Naruto Fanfic: A Rift to Royalty
Chapter 3: The Ride of a Lifetime
Edward Windsor adjusted his cufflinks, the silver glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights of Colonel Marsden's office. The room, tucked in Kensington Palace's security wing, was a stark contrast to the palace's opulent halls—bare walls, a metal desk, and a bank of monitors showing CCTV feeds.
Marsden, a grizzled ex-SAS officer with a face like weathered granite, sat across from Edward, his eyes narrowing as he tapped a pen against a notepad.
Tsunade stood by the door, her posture rigid, blonde hair tied back, exuding a quiet menace in the borrowed blazer and trousers Edward had scrounged for her cover as "Tsu Sendo, ex-special forces."
"Your Grace," Marsden began, his tone clipped but deferential, "I understand the need for personal security, given your… responsibilities. But this hire—Miss Sendo—was sudden. No vetting through my office. And, forgive me, a female bodyguard is… unconventional."
Edward kept his expression neutral, channeling the calm he'd honed in boardrooms and royal councils. At twenty-five, he was the Duke of York, third in line to the throne, and steward of the royal family's billions. His title gave him leeway, but Marsden was no fool. The man smelled irregularities like a bloodhound.
"Colonel, I appreciate your diligence," Edward said, leaning back in the chair. "Miss Sendo came highly recommended through private channels. Her credentials are impeccable—ex-military, discreet, and fiercely capable. I trust her implicitly."
Marsden's gaze flicked to Tsunade, who met it with a cool stare, her amber eyes unyielding. Edward had coached her to stay silent, let him handle the talking. She'd grumbled about it—"I don't bow to anyone, bath boy"—but complied, though her clenched fist suggested she'd rather punch her way out of scrutiny.
"Private channels," Marsden repeated, scribbling a note. "No offense, Your Grace, but with your role managing the family's finances, and the… incidents in the past, we can't afford risks. A background check—"
"Is unnecessary," Edward cut in, his voice firm but polite. "I've handled it personally. Miss Sendo is here to stay. Unless you doubt my judgment?"
The room tensed. Marsden's pen paused, and Tsunade shifted slightly, as if ready to spring. Edward's heart thudded, but he held Marsden's gaze. Dukes didn't get challenged lightly, and Edward's financial acumen made him untouchable—mostly.
After a long moment, Marsden exhaled, setting the pen down.
"Of course not, Your Grace," he said, though his tone held a grudging edge. "I'll update the security logs. Miss Sendo will have clearance, pending your orders. But I'll be watching."
"Expected nothing less," Edward said, standing. "Thank you, Colonel."
Tsunade followed him out, her boots silent on the polished floor. Once they were back in the west wing's labyrinthine corridors, away from prying eyes, Edward exhaled, loosening his tie.
"That went… better than expected."
Tsunade snorted, falling into step beside him. "That guy's trouble. He's got the eyes of a Hidden Stone tracker. You sure he won't dig?"
"He might," Edward admitted, glancing at her. "But I bought us time. As long as you're with me, he'll hesitate to act. Dukes have pull, even over colonels."
She smirked, nudging his shoulder. "Fancy title, fancy talk. You're not half bad at this, bath boy."
"It's Edward," he corrected, but his lips twitched. Her teasing was growing on him, like a spark he couldn't quite douse.
"I'm heading out this afternoon. Need to clear my head. Want to come?"
Tsunade raised a brow, crossing her arms. "Out? As in, leave this gilded cage? Count me in. I'm not sitting around playing maid."
"Good. Meet me at my apartments in an hour. Wear something… less formal." He gestured to her blazer. "And try not to threaten anyone."
"No promises," she said, grinning, and sauntered off, leaving Edward shaking his head. How was he supposed to keep her hidden when she was a walking hurricane?
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An hour later, Edward led Tsunade through a narrow servant's passage, its stone walls cool and dimly lit. He'd traded his suit for a navy sweater and jeans, his chestnut hair slightly tousled, aiming for low-key.
Tsunade wore one of his spare hoodies and cargo pants, her blonde ponytail swinging. She eyed the passage with suspicion, her shinobi instincts on edge.
"Where's the door?" she asked, her voice echoing faintly. "Thought we were going outside."
"We are," Edward said, a hint of mischief in his blue-gray eyes. "Just not the front door. Too many eyes—staff, press, tourists. This way's private."
Tsunade frowned, puzzled. "Private? You're sneaking out of your own palace? What kind of prince are you?"
"The kind who likes his freedom," he said, stopping at a heavy iron door. He punched a code into a keypad, and the door hissed open, revealing a concrete staircase descending into darkness.
"Come on."
Tsunade hesitated, her hand twitching as if reaching for a kunai, but followed. "If this is a trap, bath boy, you're done."
"Noted," Edward said, chuckling. He flicked a switch, and lights buzzed on, illuminating the stairs.
They descended, the air growing cooler, until they reached a vast underground chamber. Tsunade froze, her jaw dropping.
The garage was a cathedral of automotive art. Rows of gleaming cars lined the space, their curves catching the overhead lights: a sleek Aston Martin, a vintage Rolls-Royce, an angular Lamborghini.
Polished floors reflected the vehicles like a mirror, and the air smelled of leather and wax. Edward watched Tsunade's reaction, amused.
Her eyes, usually sharp with confidence, were wide with awe.
"What… are these?" she asked, stepping toward a ruby-red car with aerodynamic lines, its badge reading Ferrari. "Some kind of… war machines?"
Edward laughed, the sound echoing. "Cars. They're for transport. Like… horses, but mechanical. Faster. This one's mine."
He patted the Ferrari LaFerrari, its curves glinting like a predator's hide. "Want a ride?"
Tsunade blinked, circling the car, her fingers brushing its hood. "A car," she repeated, testing the word. "What's it do?"
"Gets us where we're going. Come on, get in." He opened the passenger door, gesturing. "Unless you're scared."
Her eyes flashed, and she slid into the leather seat, buckling up with a scowl. "Scared? Please. Show me what this thing's got."
Edward grinned, settling into the driver's seat. The interior was all carbon fiber and digital displays, a cockpit for speed.
He turned the key, and the V12 engine roared to life, a deep growl that vibrated through the cabin. Tsunade jolted, gripping the armrests, her composure cracking.
"What the hell was that?" she snapped, her voice half an octave higher.
"Just the engine," Edward said, repressing a laugh. He pressed a button, and the garage door rumbled open, revealing a private tunnel sloping upward.
"Hold on."
He eased the Ferrari forward, the engine purring, then hit the accelerator. The car surged, pinning them to their seats as it rocketed through the tunnel.
Tsunade yelped, a sound so un-shinobi-like that Edward nearly swerved. The speedometer climbed—50, 80, 100 miles per hour—and Tsunade's bravado shattered.
She screamed, a raw, primal sound, and flung her arms around Edward, hugging him tightly, her face buried in his shoulder.
"Slow down, you maniac!" she shouted, her voice muffled. "This thing's gonna kill us!"
Edward's heart raced, and not just from the speed. Her warmth, her grip, the way her hair brushed his cheek—it ignited something in him, a feeling he'd never known.
Not the polished affection of courtly flirtations, but something raw, electric, like a storm breaking.
He eased off the gas, the Ferrari slowing as they emerged onto a quiet London side street, the city's hum replacing the engine's roar.
"You okay?" he asked, glancing at her. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if afraid to break the moment.
Tsunade pulled back, her face flushed, her breathing uneven. She straightened, shoving her hair back, and glared at him, though her eyes held a flicker of embarrassment.
"I'm fine," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Just… warn me next time, bath boy. That thing's a death trap."
"It's a car," Edward said, grinning. "You'll get used to it."
But his mind lingered on her touch, the way her fear had stripped away her armor, if only for a moment.
He felt… alive, in a way he hadn't in years.
They drove through London, the Ferrari's purr drawing stares from pedestrians.
Tsunade stared out the window, her composure returning as she took in the city—its towering buildings, red buses, the chaos of life.
"Your world's loud," she said, almost to herself. "No forests. No silence."
"It has its charm," Edward said, steering toward Hyde Park. "I'll show you."
As they drove, Edward stole glances at her, his mind a tangle of duty and desire.
Tsunade was a mystery, a warrior, a spark. Keeping her safe meant keeping her close, but every moment with her felt like a step into the unknown.
And for the first time, he didn't want to turn back.
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