Naruto Fanfic: A Rift to Royalty
Chapter 1: The Woman from the Void
The bath chamber in Kensington Palace was a cathedral of luxury, its vaulted ceiling painted with cherubs and clouds, its marble walls veined with gold. Steam curled from the deep, claw-footed tub, where Edward Alexander George Windsor, third in line to the British throne, soaked away the weight of his title. At twenty-five, he was tall and lean, with chestnut hair that fell just shy of his brow and blue-gray eyes that held a quiet intensity. His life was a gilded cage—charity galas, diplomatic handshakes, and the constant scrutiny of courtiers and cameras. Yet he bore it with pride, not arrogance. The Windsor name was a legacy, a tapestry of history woven through centuries, and Edward wore it like a second skin.
Tonight, he'd escaped the palace's clamor—his grandmother's pointed remarks about marriage, his cousin's smug jabs about succession, the endless briefings on trade summits. The bath was his refuge, its heat melting the tension in his shoulders. He hummed a soft tune, a folk song his mother used to sing, and closed his eyes, letting the world fade.
Then the air… shifted. A low hum vibrated through the chamber, like the growl of a distant storm. Edward's eyes snapped open. Above the tub, the air shimmered, then tore—a jagged rift of violet and black, pulsing with unnatural energy. Sparks crackled, and the temperature plummeted, sending a shiver down his spine.
He gripped the tub's edge, heart pounding. "What in God's name—"
Before he could finish, a figure tumbled through the rift, landing with a splash that sent water cascading over the mosaic tiles. Edward yelped, scrambling to cover himself, but the intruder was already standing, knee-deep in his bath, dripping wet and radiating fury.
It was a woman. No, not just a woman—a force. She was tall, with blonde hair plastered to her face in wet strands, her amber eyes blazing like twin suns. Her clothes were strange: a green vest, a gray tunic cinched at the waist, and sturdy boots caked with dirt, as if she'd just stormed through a battlefield. Her fists were clenched, and her stance screamed danger, like a lioness ready to pounce.
"Who the hell are you, and where am I?" she barked, her voice sharp enough to slice through the steam. She scanned the room—its gilded fixtures, crystal chandelier, and towering windows—then locked eyes with Edward, who was still clutching the tub's edge, naked and mortified.
"I—I could ask you the same!" he stammered, grabbing a towel from the nearby rack and wrapping it around his waist, his face flaming red. "This is my private bath, in my palace! You can't just—fall out of the sky!"
Her gaze flicked to the towel, then back to his face, and her lips twitched—half smirk, half scowl. "Palace? What kind of shinobi hides in a fancy tub?" She stepped out of the tub, water pooling around her boots, and turned to the rift just as it snapped shut with a crackle, leaving only empty air. Her smirk vanished. "No… the void rift… it's gone."
Edward's pulse raced. Shinobi? Void rift? This wasn't some elaborate prank or paparazzi stunt. This woman was… otherworldly.
He stood, towel secured, and tried to channel the composure drilled into him since childhood. "Look, miss, I don't know what's happening, but you can't just appear out of nowhere. Who are you?"
She crossed her arms, sizing him up like he was a mildly interesting sparring dummy. "Tsunade. Senju clan. And you're… what, some rich kid playing king?" Her tone dripped with skepticism, but her eyes darted around the room, clearly thrown by its opulence. The chandelier's light glinted off her wet hair, and Edward noticed a diamond-shaped mark on her forehead, faint but distinct.
"Edward Windsor," he said, straightening despite the absurdity. "Third in line to the throne of the United Kingdom. This is Kensington Palace, London, Earth—assuming that means anything to you." He hesitated, then added, "You're not from… here, are you?"
Tsunade snorted, but her bravado faltered as she glanced at the spot where the rift had been. "No kidding, genius. I was tracking a void anomaly in the Land of Fire. Unstable chakra signature, unlike anything I'd seen. I thought it was one of Orochimaru's experiments." She rubbed her temple, muttering, "Jiraiya's gonna owe me a fortune for this."
Edward's mind spun. Land of Fire? Chakra? Orochimaru? The words were gibberish, yet her conviction was undeniable. She wasn't lying. And that rift… it had been real, not a hallucination.
He glanced at her again, taking in her soaked clothes, her coiled strength, the way she carried herself like a warrior. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met—certainly not the polished debutantes his family kept shoving at him.
A sudden thought hit him, chilling his blood. If anyone else saw her—his family, the staff, or, God forbid, the press—this would spiral out of control. The royal household was a machine of protocol and paranoia. His grandmother, the Queen, would demand answers. His uncle, the head of security, would call in MI6. And the scientists—those vultures at the Royal Society—would salivate at the chance to study an "alien." They'd lock her in a lab, poke and prod, maybe worse. The tabloids would scream "Royal Scandal!" and his life would be a circus.
No. He couldn't let that happen. Not to her.
"Listen," he said, lowering his voice, "you can't stay here. Not like this. If anyone sees you, it'll be a disaster. My family, the government—they'd… they'd treat you like a specimen. I'll help you, but we need to keep this quiet. Can you trust me?"
Tsunade arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Trust you? I don't even know you, bath boy." But she softened, just a fraction, sensing his sincerity. Her eyes flicked to his face, searching for deceit, and found none. "Fine. For now. But if you double-cross me, I'll break every bone in your fancy body. And I'm good at breaking bones."
Edward swallowed, unsure if he was terrified or… intrigued. "Deal. Let's get you some dry clothes and figure this out. Somewhere less… wet."
He led her out of the bath chamber, stealing glances at the fierce, impossible woman from another world. His heart raced, not just from fear, but from something else—a spark of excitement. His carefully ordered life was about to unravel, and, strangely, he didn't mind.
The palace's west wing was a labyrinth of corridors, lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors and gleaming suits of armor. Edward guided Tsunade through a servant's passage, avoiding the main halls where footmen or maids might spot them. She followed, her boots squelching, her expression a mix of suspicion and curiosity. The air smelled of polished wood and old books, a far cry from the forests and battlegrounds of her world.
Edward's mind churned. He needed a plan. First, clothes—her outfit screamed "outsider." Second, a place to hide her. His private apartments were the safest bet; the staff rarely entered without permission. Third, answers. What was that rift? Could it reopen? And who was this woman, really? Her strength, her confidence—it was magnetic, even if she looked ready to deck him at any moment.
They reached an oak-paneled door, and Edward ushered her into his study, a cozy room with leather armchairs, a fireplace, and shelves of first-edition books. A window overlooked the palace gardens, where moonlight silvered the hedges. He locked the door, exhaling. "Wait here. I'll grab some clothes. Don't… break anything."
Tsunade smirked, leaning against his desk. "No promises, prince." She picked up a crystal paperweight, tossing it like a kunai, and Edward winced. Her ease with danger was unnerving—and a little thrilling.
He returned minutes later with a stack of clothes: a cashmere sweater, tailored trousers, and socks, all his own. "Best I could do on short notice. Women's clothes would raise questions." He handed them over, turning to give her privacy.
Tsunade snorted but changed quickly, her movements efficient. When he turned back, she looked… striking. The sweater hugged her curves, and the trousers, though slightly loose, gave her a modern edge. She tied her damp hair into a ponytail, eyeing him. "Not bad, bath boy. But these are useless for fighting."
"You won't need to fight," Edward said, hoping he sounded convincing. "Not here."
Her laugh was sharp. "You don't know me very well."
He gestured to an armchair. "Sit. Tell me everything. This… void rift. Your world. I need to understand what we're dealing with."
Tsunade hesitated, then sank into the chair, her posture relaxed but alert. "I'm a shinobi from the Hidden Leaf Village. My world's built on chakra—energy we use for jutsu, techniques. I was investigating a rift in the Land of Fire, a tear in reality. Thought it might be a weapon or a trap. I stepped through, and…" She gestured around. "Here I am. Stuck."
Edward sat across from her, processing. "And the rift closed. Can you reopen it?"
She shook her head. "Not without knowing what caused it. My chakra's intact—I can feel it—but this place… it's different. No ambient chakra. It's like trying to breathe underwater."
He frowned. "So you're stranded. And if anyone finds you…"
"They'll regret it," she said, cracking her knuckles. "But I'd rather not start a war. Yet."
Edward leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Then we keep you hidden. My apartments are private, and I can handle the staff. But you'll need to blend in eventually. Learn about Earth, our customs. I'll teach you."
Tsunade raised a brow. "You? Teach me? This'll be good."
His lips twitched. "I'm a quick study. And you're not exactly subtle, Tsunade."
She grinned, a flash of mischief. "Subtle's overrated."
For a moment, their eyes locked, and Edward felt that spark again—something warm and dangerous, like standing too close to a fire. He cleared his throat, standing. "Get some rest. I'll sleep on the sofa. Tomorrow, we'll start figuring this out."
Tsunade stood too, stretching. "Fine. But don't expect me to curtsy, prince."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, and as he watched her saunter to the guest room, he wondered what he'd just gotten himself into.
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