A/N: written for Gothic Klonnie 2k18. Okay so, this particular historical AU is what Anastasia-G and I like to call the "Borgias AU" lol, though it does not really have that much to do with the Borgias (or the great TV show by the same name), but it is set in the same Renaissance world wherein the Borgias came to prominence, and the moniker also refers to a certain atmosphere that I hope this oneshot conveys. And yes, we have been talking about this AU foreeeever, and my beloved sister-in-arms has been urging me to write it for a long time. So here it is, enjoy!

(p.s. if you want to indulge with more gothic extravaganza, you should head over to our tumblr tag "gothic klonnie 2k18" and check out thebennettdaries' and elsac2's delicious oneshots and more wonderful writing and edits!)

Voluptate: a yearning which is both physical and spiritual, a lust of the body and the soul

.

A tempestuous ocean breeze had swept through the villa at noon and had left the door of her study slightly ajar. Bonnie took no notice of the breach as she sat at her escritoire, penning a letter to her cousin on the occasion of her second son's birth. She had a book of verse open on her lap. She was trying to conjure the right words to express her joy, and she thought the poetry might help. She was saddened to not be able to visit Lucy on the occasion, but her husband was needed in the capital. War was looming large over Rome. When the time was right, she knew he would send her to the countryside, but she did not wish to leave the comforts of the city yet.

Bonnie took up the quill again. She had unlatched the window screen, mosquitoes be damned. The heat was unbearable near twilight. Summer crickets sang indolently in the gardens below. Bonnie fanned herself with a roll of parchment. Curls were escaping her braided knot, teasing the back of her neck. She swept her fingers over them and tried to pin them in place, but it was no use. Bonnie huffed, leaning back in her chair.

She glanced at the fragment of lilac sky she could see from her window. In the distance, palatial domes of deep ochre and snow-white belfries glittered in the dying sun. Somewhere in the city her husband was enjoying amorous delights. He had gone to see his favorite mistress, la Signora Aurora. Of all the women he sported with, Bonnie liked her best. She was sharp and firm with Niklaus. She sent him home at decent hours too. Not that Bonnie had ever expressed her preference. She and Niklaus rarely discussed his mistresses or their marriage arrangement. It was nothing novel in Rome for an up-and-coming general to make a favorable and loveless alliance with an old, if impoverished family. Niklaus could afford to keep her, and Bonnie in return, gave him the standing he desired at court.

A year into their marriage now, they had become almost friends. They knew they had been lucky to have made a match which ensured mutual freedom. Niklaus did not intrude upon her privacy and she allowed him to do as he pleased. Bonnie had been terrorized since infancy of being handed over to a mindless brute who would violate her every sensibility. But this was thankfully not the case with her husband, though he had made a career out of brutality. In fact, the only time he had truly touched her was during the wedding ceremony, when he had kissed her lips chastely over the veil. Afterwards, he had held her waist lightly as he had led her into their first and only dance. Their marriage had never been consummated beyond that, though Bonnie's maids had ensured that the "marriage bed" showed remnants of ravishment. Bonnie laughed to think they had never even slept in the same room. They kept private quarters which they did not ever frequent.

There had been a time when she would not have minded a touch from him, but that was almost a decade past and she had dismissed that part of herself for good.

She had been on the cusps of girlhood still, barely sixteen and attending her first dance at the house of Signor Salvatore. It had been a frothy, frivolous banquet, not meant for newborns like herself, but her grandmother had insisted on her attendance, since they were disagreeably dependent on the Salvatores for a loan and could not afford to insult them. Bonnie had never seen women dressed so scantily, wine flowing down their bare bosoms into their petticoats, nor men so bedeviled and raucous, singing bawdy songs and drinking from their partners' mouths with relish.

Her father would have been appalled had he attended, but Bonnie was being chaperoned by her older cousin, Lucy and the silver-tongued Signora Genevieve who was notorious for making good matches for young ladies. It was only Lucy who made a good match that evening. A year later, she married the rich merchant who had set his sights on her. Madam Genevieve liked to say Bonnie had met her match there too, but it was not entirely correct. Lucy and her suitor had fallen in love, whereas Bonnie had only been humiliated.

A younger Niklaus Mikaelson had been in attendance at the banquet, surrounded by his condottieri, fellow mercenaries who had returned from the war in Sicily. He had only been a soldier for hire at the time, but even back then his name was making the city rounds for his dreaded skills in battle, his butchery being rivaled only by his competence. It was said his squadron was the most savage and deadly, and there was no shortage of coffers from which to choose; everyone wanted to employ him. Bonnie had only heard faint rumors at the time, not enough to understand the danger of such a man or the fact that he could not be approached easily. She had been impressed that evening to see he was not ribalding with the rest of the men. He was one of the few, in fact, who sat quite apart from the revelers, drinking little and speaking quietly to his fellow condottieri. She would not have noticed him otherwise, for though his frame and gait were imposing, he was not classically handsome, nor was he striking to the eye. What did strike her was his heavy brow. Everyone else was smiling and laughing, but he sat in his chair, brooding, surveying the attendants with sarcasm. He judged them all and found them lacking.

Bonnie could not entirely disagree with his worldview. She had so far managed to avoid being asked to dance. Lucy had refused the advances of several men in her stead, all the while warning her she could not say no to all of them. Bonnie was aware of her dilemma. She could not return home to her grandmother without showing that she had put her new gown to good use. If she had to dance, she wanted to be asked by the quiet, brooding man who did not sing songs about women as if they were nothing more than chattel. But there was no likelihood he would come up to her. Bonnie espied her good friend Signorina Elena already on the arms of one of the Salvatore heirs. Her grandmother would have clicked her tongue at that, remarking that Bonnie should have got there first. But she was determined not to waste the evening entirely. When Madam Genevieve was not looking, Bonnie made her way quickly across the banquet hall. It was not hard to slip by unnoticed. The party had reached such a delirious height that she would not have been noticed had she strolled across the floor naked.

She made her way nervously through the crowds, all the while keeping a watch on Niklaus' table. He was not paying attention to the revelers anymore. He was engaged in conversation with another man who cut a very handsome figure and was dressed in ostentatious finery. The two could not be more different, yet they conversed intimately. They did not seem to admit interruptions. Bonnie swallowed a knot in her throat. She could not turn back now.

She stopped before them, clearing her throat for effect. The handsomer of the two turned his head in surprise, and a small smirk soon spread across his sensuous lips.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Bonnie curtsied low, but not too low, for she knew it was an excuse for men to leer at the exposed flesh. She forced herself to speak louder than the music and laughter in order to introduce herself properly, but she stumbled over her words when the fashionable man took a step towards her and took hold of her hand.

"What a bold little thing you are, to come here in all your innocent splendor. Do you not know who we are?"

"I - I have not had the honor of being acquainted, Signor, but -"

"But you have heard of us, no? You've heard what we get up to in our spare time, when we are away from the bloodshed?"

Bonnie's face drenched of color. She drew her hand away.

"Only stories of your courage and prowess, Signor," she mumbled, stepping away from him.

"Mm, and would you like to hear more?"

"Lucien." The voice behind him held no humor or patience. "Cease your prattle. She's only a child."

Niklaus rose from his seat with a dark warning to his friend. He had watched her throughout the exchange with a mixture of disapproval and irritation. Bonnie felt a small sting of shame at being called a child, but she was grateful for his interception.

She inhaled sharply and spoke quickly before she could change her mind. "It was you I was seeking, Signor. I hope I am not disturbing you."

"You do not, but why have you come?" he asked her gruffly, no manners on him.

"I – I noticed you are not as - as forward as the other men in the present company. I was hoping you might join me in a dance."

Lucien laughed and clapped his hands in delight. "She doesn't think you forward enough, Nik. You must show her what you're capable of."

Niklaus ignored his comment. He tilted his head at Bonnie. "You do not want to dance with me, Signorina. Trust me on that."

"But - I would not have come here otherwise."

"I'm afraid your journey has been made in vain. I shall take you back to your friends," he said sternly and before she or Lucien could issue a protest, he had taken hold of her elbow none too gently and was dragging her away from his table.

"That was very foolish of you," he spoke as they made their way through the crowd.

Bonnie stared up at him, slightly intimidated by his harsh profile. Scars pockmarked his face, wounds which had not healed properly from war. She wondered if he was proud of them.

"I was only trying to make your acquaintance," she replied, feeling unfairly rebuffed.

"You have. Niklaus Mikaelson, mercenary for hire, and not the kind of man you should ask to dance."

"Why not?" she persisted against her better judgment.

Niklaus looked down at her and she noticed the light in his eyes diminished as they walked under the chandeliers.

"You are but a child," he repeated. "Children grow to regret their mistakes."

Bonnie blushed, feeling utterly mortified. "Grandmother says that only through mistakes may we learn."

Mirth did not dwell easily on his features, but she could have sworn there was something like it in his gaze.

"Tonight should not be an education. Tell your cousin to take you home."

There was no point arguing with him after that. True to his word, his fingers on her arm did not relent until she was deposited next to Lucy. Bonnie watched him go with an intense feeling of self-loathing. She had been snubbed and made a fool of herself. She was almost on the verge of tears. But she did not go home, as he had instructed. No, she stayed the whole night, sitting in her chair, pulling a small thread from her new gown until she had no more feeling in her fingers. Around her, the revelers raised hell.

For a while, the humiliation of the evening and the name of Niklaus Mikaelson were branded into her skin, but as the years passed, she learned to live with it. And when she was ungracefully forced into matrimony to the same man who had now risen to the echelons of society, she only made sure that their former acquaintance was preserved in the spirit of their first meeting. Though she was no longer a child, he would not touch her, and she would not touch him.

Bonnie set her quill down. She massaged the tense knot in her shoulder. She wondered if she should call for supper, or if Niklaus had already dined with Aurora. As she sat there, languishing in her chair, she felt an undercurrent on her back - a frisson. She turned towards the door. She noticed then that it had been opened by the breeze. But this was not what startled her.

It was meeting her husband's gaze across the corridor that made her sit up straight. He was standing at the top of the stairs, staring through the crevice in her door - but how long had he been standing there? She could not say. He looked as if he had just returned from the streets, golden dust in his hair.

"Niklaus."

"Wife," he murmured, not breaking his gaze.

"I was writing to my cousin. Did your meeting fare well?"

The veiled mention of Aurora made him stiffen. He nodded, though he did not look pleased. "Well enough."

"Are you hungry?" she asked, hiding her bare feet into the folds of her dress. She had taken off her slippers for ease's sake. It was evidence of their domestic separation that she was embarrassed to show herself like this to him. She worried that more curls had come undone from her hair and she might look unkempt.

"I could eat," he replied in his surly fashion, but there was a wry note in his voice. She had learned to decipher his moods and states. What she had taken for ill humor once, she now qualified as his particular brand of wit.

"Very well, I will call for supper and see to it. In the meantime you might want to refresh yourself." And she swept her eyes over him as if he were the house dog who had dirtied his fur.

Niklaus ran a hand over his chin. He needed a shave, it was true.

He lowered his head. Her innocent gaze tormented him. The way she looked at him but did not see him. The way she dismissed him, just as he appeared to dismiss her. It was their understanding. She did not think he saw her as anything but necessity, and he had no way of persuading her otherwise. He did not even know where to begin. He had ruined his chances the night he had first met her. That wretched banquet had been his undoing. He had snubbed her for her own good, had tried to protect her from himself and others like him, and now he was paying for it. The Gods were cruel.

Bonnie smiled shyly at him, a smile to cut into a thousand pieces. She turned her back on him and returned to her writing.

Niklaus did not stir himself. He stared at her naked shoulders a moment longer. He traced the vaporous folds of her summer dress, lingered on her bare heel, hidden behind the chair. He clenched his jaw. He knew very well he could have any woman in Rome, could wed her and bed her and make her cry bitter tears for him, but the one he couldn't - would never - have was his own wife.

He was doomed to stare, and stare, and stare, until his desire became air.

Perhaps he deserved no better. He was the mongrel of Rome, after all, and she was its bright votary.

He lowered his gaze and walked away.

Bonnie could still feel him watching her. She held her head higher, tried to show how little she cared. But her eyes did not see the parchment before her. She saw the future. He would always be there, just outside her door, a finite but unbridgeable distance between them.

And there was something almost like pleasure in that pain.