Palais du Louvre
Paris, 1466
May Day has come and passed, and the Palace still brims with excitement; elaborate feasts and games every day, much to Bonnie's surprise.
Due to King Louis' humble and discreet disposition, Bonnie expected the court to disband as soon as May Day celebrations were over. The nobles would return to their own lands, filled with vanity and satisfaction that they have spent time with the King and indulged in the luxuries of Paris, and the Queen and her ladies would go back to their comfortable recluse in Château d'Amboise.
At least that is what Bonnie expected, and to be honest, what she has come to yearn for. Being surrounded by the glittering of precious gems, fine silks, dancing, and laughter may be alluring, but it is little more than a sweet illusion.
"Are we to remain in Paris?" Bonnie asks, aware that she is the only one who is not happy with the news.
"It would seem that the King has listened to his advisors and decided to deafen the critics by finally establishing court here in the Louvre. If the Queen is to move here in a permanent manner remains to be known," Jeanne, the Marquesse de la Douze and one of the closest ladies to the Queen, says in a matter of fact tone. The way her lips are pressed together in a straight line causes Bonnie to wonder if she's not alone in her displeasure.
"All the better to me!" Beatrice of Monteval exclaims; her round face bright with the slightest hint of mischief. "Besides, I have much more interesting news."
Those words are enough to divert the ladies' attention from the colorful tapestry they have been embroidering, as they all turn to look at Beatrice.
"It has come to my attention that Monsieur Gerard has been making some inquiries about Queen Charlotte's ladies," Beatrice says as she pushes a strand of thick, light blonde hair behind her ear. "On behalf of the English King."
Sitting on the padded bench by the window, Bonnie all but snaps her neck in the haste to look at Beatrice; her pulse quickening at the mention of the King.
"Why would the King be interested in us?" Caroline asks with a deep frown; the lines of confusion etched on the usually smooth skin. "Perhaps he means to take some of us as ladies to Queen Aurora."
"Caroline, do not be so naïve!" Beatrice chides, shaking her head at her lack of political knowledge. Perhaps the move to Paris and finally being at court will do them some good. "Do you honestly believe the Count would be making inquiries just so he can select Queen Aurora's ladies? The King does not concern himself with such small matters. It is said that he may be looking for a maîtresse-en-titre."
All of the ladies gasp, even the usually cynic Jeanne, and the scandalized chattering begins. Bonnie can do little more than trying to keep her hands from trembling. Once again, she feels like a young, gullible girl. She does not know why hearing this bothers her so much. After all, the King has a wife and is famous for his weakness for the fairer sex. He is not hers, could never be hers.
"Queen Aurora has failed to provide any children, and according to gossip, her beauty is not enough to lure the King anymore. Being his official mistress can definitely have its perks," Beatrice points out; the tone of her voice neutral, but her brown eyes shine with pure excitement.
As a matter of fact, all of them seem to be fidgeting with excitement. Bonnie cannot blame them, she supposes. The King of England is young, handsome and athletic. Becoming his official mistress and enjoying his favor is not the worst option for a lady. It makes sense that they will be enthusiastic about the news.
Her feeling so disappointed that her chest hurts and her stomach curls into itself is what does not make sense.
"Can you imagine? The King of England has taken notice of one of us! Who shall be the ever so lucky lady?" Caroline wonders; her blue eyes scanning the room as she tries to think of who could have charmed the King.
"I reckon we will discover at the masque tonight," Beatrice comments; her fair skin becoming red as she envisions how the night may go. "It will certainly be very interesting."
Bonnie flinches at the mere thought of the upcoming banquet. It would be an interesting night indeed, and she is already dreading it.
The silk of her red dress trails behind as she paces back and forth. Feeling the white-hot anger swirl inside of her, Queen Aurora of England cracks her fingers one by one, wishing she could just make something bleed. Anything.
"I do not even understand why you are fretting over this, sister," Tristan, the young Duke of Orleans, says as he sips from his cup of ale. "Your husband is a king, and it will do you well not to forget that."
"I do not forget it, brother," Aurora reminds him with gritted teeth, wishing she could chuck the damn cup on his head. Her older brother has always been more understanding of her own emotions than most, so she is annoyed to no end that he cannot understand her now. "I just do not appreciate being humiliated in such a way."
Growing up as a Princess of France, Aurora was educated to behave in a manner befitting of her station. All of her past lessons as a young girl with Madame Betancourt and Monsieur Marchand were designed with a bright future in mind. She is fluent in three languages, can recite poetry, play the lute, and most importantly, she knows how to act like the Queen she is.
A mistress is little more than a speck of dust on her dress. They come and go at a furious pace, as her husband seems to be quite fond of beautiful and vivacious women. It does not exactly bother her, as she is smart enough not to expect fidelity from a King. Besides, she knows her husband. His love burns hot and bright, but it is brief. All of his mistresses that come wide-eyed and impressed leave shortly after, married off to a baron or a count, and nobody ever utters their names again. As long as the crown lies on her head, Aurora can live with that.
"Your husband loves women just as much as he loves fighting. This is hardly his first mistress," Tristan points out with a frown, confused by Aurora's temper.
"A maitresse-en-titre is a different matter!" Aurora all but shrieks, losing any semblance of self-control for a few brief seconds. "We both know how much power they can wield. Am I to smile and accept Niklaus parading another woman for all of the court to see?"
"You are the daughter of a King, Aurora. No mistress will ever be able to wield power over you," Tristan assures her as their eyes meet. "Do not concern yourself with such matters, sister."
"How can I not? I fear he is slipping from me and an official mistress will not help matters," Aurora bemoans; draining the cup of wine. Her sour moods have made the mulberry wine bitter, but she does not care.
"Listen to me, sister," Tristan asks as gets up from the padded chair and moves until he's standing in front of her. "The way to reclaim your husband's love is by giving him a son. When he has his dynasty, your position will be solidified and he will not be able to deny you. No petite putain can ever replace you."
Aurora jutted her chin forward as attempted to look strong. After all, she is the Queen and she will be damned if others perceive her as weak.
"Is that really necessary?" Klaus wonders with an impatient tone as he extends his right arm to the side once more.
The royal seamstress, sensing the King's building impatience, focuses on the task at hand with even more diligence; her fingers nimbly working on the blue silk waistcoat until it fits him like a glove.
"Since Louis seems intent on throwing a masque in your honor, I reckon it is quite necessary," Elijah replies with a hint of a grin, feeling strangely amused by his brother's displeasure. "Besides, I would have imagined you to be the most delighted with yet another night filled with wine, dancing, and ladies."
Niklaus sneers, quite aware of Elijah's subtle taunting. His brother knows that a wretched Masquerade celebration is the last thought in his mind.
"Is there a reason for your cheerful spirit, Elijah?"
"No reason, in particular, thank you for asking," Elijah answers, swirling the dark red liquid inside his cup. "Perhaps I am amused that out of all things, what seems to bother you is a masque."
"If there is something you wish to tell me, you should do so instead of throwing accusations," Niklaus says with gritted teeth; willing himself not to lose his tenuous grip on self-control. He has felt his brother's judging gaze on him ever since he informed Elijah of his plan to dissolve his marriage, and he's had it.
"There are no accusations coming from me, brother," Elijah replies, throwing both hands up to proclaim his innocence. "I was merely curious as to why you wouldn't enjoy one of your favorite pastimes."
"You know damn why, Elijah," Klaus hisses, still with the presence of mind to measure his words. While the royal seamstress has been discreet in her years of service, he cannot be careless and risk others discovering his plans.
"What of Warwick? Have you shared the cause of your anxiety with our cousin?"
As if being summoned, their cousin, the notorious Earl of Warwick enters the room. Unlike any other lesser noble standing at the presence of their King, he doesn't kneel or even bows his head. As a matter of fact, he barely acknowledges Niklaus' presence and looks around the room first to take note of the servants standing around.
"Leave us, all of you!" he finally says after a moment of tense silence; his voice not yet a shout, but close enough to have all of the servants – seamstress included- scattering out of the King's chambers without a trace of hesitation.
"What has you so troubled, cousin?" Elijah questions, noticing his cousin's face has taken an unusual shade of red and the way it looks like he could dagger someone.
"Our utmost goal here in France is to strengthen our alliance with Louis so he can finally send part of the French army to the Welsh Marches, isn't it?" Alaric inquires, staring Niklaus down as if he is not the King, but a small boy who needs to be put in his place.
Surprisingly, Niklaus does not despair or tries to assert his authority. He merely smirks at his cousin's outburst and moves to fill his cup.
"I am well aware of the reasons why we came to France, cousin. You do not need to burst into my chambers to remind me of that," Niklaus retorts; his voice draped with some irony, which infuriates Alaric even more.
"If you are so well aware, why do you wish to make a laughingstock out of your wife by choosing a French official mistress? Louis is very fond of Aurora and he won't stand to see her humiliated."
Surprising both vampires, Klaus throws his head back with a hearty chuckle, clearly not believing the matter to be as serious as Alaric puts it. Well, Klaus isn't quite sure if he's taken by the urge to laugh because the matter is such a small one – he's a King with the right to take mistresses – or if it's because of Alaric, one of the most powerful and knowledgeable men in England, and his complete inaccuracy.
"An official mistress? Who has told you that I am to take an official mistress and a French one for that matter?"
The unexpected behavior from Niklaus causes Elijah to tense up and Alaric to fluster. The Earl of Warwick has entered the royal chambers ready to chastise the obstinate King, not for this.
"The entire castle is abuzz with the news that you have tasked Marcel with finding information on Queen Charlotte's ladies so you can choose a maitresse-en-titre."
Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a dull pain spread over his temple as he remembers the parchment Niklaus gave him the day before. Surely his brother would rely on Marcel to interview servants and other nobles to gather information on his beloved.
Not one to enjoy conflict, Elijah tries to savor these last quiet moments. Judging by Alaric's reaction to the possibility of Niklaus taking a mistress, it is clear their cousin will not merrily accept Niklaus' decision.
"I can tell you that is nothing but court gossip spread by bored nobles. However, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you," Klaus adds before Alaric has time to laugh the matter off as he intended to do. "I do not wish to take one of Queen Charlotte's ladies as my mistress, I wish to take her as my wife."
Alaric snaps his head to face Niklaus with such force that one would believe he has been hit. The skin of his neck takes becomes red as if he has spent the entire day out on the gardens; his face remaining sickly pale and stoic. The only evidence of his growing indignation is the thunder behind his eyes.
"Have you lost your wits?" His voice is as quiet as a hiss, but somehow it encompasses more fury than any shout. "We are still in Louis' palace and yet you plot to get rid of his sister!"
"My wish for an annulment is hardly an indication that I have lost my wits. Three years have passed and there is not one sign that I will have a healthy son," Klaus points out; voice steady despite his displeasure with Alaric's behavior.
"This annulment is to be our undoing, can you not see that? If Margaret convinces France to fight for them, all of our work will be in vain!"
There is a twinge of desperation in the ever unwavering Earl of Warwick's speech as he realizes this is not a jest from Klaus.
"Edward, Richard's boy, still lives, does he not?" Klaus asks with a quiet voice, drawing confused stares from both men. "If I remain childless for another three years, not even France will keep me on the throne. My own people will rally behind Edward to give him the crown!"
His passionate words are met with silence, just like Klaus has expected. They could attempt to change his mind with many other arguments, but they could not refute this one. A King's biggest role in the world is to sire children, preferably sons to create a mighty dynasty. A King without heirs is weak and futureless. Soon, he'll be the joke of Europe. The King who won his throne in battle only to lose it because he couldn't produce a single son to succeed him.
"Then have the marriage annulled and ally yourself with someone stronger! Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, not some girl who brings no advantage to us," Alaric pleads, forcing his voice to remain steady and not to show his rage. "A lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte gives us nothing. Who is she?"
How did she catch your eye and I never noticed? This is the question that lies on his lips, ready to be voiced. Alaric has always been careful to be knowledgeable of Niklaus' affairs, afraid that such a situation would happen. Niklaus is passionate and obstinate, all too willing to ignore caution and reason.
"The Lady Bonnie Bennett," Elijah answers, watching Alaric's face morphs into a mask of scorn as he realizes just who Niklaus' intended bride is.
"Sheila Bennett's granddaughter?! Now I know you have lost your wits! She is far beneath you!"
"She is the daughter of an Earl, cousin. As noble as you and your daughters!" Klaus argues, not caring if the words will infuriate him even more. For many nobles, being compared to a witch is humiliating. Alaric is no different.
"She is a witch, and no title will ever change that!" Alaric spits out; booming voice bouncing off the wood panels as he fights the
"She may be a witch, but she is also my queen of choice!" Klaus hollers, overtaken by such fury that his eyes turn into a golden hue. The wrath of his wolf.
"Choice? Is it also your choice to have the French forge an alliance with Margaret so they raise an army to attack us! It will do us well for you stop thinking with your britches!"
The shift in the room is palpable, and even Elijah becomes anxious as he senses the storm brewing within Niklaus. He's motionless, could be a statue carved out of marble if not for the clenching and unclenching of his fist and labored breathing. The last time he's seen his brother in such a way was at the battlefield at Towton, after slaying werewolves.
"It will do you well to remember that I am your King, your sovereign before I am your cousin," Klaus cautions; his low voice barely hiding the contempt he feels. "Now, leave me."
"As you wish, Your Grace," Alaric relents with a bow before retiring. As much as he wants to berate his cousin for this foolish decision, he realizes that no word from him will be able to get through Niklaus.
He will have to find another way to open his eyes before Niklaus dooms them all.
Even though Bonnie has spent the entire day dreading this occasion, she cannot help her wide eyes full of awe as she stares at every single detail. After so many sumptuous celebrations, Bonnie's expected this masque to be simpler, consisting of little more than wine and dancing. She is proven wrong once more as soon as she enters the great hall and realizes that it looks even more marvelous than it did before.
Somehow, everything seems to glitter. Banners with both families hang from the ceiling, colorful tapestries depicting the royal family in various settings cover the walls. The table meant for royalty, is raised on a dais and stands on the end of the room, is covered by a thick, purple cloth that is embroidered with a golden thread.
The centerpiece on the table, representing a green lawn, is a spectacle of its own. Surrounded by large peacock feathers and green branches tied with lavender and other fragrant flowers, it is clear that it is meant to impress others.
Bonnie is quite impressed, but not enough for the bitter feeling of rejection to be expunged. As much as she attempts to distract herself by admiring the beautiful dresses and the musicians, Bonnie cannot seem to forget him. The man who should not be permeating her thoughts is everywhere she looks.
She sips on Malmsey wine, hoping that it will lift her spirits the same way it usually does the other ladies, but it seems to be in vain. While her body feels light, as if she could jump and fly away, her mind stays grounded. The possibility of witnessing the King choose another, one of her dear friends, is far too sobering.
"Come, Bonnie!" Caroline urges as she bumps into her. Bonnie can see that she is overly excited, even through the mask. For that, Bonnie envies her. It is the most lively celebration they have ever seen, and Bonnie is unable to enjoy herself. "Her Grace wishes to show the English that her ladies are much superior when it comes to the Pavane. The King himself has challenged her and said he will also dance to show his skills!"
Wrapped in her wine induced daze, Bonnie has failed to notice the commotion at the center of the hall. The courtiers are huddled together, staring at the King with wide eyes and admiration. Bonnie feels sick. She may love dancing; the Pavane a personal favorite, but she does not wish to be close to him. Not when she feels betrayed. Betrayed by a King who owes her nothing, what a foolish little girl she is.
"I've had much to drink, and would be quite clumsy," Bonnie says with a nervous chuckle, even as Caroline continues to pull her by the hand.
Much to Bonnie's chagrin, her protests are ignored and she finds herself standing with the other ladies; feet moving to the slow rhythm of the Pavane. Her chest tightens when they change partners and she is left standing next to the King.
"Did I not say that faith is intent on having us cross paths?" Niklaus asks, turning his head to look at her. "I was right."
Avoiding his gaze, Bonnie does not allow her eyes to wander, keeping them focused ahead.
"Yes, Your Grace," she agrees with not much emotion; her vo7ice as cold as a January night. "You were right."
"Have I done something to displease you, my lady?" Niklaus wonders, cocking his head in confusion. Their last encounter was short and tinted with hesitance, but it was warm.
"How can you displease me, Your Grace?" Bonnie replies, plastering a forced smile on her face when they come face to face. There are many eyes on her, and she cannot look as if she's displeased.
"The gardens are beautiful when illuminated by moonlight," Klaus comments after a silent moment between them, leaving Bonnie confused. "Take a walk with me."
"That would be highly improper, Your Grace!" Bonnie says in a scandalized whisper. The whole palace knows he seeks for a mistress and it would harm her reputation to be seen with him unaccompanied. Besides, she has no wish to be alone with him again. There is no reason to fool herself into believing they can have a future together.
"I am the King of England, Lady Bennett. Do you honestly believe I would engage in improper behavior?" Niklaus questions, resembling a naughty boy who attempts to present himself as innocent.
Damn him for being so charming.
"Of course not, Your Grace."
"Then meet me by the South fountain."
Bonnie has half a mind to ignore his request, but he is the King and a request from the King is an order not many people can defy. Besides, the thought of him standing by himself as he awaits her is not a pleasant one to have.
"I must confess, I was afraid you wouldn't come, Lady Bennett," Klaus says with a bright smile as soon as he sets his sights upon her figure.
"I should not be here and we both know it, Your Grace," Bonnie whispers; the words stumbling out of her lips in a sudden moment of courage. Her face is warm with embarrassment as soon as she realizes what she has said.
"I fail to see why not. It is a warm, spring night, the moon and the stars shine bright and you look beautiful."
Klaus cuts the distance that separates them in three long steps, only satisfied when he can feel her warm breath against his own skin. Standing so close to her, he notices the smoothness of her skin and the way the green of her eyes shine. Bonnie Bennett is different from all of the other ladies he's met, and he wants her.
When she looks like this, unblemished white dress and bronze skin, Klaus can do little more than admire. Oh, how much he wishes to kiss her, and taste her skin.
"Is there a reason why you asked me to meet with you, Your Grace?" Bonnie asks; her voice trembling with excitement? She can't quite tell. Her heart beats fast and in an irregular rhythm, her lips are dry, and she suspects he is the reason for those symptoms.
"I am to return to England on the morrow, Lady Bennett, and I cannot do so without talking to you."
Even though the King has the ability to completely charm her, Bonnie remains leery when it comes to his words. Does he think her to be a naïve little girl that can be fooled by pretty words?
"Why is that, Your Grace? If you believe you can charm me into becoming your mistress, I'm afraid you are wrong."
The frown on his face dissolves; replaced by a delighted smile as he chuckles.
"Oh, this senseless rumor again. I have no wish to take a mistress, I would like to have you as my wife," Klaus declares, feeling lighter after revealing his intentions.
Bonnie, however, feels heavy. So heavy that her legs strain with the mighty task of carrying her. She swoons as his face disappears little by little; darkness overtaking her vision. He is quick to wrap his arms around her waist, preventing her from falling.
"How can I be your wife if Your Grace is already married?" Bonnie asks with a faint voice, not sure if the question is directed to herself or to the King.
"That is a matter that will be quickly solved," he assures her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me, little witch, will you be my wife?"
Little witch. Nobody has ever called her that. Usually, when they say the word witch in her presence, it's filled with contempt. Right now, it's warm and makes her giddy. Giddy and stupid enough to throw caution to the wind.
"I will," she whispers, the two short broken since her voice seems to be as unstable as her legs. "When you can take a wife, that is."
Klaus throws his head in a deep chuckle, amused by his beloved's skepticism.
"Do not despair, my Lady," he pleads, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. Both of them release the slightest sigh; almost as if their minds are allayed by their closeness. Back in the great hall, it was all an act. This time, surrounded by flowers and tall trees, it is real. At least, it feels real.
"I will assemble a council as soon as I return to London so they can quickly deal with the matter. We are to have a great wedding as soon as Rome issues my annulment."
"I am a witch, how can we have a great wedding if I'm not even sure the people will accept me as your wife?"
Bonnie may be young, not knowledgeable of court matters, but she knows many will not accept her. Perhaps she has her heart set in an impossible feat.
"You are my chosen wife. Nobody will dare to question my decision. Especially such a fine decision," he says with the confidence of a warrior, and Bonnie cannot help but trust him. "You will be the most beautiful Queen England has ever seen."
Bonnie nods, trying to focus on him and the comfort he brings her. Her mind, however, seems to be fixed in one thing only.
Queen of England.
Heavens help her, for she is not ready for this.
To Lady Bonnie Bennett
Lady to Queen Charlotte of France
My sweet granddaughter,
It pains me that I couldn't be with you, as I have grown to miss you and long to see the woman you have become.
However, I write you to speak of important matters. My little birds tell me you are as beautiful as a summer rose and you have caught the eye of the English King and other English courtiers. This concerns me greatly, for the King is married and you are a witch. It won't take long for tongues to start wagging and your reputation to be ruined.
For that reason, your father and I have decided that it is time for you to return to England so you can be married. We shall find you a kind and respectable man, my sweetheart. You will be happy.
Love,
Sheila, Dowager Countess of Derby
A/N: Here I am again! First of all, thank you so much for your reviews, they always put the biggest smile on my face! Kudos to the guest who got it right, in this story Klaus is inspired by Edward IV and Henry VIII, while Bonnie is inspired by a little of Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth Woodville. Don't worry, she's not about to lose her head and there will be no princes in the tower in this story. So, Bonnie was charmed by her handsome King, but she has no idea of what expects her, Sheila wants to save her from all of this trouble by arranging a marriage and Alaric is not happy with Klaus, there's a lot to happen! Let me know your opinion, guys!