Palace of Westminster, London

December 1470

"To King Niklaus, the rightful King of England!" Marcel, Baron Hastings, one of Niklaus' most ardent supporters, toasts as he raises his metal goblet, prompting others to imitate his gesture. "May your enemies never attempt to defy you ever again."

"I will drink to that, my friend!" Niklaus cries out in amusement after draining the wine on his goblet. Despite Warwick offering him a treatment that befitted his station at Middleham, Klaus missed the taste of sweet Burgundian wine. "May we have peace from now on."

"I do understand your desire for peace, but what is to be done regarding the traitors?" Baron Hastings wonders in curiosity, and immediately noticed the shift in everyone's disposition. The men pause their conversations for a moment, still mournful of the recent events, but they recover when a busty servant appears to fill their goblets with more wine.

"The council will reconvene this week to decide on the faith of those who supported Robin of Redesdale. I imagine some of the leaders will be executed," Klaus answered; his tone devoid of any emotion. The anger that ran hot through him has cooled down and left him rather merciless.

"Warwick as well?" Standing next to him, Bonnie asks in a quiet voice. Though she looks measured and calm as a proper Queen should, Klaus can see the fury storm brewing in her green eyes. Usually so kind, they look like could belong to a man who is about to go to war now. Considering what he is about to tell her, Klaus fears his wife is to wage battle against him. "Will he finally be punished for his deeds?"

"Forgive me, my love, but he will not," Klaus answers; guilt crashing over him as he feels small as a child and so, so feeble. He's the fucking King of England. He should be able to pick up a sword and avenge the blood that has been spilled. And yet, he cannot. "The Privy Council believes that enacting revenge on Warwick is unfeasible."

With a sharp intake of breath, Bonnie takes a step back as if she was physically hurt by his words.

"He's murdered my father and uncle in cold blood," she whispers; voice so quiet that he barely hears her over the loud crackling of the burning fire. "He denied them the right of a proper burial. Is this not enough motive for revenge?"

His wife, so small and precious. He would go to war for her, he was willing to tear up his own country for her, but not this time. There would be no punishment to avenge Warwick's horrific deeds. Not when his cousin continues to wield influence, despite his latest loss.

"And there is something else in my deal," Klaus says with a sigh; hardly feeling like the King he is. "I've offered Madeleine's hand in marriage to Warwick's niece. He has accepted."

At that moment, Bonnie can feel the cloak of pleasantries used to disguise her true spirits slipping away from her. A proper Queen would not allow any emotion to be reflected in her face. She would smile and ask her husband's permission to retire for the night. Bonnie finds, that given the recent events, there is a role more important than Queen. The one of a mother.

"What?!" Unlike her meek whisper of a moment ago, Bonnie all but roars out the word. "No."

"My love, I had to," Klaus attempts to explain; taking a step towards her and grimacing when she flinches away from him. "Warwick won't come against me if there is a chance of his blood being on the throne."

Even though she is a woman with not much knowledge of court politics, Bonnie understands his strategy. However, she has no mind for strategy or reason. Not when it concerns her daughters. For them, she would go to war against anyone, even her own husband.

"Madeleine will marry that man's nephew over my dead body," Bonnie utters; the tone of her voice raspy and so forceful Klaus finds himself with wide eyes. "I tell you now, she will never marry him!"

"They would have killed you and the girls!" Klaus shouts; losing his tenuous grip on self-control. Why can't she understand the reasoning behind his actions? "I am trying to protect you and if I have to marry Madeleine to Warwick's nephew to ensure that, I will!"

"I am sorry for my ignorance, Your Grace. May I have your leave?"

Her cheeks flush a bright red as she swallows down the urge to destroy every single precious item in a temper tantrum. Instead, she displays the impeccable etiquette tutoring she's received in France. With a straight spine, Bonnie curtsies; her eyes focused on Klaus' the entire time.

Bonnie may not have appreciated Westminster Palace, much preferring the calmness of Windsor or Greenwich, but she just adores the gardens surrounding the castle. Though not as expansive or filled with tall birch trees and green foliage, there is something magical in the gardens in the winter. A fresh shower of snow has fallen overnight; covering the grounds with a thick white layer and freezing everything on sight. For this moment, all nature is on hold, just waiting until spring to arrive so it can bloom once more.

Most of all, everything is so very quiet, with most of the courtiers taking refuge from the bitter cold inside the palace. Wrapped in heavy furs to shield her from the gelid blowing winds, the Queen and her two ladies are the only ones to venture outside for a late afternoon stroll.

She inhales, filling her lungs with fresh air – a rarity after her days in the Tower and now in the overcrowded Palace. A childish giggle escapes from her lips when a snowdrop lands on her nose, reminding her of her time in Knebworth. Of when she would disregard her Lady Grandmother's orders and stain the hem of her dresses. How small and naïve she was back then. At that time, it felt like her mother's absence was the most painful endeavor she would ever endure. Oh, what Bonnie wouldn't give to be that little girl once again. To dream of pretty embroidered dresses and dancing at feasts. Now she has a crown on her head, and the weight of it is utterly stifling.

It is because of that crown that she could not properly mourn her father and uncle. It is because of this crown that she will have to welcome traitors into her home with a smile on her face.

"Bonnie?" His familiar voice cuts through the fog that surrounds her mind. In any other occasion, Bonnie would have turned around with a bright. Today, she hardly has the disposition to keep pretending his actions have not cut her.

"Your Grace," she murmurs and takes a deep bow. Sounding respectful and so cold he releases a frustrated sigh; running his glove-covered fingers through his hair. "How are you faring this evening?"

Her tone is charming and polite, just as Madame Montemont – her tutor in France- taught her. If Niklaus wants to be her sovereign first, she will indulge his wishes. After all, she is nothing if not a devoted wife.

"I would like for us to supper together," he says with clear hesitation. Such a difference from the woman who always treats with tenderness. Not even in the first time they crossed paths did she act so cold towards him. This new disposition of hers is enough to unsettle him. "I have asked the cooks to prepare some lamb. I know it's your favorite."

Despite everything, Bonnie smiles at his attempt to be sweet. Not the conqueror King who slew his way to the throne, but the man who pledged his love and wanted to go against Rome for her. Perhaps it would be easier if Bonnie could simply regard him as that man and ignore everything else. However, the thought of accepting Warwick back into her home is enough to make her ill. In both health and temperament.

"I am afraid I find myself indisposed, but I trust you will enjoy the feast without my presence, Your Grace," Bonnie responds, feeling a small feeling of satisfaction caused by her moment of impertinence. "I wish to spend the night in the nursery, with my daughters."

With the daughter you intend to sell off to our enemy is what she wishes to say, but manages to take control of herself. Klaus takes a step back, unsure of how to react. A King would command his wife's presence at the feast. After all, it is imperative that they show harmony and resilience after an attack. A mere husband, however, would not behave in such a way. He would be loving and understanding, and that is all Klaus wishes to be for the moment. With an exhausted sigh, Niklaus pulls her flush against him; the furs wrapped around her body tickling his skin.

"My wife…"

"No, Nik. I understand you are my King first and I have made an oath to obey you, but I-"

"Do you not see that I crave your love instead of obedience? I have the whole England to obey me, and only one stubborn witch to love," he assures, bringing both of her gloved hands to his lips in a gentle kiss. "While I was in captivity, the memory of you and our daughters was the only thing that offered me strength. I feared I would never see you again."

She almost melts into his touch and his whispered words but is reminded of the reason for the tension between them.

"Then why do you wish to forgive the man who caused us so much pain?"

"Bonnie," he murmurs, releasing a harsh breath of frustration.

"He has murdered my father and uncle in cold blood! Had them beheaded as if they were nothing but traitors. I spent nights praying for your life and trying to assure our daughters we were not in danger!" Bonnie cries out; no longer the young Queen in control of her emotions. "And now you want to welcome this man back into our lives as if nothing has happened. Do you understand what you ask of me?"

"If I were an ordinary man, I would hunt him down myself and kill him with my own hands," Klaus says as he pushes a strand of dark brown hair away from her eye. "But I'm a King and England must come first. Warwick is much too powerful. If I had him executed, I would plunge England into civil war. And I am not sure I would come out the victor."

Despite multiple, conflicting thoughts swirling in her mind – she wants to be bloodthirsty like Margaret herself when she ruled England, she wants to be a forgiving Christian – Bonnie keeps silent and offers him a small nod.

"I would rather be thought a coward and accept Warwick and my brother back than see any harm come to you or the girls," Klaus confesses, not caring if her ladies could hear him. "I am sorry for this, but it is what we must bear for our safety."

The selfish in Bonnie wishes to rebel and plead for Warwick's head on a spike, but she is able to hold herself.

"Just promise me something, Nik," Bonnie pleads after a moment of silence as she moves closer to him. "Don't give him your trust ever again."

Despite the frigid cold and dark weather that has settled over London and the remaining scars left by the rebellions in the fall, King Niklaus' court is brimming with Christmas excitement. Wishing to make the courtiers forget the bloody ordeal, no expenses were spared in order to make this Christmas feast the most splendid of all times. Everything, from the generous spread of roasted meats and tarts on the tables to the glittering intricate diamond tiara sitting atop Bonnie's curls, is to prove that England and its monarch are stronger than any enemy.

From a secluded spot near the corner, Bonnie observes her ladies dancing the estampie; the fabric of their dresses flowing as they were lifted by their dance partners. In any other occasion, she would be dancing herself, mindless of all the eyes on her. Christmastide has always been a joyful time in her life, after all. Today, however, Bonnie can hardly breathe; the air becoming stifling every time her eyes catch a glimpse of Warwick and his lot. As expected, the man is devoid of humility. Even after a defeat, his head remains high as he walks through the room and converses with other lords.

It is as if nothing has happened. As if he hasn't raised an army against her husband, as if he hasn't ordered her family's murders.

A rather nauseating sight.

"Goodness, child! This is Christmas. Do try to look happy or the court will be ablaze with gossip by tomorrow," Lady Sheila quietly admonishes her granddaughter; her voice still gentle as she takes a sip of the mulled wine.

"We have to feast with the man who murdered Father and Uncle," Bonnie hisses, forgetting herself for a moment. "I wager gossip will spread regardless of my attitude."

"You are Queen and supposed to be better than them," Sheila replies, this time more rigid and showing she has no patience for Bonnie's short temper. "Do not give Warwick the pleasure of seeing how much he affects you."

Bonnie flushes pink and nods. Her Lady Grandmother is right. Showing her true feelings would accomplish nothing, but to give Warwick and Finn a motive to rejoice.

"I will not, Grandmother."

"Happy Christmas, Your Grace, Lady Bennett. I trust you are enjoying this marvelous feast," Warwick, in all of his cynic nature, asks; making sure to sound amiable for the curious ears around them. "This is such a wonderful time, wouldn't you say?"

It takes everything in Bonnie to control the furious energy that runs through her veins. She wants to lash it at him and make him submit after she sees him bleed all over his golden colored doublet. She wants to be as ruthless and show him the same compassion he did her family. A sweet, perverse fantasy. Her reality is much more frustrating.

"My husband may have forgiven you, but I will not forget your vile deeds, Lord Warwick," Bonnie resigns herself to uttering these words, almost tasting the venom that coats her lips.

"Decisions made in the heat of the battle are never easy, Your Grace. I do hope you understand," he says without a hint of regret. "Now if you will excuse me, I see my Aunt Esther and I have been anxious to share the news of Elena's child with her. I believe she will be most delighted to finally celebrate the birth of a grandson."

He stares at her almost as if daring her to have a reaction. Bonnie's nails bit the skin of her own hand until it almost draws blood, but she says nothing. For a moment, she thinks of the curse they laid on him and it brings her some relief. He will smile and relish his newfound prestige with the King, but it will not be for long.

She will see to that.

"This is hardly an accurate prediction," Sheila warns as she leads Bonnie to a pond in the most secluded part of the gardens. The hems of their dresses, expensive and made from the finest silk, become stained by the slush of melted snow and crushed leaves on the ground. "Bennetts were not gifted with the power of prediction and sight like some other families."

"It's alright," Bonnie says in resignation. What else is there to do but to seek this small comfort? "I just need to know."

"I see that the Duke of Clarence has returned to the King's good graces. He is walking around like a proud peacock!" the man exclaimed in laughter, no doubt already inebriated by the flowing stream of wine being served.

"Well, he has a reason to be," the other man - this taller and seemingly sober when compared to his chattering companion – replies. "He's got himself a little Neville wife and she's already swollen with child. Perhaps by next Christmas, the Duchess will have proved herself to be more useful than the Queen."

His words are spoken in a quieter tone - the man is well aware of their gravity – but they reach Bonnie nonetheless. Standing in a secluded corner of the hall, and unwilling to witness the distasteful sight of Warwick and his allies parading themselves with pride, she is able to hear this awful conversation with painful clarity.

"The Queen? She has already proved herself in the childbed."

"Yes, her womb seems to do its business, but she has yet to give the King a son. Believe me, if Clarence has a healthy son by next year and the King only has his girls, allegiances will begin to shift."

Bonnie just needs to know if she will fulfill her duty to England, to her husband, or if everything will slip through her fingers because of her. She needs to know so she can protect her daughters. Warwick and Finn would not show them any mercy if they ever reach absolute power.

"Choose a leaf, child," Sheila instructs, gesturing to a pile of dry, nearly frozen leaves. Bonnie frowns as she leans down to pick one. They shouldn't be there – all of nature is dormant, the green of trees fallen off and blown away by the wind. She finally takes one and hands it to her grandmother.

"Revelare fatum e futurae," Sheila chants in a low voice as not to attract any untoward attention. Little by little, the leaf loses its orange, dead appearance; becoming emerald green and alive again. "Turn it over, child. Let us see if the spell worked."

Bonnie takes the leaf back, not noticing the slight tremble in her hands. What if it didn't work, or worse, what if it worked and it revealed a terrible faith?

Etched in golden, the elegant cursive letters spell two clear words that stand out against the dark green. Prince Nicholas. Her little prince. She would have her prince and would secure the throne for her family.

A/N: Sorry for my absence! I really have no excuses, because I wrote this chapter's outline months ago. I hope y'all are still able to get excited with the confirmation that Bonnie will have her long-awaited baby boy and don't get mad that Klaus had to make some controversial decisions! Something's wrong with me and I've started writing a new royalty Klonnie AU, but don't worry, I'll still work on my other stories, including Adventures. Let me know what you think, your reviews help my inspiration bug!