she belonged in a fairytale.
Meanwhile, Beatrice had two left feet and the coordination of a drunk squirrel.
She was doomed.
And then, just when she thought this couldn't get worse, someone else spoke.
"Well, well. Look who decided to show her face."
A sickly sweet voice drifted toward her.
Beatrice tensed before slowly turning her head.
Standing nearby, dressed in a flawless lavender gown, was Priscilla "Lila" Montague.
The prince's younger sister. And she hated Beatrice.
Lila's sharp blue eyes swept over her like she was an insect. "I was almost worried you wouldn't attend. But I suppose even you wouldn't dare defy palace tradition."
Beatrice sighed internally. Here we go.
In the novel, Lila was one of Beatrice's biggest critics. She and Johanna were close friends, and Lila had always despised Beatrice's obsession with Francois.
Which meant that in this timeline, Lila probably still thought Beatrice was an awful person.
Great. Another disaster to deal with.
Beatrice forced a polite smile. "Lady Priscilla. A pleasure, as always."
Lila smirked. "How rare. You sound almost civilized today."
Beatrice almost laughed. This girl was ready for war.
Before Beatrice could reply, Johanna gently placed a hand on Lila's arm. "Oh, Lila, there's no need for that. I'm sure Lady Beatrice is doing her best."
Beatrice wanted to hug Johanna and also tell her to stop helping.
Lila tilted her head, still watching Beatrice like a hawk. "I wonder about that."
She didn't wait for a response before turning and walking toward the center of the ballroom.
Beatrice exhaled slowly.
Wonderful. The prince was watching her. The queen was watching her. And now his little sister hated her, too.
At this rate, she'd be executed by public opinion before the actual story could even kill her.
And she still had to survive this dance lesson.
A noblewoman clapped her hands for attention. "Ladies, please find your positions. The instructors will now demonstrate the steps."
Beatrice reluctantly joined the other noblewomen in a neat formation.
The music started.
The instructors floated across the ballroom with perfect grace, demonstrating the basic waltz steps.
Beatrice was already confused.
Right foot forward? Left foot back? When did spinning get involved?
She squinted at the instructors, mentally calculating her chances of survival.
Conclusion: slim to none.
A pair of noble girls near her giggled softly.
"Lady Beatrice looks nervous."
"Well, she's never been known for grace."
Beatrice inhaled slowly. Don't react. Don't cause a scene. Just survive.
Then, to her absolute horror, the noblewoman leading the lesson spoke again.
"Now, we shall practice with partners."
Beatrice immediately wanted to leave the country.
Pairs formed quickly around her, ladies turning to each other with bright smiles as they took their positions.
Beatrice glanced around. She had no partner. Which meant—
A shadow fell over her.
Beatrice looked up.
Francois was standing in front of her.
Beatrice nearly choked on air.
The entire room fell silent.
Francois extended a gloved hand. His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes cold as ever.
"Dance with me."
Beatrice's brain short-circuited.
What. What.
She whipped her head toward the instructors, ready to protest. Surely the prince had a designated partner. Surely—
The noblewoman in charge looked pleased. "Oh, how wonderful! His Highness will demonstrate the proper form."
Beatrice mentally screamed.
She turned to Francois, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Your Highness, I'm afraid I'm not—"
He raised an eyebrow.
Beatrice shut up immediately.
Saying no to the prince in front of every noble lady in the room would make her reputation even worse.
And so, with great reluctance, she placed her hand in his.
Francois's grip was firm, steady. He led her toward the center of the ballroom, the eyes of every noblewoman burning into her back.
Beatrice's soul left her body.
This was an execution. And worst of all?
Francois was still watching her.
Like she was the most interesting puzzle in the world.
Beatrice clenched her jaw. This was going to be a disaster.