Église Notre-Dame, Calais
October 1470
Under the soft candlelight, the gold thread embroidered onto her red gown glitters. To represent her purity, she wears her hair down; cascading dark curls adorned with a wreath made of violets.
It is not what she has imagined for her wedding. There are to be no guests besides her family to act as witnesses, no musicians playing lively melodies on the violin, no dancing, and no feast. Instead, her wedding ceremony will be performed by her uncle at an empty church. In a way, she expected this moment to be just as illustrious as it was for her. Perhaps it would not have the same opulence; with royal and noble guests from all Christendom and a sumptuous feast at Windsor Castle. But as the daughter of the Earl of Warwick, Elena expected more than this.
"Lena, are you nervous?" Victoria asks as she approaches her sister with careful steps; noticing the slight tremble in her hands.
"Do you think he will like me? That he will come to love me the way the King does her?" Elena wonders; her voice faltering as the anxiety becomes obvious. As much as she believes the King's union to be an unsuitable one, all of England knows of the adoration he bears her.
"Of course he will!" Victoria assures with a bright smile. "You look beautiful, sister. And soon, you will be a royal duchess! Is it not marvelous?"
In response, Elena smiles. Her eyes do not shimmer in happiness as it would be expected of a bride and the curl of her lips looks forced.
Nobody ever notices it, all of them too wrapped in their perceived glory. Little Elena Neville will become Duchess of Clarence and the Earl of Warwick will finally get his rebellion.
Windsor Castle, Berkshire
October 1470
Windsor Castle is a heap of activity as the servants scurry back and forth, attempting to make the place adequate to accommodate those who accompany the King and Queen on royal Progress.
Word of Robin of Redesdale and his growing army of rebels marching south has spread, causing quite the commotion throughout the castle's hallways.
Wishing to be insulated from such ruckus, the King and Queen have decided to retire to the royal chambers. Their supper- a light meal consisting of chicken, bread, and fruits -is a private and quiet affair. Bonnie has dismissed her ladies for the rest of the evening, so there are no hushed conversations or giggles. As Bonnie and Klaus sip on mulled wine, the hissing of the orange fire is the only sound to fill the room.
"I grow more and more concerned with each passing moment of your silence," she confesses with a whisper. "Tell me what is on your mind, husband."
"I have always known Warwick and Finn to be ambitious and power-hungry, but never to this extent," Klaus finally says; keeping his eyes focused on the lit fireplace instead of her. "He has supported me, has said that his greatest achievement was putting me on this throne and now he so easily turns against me!"
Klaus stands up and begins to pace around; his bare feet dragging against the crimson hued rug as he attempts to make sense of what has happened.
"At the Battle of Mortimer's Cross, we looked up to the sky and saw four suns! We all believed it to represent the four sons of Mikael, a sign of our victory and glory! How could one brother turn against the other?"
They are family, bound by blood and something stronger than any can imagine. The four Mikaelsons have fought side by side on the battlefield, risked their lives for each other. Bonnie knows little of war, but even she knows the importance of that connection forged in a mist of death, blood, and fear.
"Why would Finn support Warwick in such a senseless endeavor?" Bonnie wonders with a frown.
Despite her initial dismay, Finn is the heir to the throne; the one to become King should Niklaus perish without a son. The Duke of Clarence enjoys a high standing in court with his royal title and lands that generate a great income. Having a role in a rebellion would be senseless of him.
"Finn has gone against my command and married Elena," he explains with gritted teeth; grip on the bronze cup so tight that the metal bends just a little. Klaus hardly notices, so consumed with white hot anger and focused on not losing control. "And now they have both written the most ludicrous letter alleging that he is the rightful King, that I am a bastard!"
This time, his grip on self-control becomes too tenuous and he finds himself tossing the jug of wine into the fire. Surprisingly, he is able to dominate the unknown force that urges him to destroy every single object inside the castle while he cannot get his hands on Finn.
"God damn them both," Bonnie curses in a horrified whisper as she brings a hand to her rapid beating heart. "Warwick needed a figure to rally his men behind, so he's created this wretched gossip."
The wretched gossip questioning Niklaus' parentage is not exactly a new story. Bonnie has come to know of the existence of malicious whispers wondering if the Duke of Somerset was indeed the King's father years ago. His peculiar hybrid nature combined with Mikael's long absence as he was off fighting wars was enough to get tongues wagging. What surprises her, however, is to see that a purported ally is spreading such foul rumors.
Then again, it should not have been surprising, as her intuition has yet to fail her. And her intuition has not ever trusted Warwick, despite her husband's wishes for them to be friends.
"He has joined me in this war, helped to place the crown upon my head and now-"
"Now he wishes to make a Queen out of his daughter, with your brother by her side," Bonnie completes with disgust; taking a generous gulp of the sweet wine as if to wash away the bitterness left by those words.
His wrath ebbs away as the hours bleed into the starless night. While Klaus remains filled with a kind of resentment that can only be brought by the betrayal he's suffered, he finds that Bonnie is his only comfort. So he focuses on her.
Focuses on the glint in her green eyes as they widen in surprise when he places a furtive kiss on the nape of her neck. The scent of lavender that clings to her skin as he slides the thin white shift off her shoulders. Her warmth and the breathy moan she gasps out when he enters her and whispers meaningless words against her lips. Her blunt nails scratching his back as he spends inside of her. Her steady heartbeat against his chest, lulling him into a fitful sleep.
Their illusion of serenity disintegrates before dawn breaks before a new day can begin. Klaus, already alert for possible threats, snaps awake when he palms Bonnie's side of the bed and doesn't find her.
"Have you already come to miss me, love?"
Still disoriented, it takes a few seconds for Klaus to recognize that the voice is Bonnie's and not from a dream. Though her tone sounds rather jovial, her expression is anything but. Blunt teeth keep biting her lower lip until the usual pink shade turns into a dark red.
"I do hate to wake up without my wife by my side," he replies, propping himself into a sitting position. "Especially before I am to ride into battle and my own de-" he begins to say, but is hastily interrupted by Bonnie; the horror on her face now quite evident.
"Do not say it, Nik. Do not ever say it," she pleads as she pads her way back to bed, back to his side. "I forbid you from dying, do you understand?"
Though Klaus has the instinct to first laugh at her ludicrous request, he finds himself unable to. Unlike others in his life, Bonnie truly cares for him. To her, he is only Niklaus, not the King or a skilled warrior.
"It is not my intention to perish at such an early age, my love. Besides, I hardly think I would bear not being around you and the girls," he says with a small grin, hoping to assuage Bonnie's fears and perhaps his own. No more is he the man without a care who only thinks about glory in the battlefield and slaying his enemies. Klaus has no doubt Bonnie and his children will be at the forefront of his mind as he deals with this wretched situation.
"We will miss you as well," Bonnie whispers as she inches closer to him; until her face is a hair's breadth's from his and his natural warmth envelops her much like the furs she is wearing.
"And what is this?" Klaus questions when Bonnie hands him a small pouch, similar to the one she gave him before he went on to fight at Towton. "Have you crafted another spell for my benefit?"
"Your benefit and mine," she says with a matter of fact shrug. "I have no wish to be parted from my husband. However, this is also a keepsake to remember us by."
She opens the pouch to reveal four curls of hair, each in a different shade of brown. Hers and the girls'. Klaus smiles with so much delight one would think he's received a handful of gold or precious gems.
"Keep this on your person at all times," she directs, closing his hand around the velvet pouch and kissing his knuckles.
"It is you who worries me with your silence now, love. You remain silent while your eyes ask so much of me," Klaus comments with a frown as he brushes an unruly curl behind her left ear. "Tell me what ails you so."
"I merely fear what you will encounter when you reach Warwick and Finn," Bonnie confesses; her voice gritty as she tries to swallow down the tears that burn her eyes. The rational part of her knows Nik is a warrior. He's conquered the throne with his sword, after all. And yet, the fear continues to grip her heart, causing her to lose her composure.
"I do hope they are not quite obstinate as to engage in battle," Klaus says, attempting to sound confident despite his doubts concerning what he will face. He does not believe Warwick to be so foolish, but it would seem he is no longer privy to the workings of his mind. "It should be of no concern to you, love. I have some of the best men riding by my side."
His nonchalant attitude is to be expected. Niklaus is the King, but he's also her reckless and yet sweet husband who would not utter a word that would cause her grief. The naïve Bonnie of the past, the one who hardly has any knowledge of the English court, would have believed his words and the crooked smirk that curls his lips. Now, years of wearing the crown have taught her much and she knows this rebellion is indeed a harrowing matter. He may not wield as much influence and power as before, but Warwick remains a threat and they were fools to believe otherwise.
"What am I to do if not worry about you?"
"Rule the realm in my stead," Klaus instructs; voice carrying such authority that Bonnie does not say anything in a reply and merely nods. "Be a Queen and do not allow them to see any weakness. Trust no one. We must be seen as strong now."
Bonnie tips her chin up and nods again. The great weight of the crown presses down on her, making her feel as though she is a powerless little girl, but she ignores the sensation.
"We are strong, Nik. They will all know it."
Olney, Buckinghamshire
October 1470
The skies darken, casting a shadow over them as fat rain droplets start to fall down. It drenches everything in sight; leaving the men to scatter for cover under the foliage of the tall trees. Klaus, however, hardly winces as pellets of water hit his armor and blur his vision. His unquiet mind is unable to register the roaring thunders, for it is too focused on battlefield strategies.
His men, exhausted and chilled from the crisp autumn air, have been riding for days and they have yet to meet Pembroke and Devon. The two Lords in charge of rallying troops in his name and bringing reinforcements to quell this rebellion should have joined them a day after they left Nottingham. And yet, even after days of riding, there has been no word from either of them.
He fears this campaign may have been cursed by God. Not a drop of their enemies' blood was drawn by their swords, and they are already at a disadvantage. Outnumbered and underequipped, their best chance of quashing the rebels lies with Pembroke's and Devon's forces.
"What shall we do, Your Grace? Shall we march on?" Lord Aumerle questions as he pulls the reins of his horse, moving to the King's side. "It would be wise to cross the river and march north before the water rises."
With a quick glance, Klaus surveys his army. Just a few days past, they were enlivened by the prospect of finding glory in battle once more. Now, they are little more than weary bodies encased in mud-stained armors, thirsty for blood laced wine and the comfort of a Palace. Perhaps it would be easier to settle for the day and wait for the rain to pass. They cannot take the risk of dallying around, not when the massive army of rebels rides their way.
"We march on," he commands, ignoring the collective groan the men release even though he feels the exact way. Despite his enhanced nature and fondness for war, Klaus longs for the comfort of his home, for Bonnie's embrace. "This shall be over, and soon we will be celebrating our victory at Westminster. A great feast with enough wine to fill the Thames twice over!"
His promise comes out in a shout; raspy and loud enough to be heard through the roaring thunderstorm. The men cheer with newfound energy; the prospect of a night of debauchery just as sweet as a victory in the battlefield. Pleased with their enlivened spirits, Klaus allows a sense of confidence to fill him.
However, he finds such feeling to be short lived. A man, no a boy, no older than fifteen stumbles from behind the trees. Limping, wounded and bloody. Standing next to Klaus, Aumerle flinches and reaches for his sword. Klaus raises a hand to halt his actions. It is clear the boy poses no threat to them and should not be treated as such.
"Your Grace, my Lords!" he cries out with difficulty; releasing harsh breaths as the pain spreads from his midsection to his limbs. "I come from Edgecote! Pembroke and Devon have fallen to Warwick's forces!"
Windsor Castle, Berkshire
November 1470
My love,
It is with a heavy heart that I write these words and I urge you to remain strong for our girls. I have been taken captive by Warwick. As I had imagined, he and Finn have allied with the rebels and destroyed our forces. While I have not been harmed, I implore you to take the girls and ride to London as soon as this letter reaches you. You must arm the Tower prepare for a siege. Please, remain safe, for I do not know what I would do without you. I love you and our daughters with all my strength.
Your husband and the rightful King of England,
Niklaus R.
Bonnie's legs buckle under the weight of her body as she collapses onto the soft mattress of her bed. Tears cloud her eyesight, but Bonnie looks down at the letter once more. Staring at the dark ink that contrasts with the stark white parchment, she finds herself desperate. Desperate to find a secret meaning behind his words, for them to spell anything other than this wretched situation.
"Oh, my God!" Bonnie gasps out as she brings a hand to her chest; the harsh realization slamming into her like a hammer.
With the King as his hostage, there is little doubt Warwick will act to strengthen himself and his power. That means securing London and controlling those who bear the King's blood. Her girls are not Niklaus' heir, but they can still be used as pawns to consolidate his power.
Her grief contorts into an obstinate, quiet rage at that possibility. She will be dead and cursed before allowing Warwick to control any of her daughters.
"I must reunite with Father, ride to London and prepare the city for an attack," Bonnie murmurs to herself in a frantic tone. A desperate chuckle escapes from her lips as realization finally dawns on her.
She - a lady with little knowledge regarding matters of war - will have to fend off an attack by Warwick and prevent him from gaining control of London.
"Your Grace!" A familiar voice calls out, snapping Bonnie out of her unsettling thoughts. She looks up; eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline when she sees who stands at the threshold.
With the thick layer of mud and soot covering his face and blood-stained armor, he could almost be unrecognizable. Bonnie has no doubt of his identity, though.
"Marcel!" she cries out in surprise as leaps off the bed and rushes to his side. "Did Nik send you? He said I must go to London, to prepare for an attack. Where is my father? I-"
"Bonnie," Marcel Gerard, Baron Hastings, sighs and interrupts her frantic questioning with a whisper. "You father and uncle, they are dead. Warwick had them executed."
A/N: Sorry for the wait, you guys. This chapter gave me some trouble, but here it is. I love writing about all the plotting and strategizing that happens at court, but battle scenes just ain't my thing. Next chapter we'll see Klaus in captivity, Warwick's plans, and how Bonnie will deal with all of this turmoil. For those who want Bonnie to do more: she will, but don't expect her to go into battle. It is a medieval society, and Bonnie was raised to be a perfect and proper lady. Much of her strength comes from being able to influence the King and powerful allies.