Purple Guy: Would you like to see children die?

Spring Bonnie: NO! Get out of here with that knife! Lay off the poor children, will ya? Sheesh! You’re a creep! Go away! We were having a good time until you showed up! Go have some coffee, with cream, or something, because I’ll tell you something! This is a HAPPY PLACE!!

Ensnared {BK Regency Fic Pt. 5}

OK guys, here is the fifth part to The Tudor-esque Bonkai fanfiction. I hope I’m doing a good job in building suspense and tension so please let me know! I do not historical accuracy, in fact absolutely nothing is historically correct so people keep that in mind when you inbox me questions, haha. 

The first part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/151942784000/the-gambit-bk-regency-pt-1

The second part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/152178534030/the-moon-bk-regency-fic-pt-2

The third part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/152739097855/winded-bk-regency-fic-pt-3

The fourth part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/153795180910/tonight-bk-regency-fic-pt-4

People to tag: @misslilmel @kissmebluesexyvioletsme @humbu-bumbu @wasabicakes @youareatypo @bonkai-is-life @bonkai-diaries @bonkaimonluv @malachaibennett @darkbonkai @jordanjanellejoy @bonkaicoven @bonkais-witchywoo @bonkais-aurora-borealis @writeturnlove @tvtaughtmehowtofeel @mysticfalls-originals @offlinebonkai @queensfelicity @sunnydrive92 @tasha-sews @ecksnohhs @l0nd0ninnit @lisaluvslife @beccacupcakesxo @giggleangel

*not my gif*

Malachai was bored; a dull sensation he’d become accustomed to. What was unfamiliar was the agitation that roiled beneath the boredom. Nothing held his interest for long, his mind drifted each time he was meant to focus but his lips still burned from the kiss he shared with the Lady Bonnie two nights previously.  The urge to feel her beneath him was still a tremor through his hands, his groin ached with the tangible fantasy of burying himself in her; his body was impatient for her and it made everything around him even less fascinating.

                He sat next to Queen Caroline in the Royal Box overseeing the jousting tournament. He glanced at her; the air of dignity she emanated ignited the crowd as much as the matches did. She was a good woman; they were a good match and she had, at least, given him their daughter, the pearl of his world. Alas, he was in need of assurance, legacy, not ornament. What he yearned for was passion, investment, not the pretence of affection — the love she had for him was honest, he knew, but all he felt for her was a distant respect and an urgent disappointment.

                Caroline raised her hand, beckoning subtly for more wine and Malachai’s equilibrium shifted, causing him to feel faint as Bonnie leaned forward from behind their thrones to pour into Caroline’s goblet. She didn’t look at Malachai, her eyes remained fixed on the task at hand but he couldn’t help but look at her, drink her in; she was as intoxicating as any wine, ensnaring his senses, dizzying him to the point of breathlessness. How he wanted her. Right there. In that box. Quickly, Malachai stood up and Bonnie took a step backward, bowing as she did. Caroline looked up at him.

                “What is it, my love?”

                “I’m in the mood to joust,” he said abruptly.

                The servants led him out of the box to the changing area. He needed to rid himself of the energy that had taken hold of him and more than that, he felt the need to impress the Lady Bonnie, dazzle her with a display of power and virility. He needed to overcome her thoughts as she had overcome his.

                The announcer bellowed, “The King has entered the tournament!”

                Malachai rode his destrier out onto the field to the applause of the crowd. He directed her to the Royal Box and stopped in front of Caroline, shifting his lance. “My Queen, would you do me the honour of letting me wear your favour?”

                Caroline smiled and began to tie the cloth around the tip of Malachai’s lance. He didn’t shift his gaze from her but Bonnie’s heated his skin, frenzying his blood so that his insides screamed with tension; no armour could protect him from her influence. Entering the games began to feel reckless. His mind wasn’t concentrated on the match, it was focused on her and yet the recklessness emboldened him with an adrenaline he’d never experienced.  

                Malachai set his horse into a light gallop to his side of the field as his opponent took the position opposite him. He gave his lance to the helper so he could put on his helmet, the horse beneath him eager to gallop at full-speed, as agitated and restless as he was. The boy handed Malachai his lance and abruptly, the flag signalling the beginning of the match swooped down and Malachai shot forward, his horse running at full speed. He heard yells of “Your Majesty!” but couldn’t make out the rest of the cries and he was hit with a pang of anxiety in his chest and he had the odd sensation that the Lady Bonnie was worried about him. Suddenly, Malachai collided with his opponent’s lance and felt the tip crash into his face just beneath his eye. He’d forgotten his visor. He toppled off the horse.

                “YOUR MAJESTY.”

                “Get the physician!”

                Malachai lay on the dirt, suspended between pain and relief, and then he was dragged up. Tyler’s voice. “Your Majesty, your Majesty can you hear me? Take off his helmet for God’s sake!”

                Gingerly, Malachai was relieved of his helmet and he blinked in the sight of the sky and the physician and the Queen Caroline.

                “Malachai, Malachai, are you all right?”

                “The lance missed his eye,” said the physician. “He will be fine with some rest.”

                “I’m all right,” said Malachai, holding onto Caroline. Her worry endeared him, made him remember he’d loved her once; for all the resentment he begrudged her now, he didn’t want her to suffer. “I am fine. It will take more than this to bring me down.”

                His opponent dropped down before him, his helmet off. Malachai recognized him. Sir Stefan, a knight of considerable skill who he’d been admiring all tournament. “Your Majesty, please forgive me.”

                “There is nothing to forgive,” said Malachai. “Now up on your horse.”

                “But my love, do you think it wise?”

                “I need them to know,” said Malachai urgently. Her, Lady Bonnie, he needed her to know. “I need them to know that I’m unharmed, that I’m damned near invincible.”

                “If you think it’s best,” said Caroline.

                “Up on your horse, Sir Stefan.”

                Malachai registered the dread on Stefan’s face and felt a vicious satisfaction at the fear he inspired in the man. He was about to be gravely wounded and they both knew it.

                Caroline headed back to the Royal Box as Tyler helped Malachai up to his feet so they could walk back to the starting position. “I want him in my tent after this is over,” said Malachai. Tyler nodded his head.

                The crowd cheered as Malachai mounted his horse and in his periphery he could see Bonnie’s expression, her eyes narrowed with a slight grin on her face, cautiously impressed. He watched Stefan prepare for their next match. “ARE YOU READY FOR ME, STEFAN?” he yelled.

                There was another wave of the flag and Malachai and Stefan charged their horses at each other and all too soon, Malachai crashed his lance into Stefan so that he dropped from his horse with a thud, blood spurting from his helmet along with gargles of agony.

                Malachai stared down at him from his horse, savagely delighted yet distantly impressed by Stefan’s earlier best of him. He would reward the knight for his pains at court somehow. Malachai glanced up at the clapping crowd, his gaze seemingly on Caroline, his eyes in reality searching for the Lady Bonnie whose grin had widened to a twisted smile; she’d transitioned from cautiously impressed to stirred.  He grinned and led his horse back to his tent.

                “Wine!” he barked once inside.

                One servant began to take off his armour as another poured him a cup of wine. Malachai sat down, exhaling heavily, the image of Bonnie’s smile burned in his memory, breaking over his body. Laughing slightly, he picked up his goblet and took a large sip. At that moment Tyler entered the tent, bowing his head slightly.

                “Your Majesty, he’s here.”

                Malachai sat upright in his seat. “Send him in.”

                Tyler opened the flaps of the tent to let in an old, stooped man who was carrying something beneath his arm. The man bowed. “Your Majesty.”

                “Show me.”

                The man took out a rolled-up cloth from beneath his arm and unravelled it on the table next to the wine goblet, displaying four pieces of jewellery. “Jewels fit for a queen.”

Malachai stared at them. The one in the middle was a domineering brooch; a large red ruby embedded in ringlets of gold studded with smaller rubies. The impact of it on the eyes reminded him of when he first saw Bonnie, a scarlet swan, the Lady in Red. The necklace in the left corner, a large emerald pendant encircled in gold with a clasp and a small emerald drop was provocative, mesmerizing like the Lady’s eyes.  The pearl earrings and necklace of opals were far less striking, safer, common in their beauty.

                “She will have them all,” said Malachai. He wanted to bestow on Bonnie beauty of every shade. He beckoned for Tyler to approach him. “Entrust this charge to your most valued servant.”

                “Of course.”

                The man wrapped the pieces back in the cloth, tucking it beneath his arm once more, and he followed Tyler out of the tent as Malachai grinned at the thought of Bonnie’s expression upon receiving his gifts.


Bonnie sat at a table with Elena, quietly playing cards as Damon and her father discussed the jousting accident in great detail.

                “Damned fools nearly got the King blinded,” said Damon. “Or worse yet, killed. Where would we be then?”

                “God knows it wasn’t time for him to die,” said Alaric. “He wants to see our family elevated.”

                Bonnie enclosed herself in a brittle quiet as Elena placed her cards on the table. “Bonnie,” she said. “It’s your turn.”

                “Oh of course.” Bonnie showed Elena her hand and Elena rolled her eyes, plopping backward in her chair.

                “Even when your mind is elsewhere you best me,” she said. “It’s some sort of witchcraft I’m sure of it.”

                Bonnie laughed and started collecting the coins on the table. “Envy does not become you, sister.”

                “Where has your mind been these last few moments,” said Elena. “Your silence is different.”

                Bonnie arched her eyebrow. “I have different silences now?”

                “Oh yes,” said Elena, smiling. “I know all of your silences.”

                “And I know all of your smiles,” said Bonnie shrewdly. “What do you have to be so gleeful about?”

                “Nothing,” said Elena. “I just … I had forgotten how exciting a jousting tournament can be. The horses, the knights…”

                “Ah,” said Bonnie, nodding. “By knights I’m sure you mean Sir Stefan.”

                Elena twisted her mouth to keep from giggling and Bonnie felt both envy and irritation at her innocence. “He has a certain vigour,” she said. “He’s quite…”

                “He’s a handsome man,” said Bonnie. “Beautiful eyes.”

                “But his eyes were not the ones you were concerned with were they, sister?” said Elena. “I thought your heart would leap out of your chest when Sir Stefan knocked the King off his horse.”

                Bonne said nothing and thought back to the scream that never left her throat when the lance struck Malachai’s helmet, forcing him to crash to the ground. Time ceased to exist in the moments between the fall and the second match, her mind swimming with worry and anticipation, a need to see him unharmed. She hated it. Hated feeling for him. It unravelled her.

                “What loyal subject would not be grieved to see her King so close to harm?” said Bonnie. She picked up the cards and started to shuffle the deck.

                Elena tilted her head to the side. “Bonnie…”

                “Stefan is a knight,” said Bonnie sharply. “He’s beneath us. Father would never allow it.”

                Elena pushed her mouth to the side. “I was merely looking,” she said.

                “Excuse me,” said a voice.

                Bonnie and Elena stopped talking and looked to the entry of the living room. A man was standing in the entryway leading from the foyer of the apartments, holding a package. “I must deliver this to the Lady Bonnie Bennett.”

                Alaric stepped forward. “I can take that.”

                “Forgive me, my Lord, but I was told to deliver this into the hands of Lady Bonnie herself and no other.”

                “She is my daughter, I am responsible for her. Whatever is hers is mine,” said Alaric dangerously.

                “Of course, my Lord,” said the servant. “However, my instructions were quite clear…”

                “And who gave you these instructions?” said Damon.

                “His Majesty the King,” said the servant.

                Bonnie’s eyes widened and she stood up from her chair, her chest tight so that she had to breathe through her mouth. Damon, Alaric and Elena looked at her as she walked over to the servant, her vision tunnelled to only the package in front of her. When she reached the servant she moved to take the cloth from his hands but then hesitated. “Open it,” she said.

                “My Lady…”

                “Open. It.”

                The servant gave his head a nod and then unravelled the brown cloth, revealing the four jewels wrapped within it. Bonnie sighed, feeling the air leave her body, blood rushed in her ears and she saw Elena gasp and Damon and Alaric murmur.

                Those jewels … they were … she had never seen anything so fine, so overwhelmingly exquisite. It was overbearing … he was overbearing … her feeling for him was …

                Bonnie raised a trembling hand to the cloth and gently touched the ringlets around the ruby brooch. She exhaled heavily at the feel of the gold beneath her fingertips because each touch struck her with the image of him, the sensation of him. She skated her fingers along the ruby and saw, felt Malachai’s tongue skim the length of her neck; her thumb traced the emerald and Malachai’s lips grazed her stomach. Her skin was prickled with shivers, her blood was heated, her lips swelled. Bonnie stroked the opals along the gold necklace and felt Malachai’s hands encircle her waist, caress her skin. It was difficult to breathe. Voices of the others echoed in her ears.

                “This is excellent news,” said Damon.

                “We aren’t quite there yet,” said Alaric.

                “My dearest sister, would you allow me to wear one? The pearls or the opals perhaps?” said Elena.

                Bonnie licked her lips and touched the earrings and felt Malachai between her thighs, against her groin, torturing her body with a deliciously unbearable ache. She was bound to him somehow, the curse of their kiss had chewed away at her mind, his presence in these gifts wrecked her body with longing, she felt herself perspire, she was faint, she needed to relieve herself of him and yet wordlessly revelled in the torture, in his seduction. This would surely drive her mad. She couldn’t abide it.

                Abruptly, Bonnie removed her hand.

                “Return it to him,” she said breathlessly.

               “Are you mad?” said Elena.

               “Return it to him,” she said even more clearly.

               “That is a great offence, a spit in His Majesty’s face!” said Alaric.

“I know what I am doing.” She turned on her heel and walked swiftly toward another room in the apartments. She looked over her shoulder to the servant.  “Stand right here and wait. I must also give the King something.” The servant hesitated for a moment, looking at Alaric, and then followed Bonnie’s instructions, walking to the spot she directed to.

Bonnie entered her father’s study and walked swiftly over to his desk where she picked up his quill, dipping it in ink. She began to scribble furiously on a sheet of parchment, forming a letter, battling between unburdening her heart and remaining tactical. As she signed her name at the bottom of the parchment, the door clicked open and Damon stormed inside.

“What are you doing?” he said. “Are you purposefully trying to sabotage us?”

“Of course not,” snapped Bonnie.

“You do not return a gift from a King, especially not this King.”

“I am writing a letter explaining myself,” said Bonnie, folding the parchment and enclosing it with the family seal.

“What good will a letter do? Do not be overly confident, Bonnie, you are not yet in the position we need you to be in to set our plans in motion. Denouncing Lockwood will be no easy feat, the King loves him and it will take some time for him to trust me as much as he trusts that oaf Tyler. Giving back his gift will only infuriate him.  Have you not heard rumours of his temper, he will fly into a rage at the insult,” said Damon.

Bonnie shook her head dismissively, heading to the door. She opened it slightly but Damon blocked her before she could leave. “What is this about?” he whispered. “You’re not … you’re not falling in love with him are you?”

Damon glared down at her and Bonnie narrowed her eyes in regard; the expression on his face was the same one Lorenzo had whenever she told him of a man who came courting except there wasn’t sorrow beneath Damon’s jealousy like with Lorenzo, there was only venom. He’d chosen both, to hate her and to love her and his indecision irritated Bonnie as it made her life more difficult.

“What I am doing will enrapture him, command his attention,” said Bonnie. “I am doing something no woman has done before and that will endear me to him.“

Bonnie put her hand on the handle but Damon grabbed her by the arm turning her toward him so their faces were a breath away from each other.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t have to answer to you,” said Bonnie. “Cousin.”

She turned back toward the door and saw that it hadn’t been closed properly. The servant stared at her through the open sliver, shifting his weight. She opened the door fully and handed him her letter. “Give this to His Majesty along with his gift,” she said. “But I would have you wait a day.”

“My Lady?”  

“I don’t like to repeat myself. You will wait one day before returning these gits and giving His Majesty this letter.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And if you open it there will be hell to pay. My cousin will make sure of it.”

“Understood, my Lady,” said the servant, glancing at Damon. He gave his head a little bow and then walked promptly out of the apartments.

“Bonnie, why would you do that?” said Elena. “Why would you ask the boy to wait a day before giving His Majesty pertinent information?”

“Because I want to be gone when He gets the news,” said Bonnie. “I’m going to our family estate.”

 “But why?” said Elena.

“Because,” said Bonnie. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. That’s the saying isn’t it?”

Alaric started to laugh. “This is very good, very well-done,” he said. “You were always the smart daughter, Bonnie.”

“Yes,” said Bonnie distantly, turning back to face the study. “Smart.”


Malachai sat still, glaring at the servant who stood before him, holding the brown cloth he’d ordered the boy to deliver a day earlier.

               “Tell me again what she said,” said Malachai.

               “Your Majesty, she told me to return the gifts and —”

               “Return the gifts,” said Malachai quietly.  Abruptly he stood up and threw the chair he was sitting on across the room. “RETRUN THE GIFTS TO ME? THE KING OF ENGLAND?” He swiped his hand across the table, knocking over wine-filled goblets, sending platters of food to the ground. “DID SHE SAY WHY?”

               “No, Your Majesty, she simply —”

               “And you! You wait an entire day before telling me this?”

               “She told me not to —”


               “You, of course, Your Majesty, I —” the servant started quiver, his words coming out in stutters. “S-she, she, gave me a le-letter, t-to give you.”

               “A letter?” Malachai grabbed the table separating him and the servant and heaved it upward, tossing it on its side so that the servant flinched. He walked over to him, standing directly in front of him so that the servant cowered. “The Lady Bonnie gave me a letter and you only now tell me about it?”


               Malachai struck the servant upside the head. “Idiot,” he said in exasperation.

               “Here you are, Your Majesty.”

               Malachai grabbed the letter and the cloth out of the servant’s hands. “Out.”

               The servant bowed and then walked hurriedly out of the room.  Malachai walked over to a chair next to the one he smashed in two and sank onto it. He was seething with insult, indignation at the Lady Bonnie’s audacity, her daring to overstep, but what truly frenzied him was the possibility that she wanted nothing to do with him, that she sent back the gifts as a way of decline. He wouldn’t survive that rejection and it killed him to be so completely at the mercy of her whims.

               He sighed. “Get this over with.”

Your Gracious Majesty,

It is with a heavy heart and with the utmost anguish that I return these gifts to you but to keep them would only serve to remind me of how undeserving I am of their exquisite beauty. It fills me with indescribable sorrow that you have bestowed these jewels unto me, for it means you believe me to be someone I am not, someone worthy of you and it is my duty to tell Your Majesty that while you are everything, I am simply nothing. I have left for my family’s estate; being so close and yet so far from you is too much to bear. I will think of you on my journey home. I will think of you always.

Your ever-loving servant,

Bonnie Bennett.

Malachai stared at the note, Bonnie’s voice clouding his head, coiling around his mind, his throat, tightening around him so that he heard nothing else. He traced each word with his index finger and felt her presence with each letter he outlined, calling to him, beckoning him, ensnaring him. He earnestness devastated him, heightened his own keenness for her, and now she had fled. The news that she left court crushed him in a way that was physically painful, as if an appendage had ripped itself away from his body. It was not a fancy or a game, his need for her was essential to his sanity. Worthy or unworthy, she was his, he would make sure of it, she was his alone and if she agreed, he would be hers alone as well, he would burn everything to ground to ensure that they were the last people on earth if that was what it took, but she would be his.

               “Boy!” he yelled. “Ready the horses!”     

  • There was to Damon, a palpable if not audible crack as the stone encasing his soul burst open and a great piece fell away. With something inside him singing, he clutched Bonnie to him, feeling the wet towel through his raw silk shirt, and feeling Bonnie's slight body under the towel. Definitely a maiden, and not a child, he thought dizzily, whatever the writing on that infamous scrap of pink nylon had claimed.
  • He clutched at her as if he needed her for blood, as if they were in hurricane-tossed seas and to let go of her would be to lose her.