1

A storm was raging over the city of London, nothing unusual in the British spring. It was pouring with rain, and the howling winds made an umbrella an impossibility. Yet the endless corridors in the richly decorated interior of Buckingham Palace were silent when the elderly Archbishop of Canterbury gently closed the door. The Queen had been in poor health for many months, but her condition had been deteriorating during the past few days. It had become clear to her heartbroken staff that her reign was slowly coming to the end.

"I have a confession to make," the Queen began.

"Take all your sorrows and bring them before the Lord," the Archbishop replied. "He will forgive all our sins and wipe the tears..."

"This is serious," she interrupted him resolutely. "How long have We known you now, Your Excellency?"

"It has been half my life, Your Majesty," he replied with a hint of pride.

She nodded, coughing hard. He helpfully handed her a glass of water. She sipped on it a little, then put the glass away on her nightstand with trembling hands. "What We're going to say now is not going to be easy," she announced.

"Her Majesty has to keep up Her strength," the Archbishop hurried to say, but she dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand.

"We both know We're not going to recover from this stroke," she told him.

"Her Majesty mustn't---" he began, but she silenced him with a look.

"Your Excellency, We have decided that due to Our poor health, We should abdicate and retire to one of Our castles. It is high time the young got their say."

The Archbishop took a deep breath. He had never expected the Queen to say such a thing, he had always been convinced she was going to die Queen of England. Another implication leapt to mind. The Queen confirmed what he had been thinking about.

"We must therefore consider Our succession," she said.

He cleared his voice. "Your Majesty's first-born son will..."

She shook her head, and for a moment, the facade dropped and she was merely a mother, not a queen any more. "Charles has married a divorced woman and has divorced himself, my grandson William clearly expressed he has no wish whatsoever to become King and will decline the honour, and after my grandson Harry's wedding to this appalling pop singer – what's her name, Britney? - last year, he is out of the question, as well. The scandal would be too much to take."

"So it is going to be one of Her Majesty's other sons, then?" the Archbishop replied devotedly and bowed his head.

The Queen straightened her shoulders and sat up in the bed, now looking entirely the dignified Queen of England once again. "One of my sons is going to succeed me to the throne indeed. But as long as I still draw breath, no divorcee is going to rule this country."

The Archbishop cleared his voice. "If I may object, Your Majesty, all of your sons are divorced, save for Prince Edward. So he is going to become King of England, after all."

"Well, which brings me to my confession," the Queen admitted. "But before I explain matters to Your Excellency, I need Your Excellency's vow that you will do everything to bring the rightful heir to the throne. Swear your allegiance to the future King of England before we proceed."

He nodded. "His Majesty can rely on my loyalty."

"Swear it," she insisted.

And the Archbishop swore.

She sighed. "I love Edward, he's my son to me, and this will never change. But he may never become King." As she saw the Archbishop's questioning gaze, she replied: "When Edward was thirteen years of age, he tried to run away and attempted to climb over the Palace gates at night. He fell and tore his leg, lying there in the dark all night until the guards found him in the morning. He lost a lot of blood, the situation was life-threatening."

The Archbishop nodded slowly. "I remember the accident. The yellow press was full of it."

Once again, the Queen sighed heavily. "Yet they didn't know everything. Of course my husband and I wanted to give blood for Edward, that was when we found out."

The Archbishop's heartbeat quickened as he looked on the darkened face of his monarch. "Found out what?"

The Queen coughed again. She had to drink another glass of water before she was able to continue. "When my youngest son was born, things got complicated, I couldn't stay at Buckingham Palace and was rushed to hospital. Then, something occurred which happens all the time at hospitals, and often it is never brought to the light. It was a baby switch."

His eyes widened. "A baby switch?!"

"I know what you're saying, how could this happen to a Queen's baby? The MI6 looked into all the documents, and there is no other explanation. Of course, heads had to roll, the former chief surgeon of the hospital was removed, the staff were promoted and paid large sums of money to prevent them from telling what they knew. However, one fact can never be altered: Prince Edward is not my son."

He hardly dared to ask the next question. "Does Her Majesty know..."

She lifted her head proudly. "Of course I know where my son is. He grew up with a woman he always thought was his mother, but in fact she's just the victim of a baby switch, like myself." She closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, the scandal, she wasn't even married! His father was an influential politician, though, that was why his mother gave birth to her son at the same expensive private hospital where I was treated." She looked at the Archbishop with a determined expression. "I've always wanted him to be happy, and I didn't want to hurt Edward's feelings either. It was so unlikely he would ever have a chance of becoming King. The truth would have been too painful. So I held my peace."

He arched an eyebrow. "What is Her Majesty hinting at?"

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," the Queen admitted. "He has no idea who he is."



"How is Her Majesty?" the Queen's Chamberlain asked with concern as the Archbishop left the Queen's quarters.

The priest briefly closed his eyes then breathed deeply. "Sir, we have a problem on our hands."

*

The crowd was cheering; girls far too young to be at a nightclub at this hour were undressing the singer of the otherwise merely mediocre band with their eyes. His lean body moved to the rhythm of the music, the black shirt and tight blue jeans he was wearing did nothing to cover his muscular body. In another time and place, one would have compared him to a Greek god, yet as things were, the girls just had one description: drop-dead gorgeous. His blue eyes, cold as steel and soulful like a deep sea to drown in, emphasized by black eyeliner to be an eye-catcher despite the limelight, scanned the crowd. He sought eye contact with each of the girls during the gig, and right now he winked at the blonde in the front row right below the stage. It was part of the job, making the ladies feel special. He had no illusions it was not just his music, but mainly his looks and charms that drew the girls to this place whenever his band was on the program, but if they left humming at least one of his songs, it made him feel he did the right thing.

"Thank you very much, you're lovely," he said into the microphone, running a hand through his bleached blond hair, his voice almost drowned by the shouts of the girls. "My next song's going to be a little softer, and it's for one special lady out there who comes to listen to us every time we're on stage. This one's for you, pet." He knew virtually every woman present was convinced he was singing about her and exclusively for her. In fact, that one special lady did not exist in his life yet.

As the first lines of the song came on, the enthusiasm became so loud it almost drowned the music, and all eyes in the cramped disco were resting on the singer, the girls wanting to be with him, the guys wanting to be him.

Nobody seemed to notice the two stout men who entered the club through the front door, making their way slowly through the crowd of crazed girls, being pushed aside more than once as their eyes sought the stage. One of them was a middle-aged man with already slightly thinning hair, wearing rimmed glasses and a brown tweed suit that had already been old-fashioned in his prime, the other one was dressed in black, the dark hair smoothed with styling gel, trying not to look like the secret agent he was.

"Are you sure we have come to the right place?" Tweedy asked in perfect RP.

"I'm afraid so," the other one replied in equally dignified English, resigning. "There can be no doubt about it. The DNA testing was positive, and the secret service has observed the family for a long time. This is where he works."

He gestured towards the stage, where the singer had just finished his song. the applause virtually blew him away.

"Thank you, you've been a helluvan audience! Now welcome our American guest band, the Dingoes, here's Oz!" He stepped back with a nod of his head. A smaller guy took the microphone. "Now give a big hand for Spike and the Vampire Slayers!"

The audience did not have to be told twice. They enthusiastically clapped their hands and begged for another song, but Spike made it clear there wasn't going to be another encore this time. They would have to come back another night.

Tweedy arched an eyebrow. "King Spike I?" he asked in desperate disbelief.

His companion shook his head. "Good Lord, no. He has got a real name. As a matter of fact, it is going to be King William V."

Tweedy watched as the bleached blond singer joined his band – and a bunch of teenage girls – at the bar and drank down five alcopops in a row, accompanied by the encouraging shouts of his groupies. His piercings reflected the dim lights, as well as the safety pins that were all over his black shirt.

A dumb blond bartender turned to the unlikely couple. "What can I get ya, sweeties?"

Tweedy's face went pale while he kept watching as Spike put on a leather duster and pulled a dark-haired beauty onto his lap. Her eyes were wide, clouded, it was clear she had been using drugs that night. She giggled when he touched her and whispered a few naughty things to him, loud enough for the two gentlemen to distinguish her Irish lilt.

"A pint of ale," Tweedy replied, "And an overdose of arsenic."

The agent patted his shoulder. "It may be not that bad. We grow with our responsibilities."

Spike pulled the woman on his lap near, kissing her passionately under the envious eyes of the other girls, his hand moving suspiciously beneath her wide skirts. She gasped and moaned into his mouth.

"Or, maybe I've been a little too optimistic," the agent admitted.

"Is there no way out of this, Mr Wyndham-Pryce?" Tweedy asked desperately.

Agent Wyndham-Pryce shook his head. "The Archbishop has sworn allegiance to the new King, too many people already know the truth. I am afraid we will have to go through with this."

Tweedy drank down his beer as if to brace himself for what was coming. Then the two of them walked stiffly towards the group around the couple.

At first, Spike did not notice them and kept kissing his girlfriend.

Agent Wyndham-Pryce coughed audibly, clearing his throat.

The other members of the band cast them odd looks. The two middle-aged men seemed strangely out of place in this club in their suits, and with the sour expressions on their faces.

Agent Wyndham-Pryce coughed again. "Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr William Darcy?"

Someone from the band tipped Spike's shoulder.

His girlfriend interrupted the kiss, slightly irritated.

Spike looked up, a curious expression on his face. "Depends on who's asking." He stared at them for a moment. He did his best not to burst out laughing at their grave expressions. Yet on the inside he was getting a little nervous. Dru had taken drugs again, and she probably had at least some coke on her. Those men were bound to be cops, and he was yet on probation. This could get nasty. He raised a hand in a defensive gesture. "Hey, listen up, mate. I don't do that kinda stuff any more. You can ask my probation officer!"

They exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Agent Wyndham-Pryce straightened his shoulders. "We are not police, Mr Darcy. We are not interested in your... career. My name is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, royal national intelligence."

Spike relaxed a little. So, no cops. His lips curled into a wide grin. "Royal, probably. National, maybe. But the intelligence part..." The girl on his lap giggled. Spike gestured at Tweedy. "Who's your friend?"

Wesley ignored him. "This is Sir Rupert Giles, Her Majesty's Knight. May we have a word with you?"

Spike ran his hand up Dru's thigh. "I'm busy," he replied with a sly smirk.

"Yes, I can see that," Wesley replied, stressing every syllable. "If we may nevertheless kindly ask for one minute of your precious time..."

"Bloody hell," Spike replied, "Come back with a warrant, or leave me alone."

Sir Rupert stepped forward. "As we said before, we are here for a reason other than your... history. You could say we are here to offer you a --- a job."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "A job?"

"More, a lifelong sacred duty," Sir Rupert added.

Spike pushed the protesting Drusilla from his lap and stood up to him. "You got my demo tape, innit?"

Sir Rupert shook his head. Who did he think he was, Sting?

Wesley heaved a sigh. How was he going to explain this? "I really would prefer if we could talk about this in private, and I am sure that would be in your best interest."

"I don't have any secrets. Whatever you gotta say, you can say it in front of my pals."

Sir Rupert shrugged. "I don't think that would be wise."

Spike shook his head. He was getting very impatient with the two stiff gentlemen who were keeping him from his drinks and his girls. "Hey, listen, unless you're offering me a music contract, I'm not bloody interested!"

Sir Rupert felt his temper getting the best of him. "You're the bloody King!" he burst out angrily. Only then did he notice the band was taking a break, and conversations at the bar and nearby tables had died down. His words hung in an uncanny silence.

Spike walked toward him and stared into his eyes. "What?"

Sir Rupert nervously felt for his fil-o-fax and began to produce documents. "I've got it all here, Mr Darcy. I regret having to tell you like this, but you expressed you would have it that way... You have been the victim of a baby switch in hospital. I got copies of everything here in this folder, you can have it checked, but truth be told, and I wish I didn't have to: you are the Earl of Essex, youngest son of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and Philip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh, rightful heir to the throne of England after Her Majesty's abdication. We have been sent to take you with us to Buckingham Palace, where an education will be provided to equip you for your office and will conclude with your Coronation in Westminster Abbey on the 20th of June." With gritted teeth, he added: "At your service, Your Majesty."

Spike could not say a word. He stood and stared.

Drusilla's smile widened. She walked around Sir Rupert and Agent Wyndham-Pryce in a circle. "So, you're a real knight, huh?" she asked.

Sir Rupert nodded.

Dru stood before him, tiny and slim, yet impressive and somehow frightening because of the wild expression in her eyes. "Then..." She stretched out her arm and pointed down at the floor. "Kneel down before your King."

"Dru..." Spike began, but she silenced him with a look.

"This is ridiculous," Sir Rupert replied.

Agent Wyndham-Pryce looked at him with a doubtful look. Technically, there was no way they could object.

Spike skimmed through the pages of the folder. Then he looked at the gentlemen's desperate expressions. He was still looking for the candid camera. If he looked good on TV, maybe he would get a record contract after all. He ran his hand through his hair and decided to play along. "If this is true..." he said slowly, "Then Dru's right. Do as she said."

Agent Wyndham-Pryce and Sir Rupert exchanged a look. This was a nightmare.

Agent Wyndham-Pryce sighed. "Long live the King," he said and knelt down before the rock singer.

Sir Rupert looked defeated when he knelt beside him.

Spike stared at the middle-aged visitors on their knees before him. "Bloody hell," he murmured.

TBC...

2

"Very... cozy," Sir Rupert commented as he entered Spike's room on the fourth floor of a shabby block of flats in London's industrial area the next day. He looked around, anxious not to touch anything. If anything could be said in favour of this place, at least it was clean. The windowpanes were cracked, and if he wasn't mistaken the window did not close properly either. The adjoining bathroom was tiny, without sockets. The TV had been out of order for half a year now because Spike had never had the cash to replace it. A bare light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, the curtains had large moth holes. The wooden bed in the tiny room was full of scratches and marks, lacking some screws and looked like it would break down any moment.

"Have a seat, I'll be done in a minute," Spike said, checking he had not forgotten anything in the slim closet where he had kept his few belongings.

Sir Rupert hesitantly sat down on the bed, which began to wobble instantly.

Spike cast him a questioning look. "What?"

"The bed isn't very stable, I'm afraid," Sir Rupert said, rising cautiously.

Spike shrugged. "Can be an advantage," he replied with a smirk.

Sir Rupert did not want to hear any details. He looked around for the only chair, as if to decide whether it was safe to sit on it. "I do not mean to question Your Majesty's judgment," he said slowly, "But... how could you live in that hole?"

Spike took his guitar from the closet. "It's cheap." He took his bag and headed for the door. "Let's go, then."

Sir Rupert hurried to take his bag and guitar case, but Spike refused.

"No offence, but I don't think you can carry this down the staircase, mate," he said good-naturedly.

Sir Rupert did not loosen his grip on the bag. "I cannot let His Majesty carry His own baggage," he disagreed.

Spike shrugged and let go off the bag and case.

Sir Rupert gasped as he started to heave the bags down the corridor.

"You sure?" Spike tried again, but Sir Rupert just replied with a contemplating snort. He felt foolish letting the older man who did not seem too well-trained carry his heavy bag and guitar down four stairs through a narrow Victorian style staircase, yet he realized a lot of things would change in his life from now on, and this was only the beginning.

Sir Rupert gasped and cursed under his breath, but he managed to take all the baggage down to the hall and out onto the street, where the driver of the big limousine with the Royal Coat of Arms on the side doors hurried to assist him.

"Where are His Majesty's other belongings?" the chauffeur asked, but Sir Rupert signaled the disbelieving man that was in fact everything.

Spike lit a cigarette while they were storing his baggage. Then he started walking around the car with wide eyes, looking like a child at Christmas.

Sir Rupert cleared his voice and gestured at the car. The chauffeur held the door open for Spike. But he made no effort to get in.

"That's a bloody fine car!" Spike exclaimed then turned to the chauffeur. "What's your name, mate?"

"Bob, Your Majesty."

"Bob... Can I drive?" he asked eagerly.

"I do not reckon this a good idea," Sir Rupert said quickly, "It is not acceptable for a monarch to drive by himself." He did not mention he feared for his life and the mint condition of the limo if Spike drove.

Spike looked disappointed.

"And, now you mention it yourself, Your Majesty: I would suggest you adapt your behaviour to that of a member of the Royal Family. As our future King, you are supposed to be a role model, especially for young people in this country." With these words, he snatched the cigarette from Spike's hand. "Smoking is unacceptable from now on. Would Your Majesty please get into the car now, we have quite a few obligations scheduled for today."

Spike was too surprised to object.

He got into the limo without saying a word. As they drove off, escorted by several police officers on motorbikes, and the building he had called his residence, if not his home, vanished out of sight, he became painfully conscious of the fact that he was leaving his old life behind him forever. For a moment, he considered he should have backed out of this. He already had a mother, and his love for her would never change even if he got to rule the whole world. Yet he felt obliged to get to know his roots as well.

*

As Spike was walking through the corridors and up to his personal quarters, he could not help being very impressed. The marble staircase was larger than the whole building he had lived in, and the richly decorated ceilings were breathtaking. His feet sunk into the fluffy carpets as he walked down the corridor.

His few personal belongings had already been taken to the quarters assigned to him. As he looked from his windows, he saw the beautiful park around Buckingham Palace.

Only then did he notice the envelope with the Royal Coat of Arms on the mahogany coffee table near the window. It said E II R, Elizabeth II Regina. He opened it with fleeting fingers to find a letter.

It read:

Dear William,

What can I say to you to make you feel better? I hope you will accept my apologies for not revealing your identity to you in all the years I have known, and I desperately long to get a chance to explain myself to you. I wish I could give you the warm welcome to your house you deserve, but the doctors fear the excitement of meeting you might be too much for my condition. I have been moved to Windsor Castle for the time being to recover from the severe stroke I suffered. I will be seeing you at your coronation on June 20th. Please make this your home while I'm away, I know you will make me proud because you are my son.

I long to see you, but we have waited for so long a few more months will not make so great a difference.

Your loving mother.

Spike tried to overcome his disappointment. He had come to meet his mother, and now she did not even want to see him until June. June seemed so far away. Yet he had no more time to mull over his frustration because Sir Rupert entered the room quietly.

"Your Majesty, if you are settled in, I would like to introduce you to the staff here at Buckingham Palace."

Spike nodded. It seemed unreal. Last night he had been just another bloke without a job and an occasional gig at a disco or nightclub, now he had two mothers and was being prepared for his coronation. He silently followed Sir Rupert down the hall to a large study.

Several people were standing in a long row, the men bowing, the women curtseying as he entered.

Spike looked around uncomfortably. "All these people are working here?" he asked disbelievingly in a low voice.

Sir Rupert smiled knowingly. "Actually, this is just the most important personnel, introducing every housemaid to Your Majesty would be inappropriate."

"I have housemaids?" he murmured with surprise.

"Well, someone has to clean the 600 rooms, the pool and the cinema."

"I have a pool?" He lowered his voice again. "How many people work here?"

"Buckingham Palace and its premises have 645 permanent employees, carefully selected among the most distinguished families of the country," Sir Rupert enlightened him. "These are just the top 30."

Spike held his breath.

He tried to stay calm as Sir Rupert began to introduce him to the employees, mostly middle-aged men turning out to be chamberlains and secretaries. A younger woman with a pretty face attracted his attention.

"May I introduce Lady Roberta to Your Majesty," Sir Rupert introduced her, "She will be Your Majesty's history teacher."

The woman curtseyed.

"I am pleased to meet you, Lady Roberta." Spike was momentarily distracted by her beautiful eyes, then Sir Rupert's words sunk in. He frowned. "A teacher?"

"Several, in fact," Sir Rupert informed him, "Your Majesty did not receive the education normally provided for a member of the Royal Family, therefore, I have taken the liberty to employ the country's most reputed academics to teach Your Majesty everything about the traditions and duties His office comprises." He went on to another woman. "This is Lady Charlotte, Your Majesty's teacher in literature and linguistics."

"I gotta learn foreign languages?" Spike asked, flabbergasted.

"If I may speak openly," Sir Rupert remarked, "No, not foreign languages. It is just a fact that all other members of royalty have attended expensive public schools, such as Eton and Harrow, where they have been taught to mind their speech from early childhood. In Your Majesty's case, this has been neglected, I'm afraid."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sir Rupert lowered his voice. "It is inappropriate for a king to speak like an ordinary dock worker."

Spike drew in an audible breath, felt his temper rising. "She is to teach me English?" he burst out.

Lady Charlotte curtseyed then slowly raised her eyes to look at the new king.

Spike realized it could be worse – she was definitely prettier than his elderly primary school teacher. He remembered it was not her fault that Sir Rupert was such a prick, so he gave her a forced smile. "Pleased to meet you, Lady Charlotte. Glad to have you for a linguistics teacher."

Lady Charlotte hoped he did not see her blushing as she wondered what those gorgeous lips would feel like on her mouth... or elsewhere.

"This is Sir Riley," Sir Rupert introduced the last in row.

Spike looked at the young man suspiciously. He looked a little dull.

"He is Your Majesty's polo instructor."

"Polo." Spike repeated the word with a mixture of horror and disgust.

"Polo," Sir Rupert confirmed coldly. "I suggest Your Majesty retire to His quarters to change, the Royal tailor is awaiting Your Majesty with the new polo outfits. I have taken the liberty to arrange Your Majesty's first polo lesson in an hour's time."

Spike glared at him. "You are taking lots of liberties, Sir Rupert."

*

Sir Riley was already waiting at the polo field, grinning like an idiot as he caught sight of Spike in his polo clothes.

Spike felt ridiculous. His carefully styled hair was getting all squashed beneath the stupid helmet, he felt he walked like a duck in his knee-high boots and limited in his movement by knee protectors. His hands were sweating under the white gloves on the warm day.

"We shall start with some simple explanations, Your Majesty," Sir Riley began and tried hard not to giggle. " On a full sized grass field, each team has four people. The ground is 300 yards long, 160 yards wide if boarded. Being boarded means the field has a 12 inch upright board bounding the perimeter which stops the ball rolling out of play easily. The goal posts, positioned at each end, are 8 yards apart. The full game is 8 chukkas..."

"Eight... what?" Spike asked disbelievingly.

"Chukkas," Sir Riley confirmed, "Rounds, Your Majesty. Each chukka is timed to last 7 minutes, then a bell is rung, but the game goes on until the ball goes out of play, or for another 30 seconds when the bell is rung again, the chukka ends where the ball is."

Spike stood and stared for a moment.

Sir Riley grinned. "Your Majesty's gonna get used to it in no time. Each player is handicapped on a 4-6 chukka basis from -2 up to 10 goals. The aggregate handicap of the four players in a team is the team handicap. For example if all players have a handicap of 2 goals each, the team handicap is 8 goals and is referred to as an '8 goal team'."

Spike began wondering if Sir Riley was handicapped himself.

Then Riley led him up to a pony. "Polo is played using an English type saddle. There is an overgirth in addition to the regular girth to keep the saddle from slipping," he added helpfully. "This is your pony, Your Majesty. Her name's Darla."

Spike looked at the pony hesitantly.

"How about you climb her from the near side?" Sir Riley suggested.

Spike frowned.

"The left side of the pony is called the near side, the right side is called the off side," Sir Riley explained.

Spike sighed. It was going to be a long day. As he tried to ride Darla, she backed away and neighed nervously. Sir Riley held her reins. "Good girl, relax," he said soothingly. But as soon as Spike approached, Darla pulled away again.

"Allow me to assist Your Majesty," Sir Riley offered. With the right hand, he held Darla's reins, with his left arm, he pushed Spike up onto the pony. "There you go, Sir," he said with a pleased smile that made Spike want to smash his face in. Riley slapped the pony on the back. Darla apparently decided she didn't like this at all and began to take off at high speed.

"Side reins, Sir!" Riley shouted after them.

Spike pulled the side reins as hard as he could. Darla twisted and arched beneath him, lifting her front legs in the air. Spike could no longer hold on to her back and fell down on his rear in the mud.

Sir Riley came running up to him. "It's okay, baby," he told the pony, gently stroking her until she calmed down. Only then did he see to Spike.

Spike was outraged that arrogant fool of a horse whisperer cared more about the bloody pony than his future King.

Riley did not ask if he was alright. He smiled good-naturedly: "Happens to everyone the first time. The chemistry between you and Darla will soon improve." He held out his hand to help him up.

Cursing under his breath, Spike struggled to his feet without assistance, his white pair of polo trousers ruined by the mud.

He was extremely upset with Sir Riley and himself when he returned to Buckingham Palace, his clothes soaking with mud, his face showing bruises, his butt aching from the fall. He was carrying the behated helmet under his arm when he walked down the hall to disappear into his rooms, preferably without anyone seeing him. Yet as he was crossing the carpet, he noticed a blond woman standing next to a cleaning trolley, dusting the expensive vases in the hall. One of the housemaids. And a pretty one. No way she was going to see him like that, all the servants would laugh tears about their king if anyone saw him in this state. He tried to sneak past her and had successfully crossed the carpet when her sharp voice addressed him from behind: "What do you think you're doing?"

He turned around to look at her.

She was standing before him, hands on her hips, the plain housemaid uniform emphasizing the curves of her body. Her blond hair was tied to a knot at the back of her head in order not to fall over her face while cleaning, yet a loose strand of her golden curls kept getting into her eyes. Her eyes were beautiful, huge, luminous. Her luscious lips were not smiling, however. She stared at him with a burning gaze. "I've been cleaning the carpet for over an hour, and you come trampling in here like an elephant staining my carpet with your muddy riding boots! Who do yo think you are? I gotta clean ten more rooms this morning, how am I supposed to get around my work schedule? Stupid sonuvabitch!"

"Sorry." Spike's face lit up. She was even more cute when she was angry.

"Sorry?" she blurted out, "Sorry! You think you say sorry for ruining my day's work and it's okay?"

Spike looked down at the carpet. His muddy footsteps were all over the fluffy surface, getting drier and harder to remove with the minute. He made a step towards her. "Look, I wasn't thinking, I'm really sorry." He cast her an irresistible look from his blue eyes.

"Yeah, I guess you aren't used to thinking," the housemaid continued her ranting, then she looked into his eyes. God, they were adorable. If only he hadn't been wearing those stupid clothes. Her eyes widened. "Now I know who you are!" she exclaimed. "You're Sir Riley, the new King's polo instructor!"

Spike considered correcting her mistake for a moment, then he decided it was refreshing to talk to someone who had no idea who he was. He smiled. "Call me Spike."

"Alright, Spike." She smiled. "The polo lesson's over for today?" she asked seductively, getting so close to him he could feel the warmth of her body.

Spike felt his mouth go dry. "Yeah."

"Then I have just the job for you," she replied curtly, pressing cleaning foam and a sponge into his hand. "You're gonna clean the carpet you've just ruined, and hurry, I haven't got all day!"

He stared at her.

She cast him a determined look. "As in now."

Spike looked at her in disbelief. "You're serious about this."

She glared at him. "Well, no, I'm kidding, I don't mind losing my job! Of course I'm serious! Jerk!" She held his piercing gaze. "On your knees, moron."

Spike shrugged. "Yes, ma'am." He gave her an amused smirk as he took off his jacket and shoes, carefully putting them aside on the cleaning trolley to avoid upsetting her more. He went down on his knees and began to clean the carpet.

She looked satisfied as she went back to her work.

"You're American," he noticed, "How come you work here?"

"I live in California, with my mom and my sister. My dad's English," she explained, "He got me this job to work off my debts. I crashed his car against a tree," she admitted, wondering why she was even telling him this.

"Why not work in California?" he inquired.

Her pretty face darkened. "My mom's married again. His name's Ted. Can't stand him. Took every chance to get away." She sighed. "And my dad thought it a good idea to get me a job where I have to work with my hands, says it'll be good for my character to do hard and honest instead of hanging out with the other students!"

Spike smiled. "So you're a student?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm graduating from college next year. I took a break 'cos my mom was ill, but she's much better now."

He sighed with relief. She wasn't as young as he had feared. Hell, why was he even interested in this? He kept rubbing the mud out of the carpet. He began to understand why she had been so upset. "What does your boyfriend say about being separated from you for so long?"

She crossed her arms before her chest. "Do you always cross-examine other people before asking their names?"

Bloody hell, she was right, he hadn't even asked her name. He tilted his head as he looked up at her. "Bet you have a poetic name. A fairy name," he said in a low voice, "How about Willow? Or Cordelia."

She giggled. "Not even close!" She looked down at him as he was still kneeling in front of her on the carpet. "It's Buffy."

"Buffy," he repeated thoughtfully. Queen Buffy I, it ran through his mind for a dreamy second. Then he snapped out of it and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Buffy asked angrily, "Riley isn't that much of a name either, Sir or no!" She put her foot down as if to emphasize her words --- right into the last spot of mud that had remained on the carpet. Her face was so shocked it was almost comic. She looked as if she was considering running away.

"Let me take care of that," Spike said quickly. His hand closed around her calf.

Buffy startled at his unexpected touch and pressed her thighs together.

"It's okay," he said in a low and silky voice that sent shivers down her spine. "Just part your legs."

Buffy felt hot and cold at the same time. "What?"

His hand slowly drew her feet apart. Buffy did not protest as he was lifting her foot and began to wipe the muddy spot on her shoe with the sponge while he was slowly running his fingers over her skin, yet never rising above her ankle. She looked down at his tousled hair, resisting the urge to run her fingers through it and felt reduced to a stupid schoolgirl.

When he had finished, he slowly put her foot back down and rose, putting the sponge and carpet foam back in place on the trolley.

He winked. "See you around, Buffy."

Whistling a tune, he walked away from her and down the hall. Maybe that whole king thing wasn't that bad after all.

He was in an extremely good mood when he threw off the muddy polo clothes and took an extensive shower. He would spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing by the TV, a luxury he had not been able to afford for the past few months. As he came from the bathroom, still toweling his hair, he looked around. Where was the TV?

He kept looking, in his bedroom, his study and the living room, but he could not find it. He put on a clean white shirt and a pair of brand new jeans and rang the bell.

After a few minutes, Sir Rupert entered. "What can I do for Your Majesty?"

"Where's the TV?" Spike asked.

Sir Rupert smiled like a cat who had just devoured a canary bird. "I thought it wiser to remove any distractions from Your Majesty. You will be so busy for the time being you will not even miss it, I guarantee."

"I bloody well miss a TV," Spike contradicted him.

"You didn't have one at your old... home," Sir Rupert pointed out.

"Well, that was before I was a king!" Spike protested. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

Sir Rupert smirked and rang for the Secretary. Instantly, two big red boxes were carried into the room.

"What's that?" Spike asked irritatedly.

"Your mail," the Secretary explained.

"All of that's my mail?" Spike asked, astonished.

"Just the official paperwork," Sir Rupert corrected him, "from government ministers, foreign ambassadors, representatives of the Commonwealth. Policy papers, Cabinet documents and other State papers. The 500 personal letters from your subjects have been passed to Your Majesty's study."

Spike stared at the boxes. "How long has my mum not done her paperwork?"

Sir Rupert could not suppress an amused chuckle. "Your brother, the Prince of Wales, was so kind as to attend to the paperwork in Her Majesty's name while Her health did not permit her to do it by herself. This is just today's mail."

"And I have to reply to all of them? That's gonna take years!" Spike protested.

"Of course not," Sir Rupert said to his relief, "You just have to read, approve and sign every document contained in these boxes. You can make a cross-selection of your personal mail according to your own taste and tell your staff how you would like them to be answered. Your private Secretary will take care of the others. Oh, and before I forget, Lady Charlotte and Lady Roberta have sent up some books for you to go through before your first lessons tomorrow morning." With more than just a hint of irony, Sir Rupert added: "As Your Majesty will agree, there will be no need for a television set."

*

The sun had already set over Buckingham Palace when Spike threw the last letter back into the second red box. This had been hard work; he was lacking concentration, and had no desire to go through The Language of Kings Part One - A study in RP and Royal English or History of the British Monarchy 1660-1800. "My kingdom for a TV," he murmured. Then it hit him that Sir Rupert had said something about a cinema. For a moment he considered ringing the bell to ask where the cinema was, but he changed his mind. If he was unlucky, Sir Rupert might come in with more mail. Better to sneak out and find the cinema by himself.

The hall was completely dark now, everything was quiet. A look at the large clock in the hall told him it was almost ten, which explained the absence of servants on the corridors.

"If I were a cinema, where would I be?" he asked the empty staircase.

*

"Bloody hell." Spike had been wandering the stairs and halls of Buckingham Palace for half an hour without meeting a soul, yet he had been unable to find the sodden cinema.

At last he followed a narrow staircase down to the basement where he could hear muffled voices, sounding like some kind of motion picture.

He found himself standing in a dimly lit hallway with doors to both sides. He listened hard for the voices and sneaked past the doors silently, not minding where he was going... and bumped into someone.

"Sorry," he said, snapping out of his trance. Then he saw to his surprise it was the young woman who had been yelling at him earlier that day. She was dressed casually, wearing a satin nightdress and a matching morning coat, carrying microwaved popcorn,

"You again," Buffy said, trying to sound as upset as possible and to hide her surprise. "What are you doing here? Do you always go wandering around corridors to scare clueless girls?"

Spike smiled self-assuredly. "You didn't seem so clueless to me," he said dryly. "No, I've just moved in, and I must have got lost."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, with 600 rooms, you can easily get lost. This is the floor for the housemaids, I guess your room is near the gardener's, I can take you back there if you like."

Spike felt the heat rise to his face. If she wandered the corridors with him and they were seen by anyone, she would inevitably learn who he was. "What are your plans for tonight?" he asked bluntly.

Buffy blinked at him in surprise. "I was making myself some popcorn at the shared kitchen. I'm watching TV tonight, I was too tired to go out."

Spike looked at her enviously. "What's on?" he asked.

"Channel 4 has When Harry met Sally," she explained. She noticed the devastated look in those baby blues. She had no idea what drove her to it when she asked: "Wanna come?"

For a fraction of a second, pictures shot through Spike's mind of himself coming all over Buffy's perfect body. He shook his head to get rid of the pictures.

She misinterpreted the gesture. "If you have other plans, of course..."

"No, no," Spike said quickly, "I'd love to!"

Buffy beamed. "Great!" She became aware she might seem a little too eager. "I mean, okay."

She opened the door behind which Spike had seen the bluish light of the TV. The room was tiny, with a small washbasin, a closet that wouldn't even have had enough room for his collection of new polo shirts, a slim bed and a TV.

"I don't have a chair," Buffy apologized, "So we'll both have to sit on the bed."

Spike shrugged. "That's alright."

Hesitantly, Buffy sat down on the bed.

Spike sat next to her.

For a moment, they watched the commercials without saying a word.

"Buffy?" he finally asked.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you think it will be uncomfortable to sit here for two hours? Wouldn't you prefer to lie down?"

Buffy looked at him suspiciously. "You wouldn't mind?"

He laughed lightly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I've slept in beds much more narrow than this one, there's plenty of room for two people."

"Oh. Okay." Buffy tried not to look at him as she lay down on the bed, putting a pillow behind her back to be more comfortable.

She felt the mattress moving under her as Spike took off his shoes and slowly lay down next to her. When Harry met Sally started.

*

"... whatever that woman has had for lunch, I want it!"

Buffy was giggling so hard she couldn't stop. The next commercial came on.

"I don't know what women find so funny about this movie," Spike growled.

"It's so true!" Buffy explained. "Men are like that!"

"Crap," Spike disagreed, "Any man can tell a faked orgasm from a real one."

Buffy regarded him with an amused smile. "Yeah. Sure."

"I can," Spike insisted.

"No, you can't," Buffy teased him.

"Believe me, I can, I'm not as dull as that Harry guy."

Buffy sat up in the bed. "It's okay, I believe you." She started giggling.

Spike shook his head angrily. "No, you don't, you're just saying this because you want me to shut up! But that doesn't mean you believe I'm right."

"'Cos you aren't," Buffy insisted. "A woman can always fake an orgasm, and there is no way for a man to tell."

Spike looked at her with sparkling eyes. "Prove it."

Her eyes widened. "Sorry?"

"Prove it. Fake one."

She looked shocked. "Now? No way!"

Spike shrugged and reassumed his position, turning his attention back to the TV. "I knew you couldn't do it."

"Hey!" Buffy protested, kneeling on the bed, blocking his view.

"It's okay," Spike said levelly, "Let's watch the film."

"I have no intention of faking an orgasm just because you're an arrogant bastard!" she defended herself.

Spike shrugged again. "I said it was alright, pet. Calm down and watch the rest of When Harry met Sally, just forget about it."

"Fine," Buffy said stubbornly.

She lay back down.

After a few moments, Spike felt her move. He looked at Buffy and gasped. She was lying by his side, her eyes clouded, her cheeks flushed. Tiny pearls of sweat were on her forehead, her hair was tangled and falling over her face, one strap of her nightdress falling lazily over her shoulder, revealing her tanned skin, the nightdress showing a hint of cleavage.

Buffy moaned silently.

She licked her lips, her pink tongue curling about her teeth. "Oh, yeah," she whispered.

Spike stared at her. "What's this supposed to be, Buffy?"

She did not reply. Instead, she closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell heavily, and her breath sped up. More sweat was showing on her forehead. She ran a hand through her hair. "Oh, Spike," she whimpered.

"This isn't funny, Buffy," he said, when Buffy's breathing went even quicker. She arched against an imaginary partner in the air above her, bucking her hips.

"Oh, yeah, faster, harder," she sighed, her voice husky. She threw herself from one side to the other, gasping, moaning, whimpering.

Spike meant to leave, but he could not do anything but watch her. God, she was hot.

"Yeah, please, don't stop," Buffy said, now even louder, thrusting her hips into the empty air. "Spike, oh, Spike..." Her eyes flew open. "Oh, God, yes!!!!!!" He could clearly see her hardened nipples against the light fabric of the nightdress; her skin was all flushed. "Almost there!" she informed him, now almost screaming. Her hands went up against the headboard as her eyes closed again. "SPIKE!!!! SPIKE!!!!" she was yelling again, past care if any of the other servants was going to hear her.

Spike wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he quickly grabbed a pillow so Buffy would not see he had a massive hard-on.

Buffy opened her eyes and grinned at him. She smoothed her nightdress with her hands, adjusted her hair and sat up on the bed, munching some popcorn. Her gaze was fixed on the screen now. "I like the next bit," she commented, "Watch closely."

Spike stared at her. Then he jumped from the bed and out of the room, accidentally taking her pillow with him.

Buffy lay back and sighed. "I love that movie!"

TBC...

3

"Your Majesty is doing fine," Lady Charlotte assured Spike the next day when they were going through a text all over again. "You just need to practice."

Spike closed the book, very annoyed and exhausted. "That text was bloody awful!"

Lady Charlotte cleared her voice. "Er... Your Majesty..."

He sighed. "No more 'bloody', I know. And no more 'mate', 'pet' or 'luv', I'm trying to remember."

She seemed pleased as she closed her books. "You are really making great progress, Your Majesty. Yet I'm afraid we will have to finish off now, Lady Roberta's waiting."

Spike buried his head in his hands. "I haven't read her text yet."

"What is it about?" she asked curiously.

"History of the monarchy. She told me to go through the chapter on Richard III and the two princes imprisoned in the..." He hesitated and looked at her.

Lady Charlotte smiled. "It's okay to say 'the Bloody Tower', for that's what it is called," she replied. He nodded gratefully.

"See you tomorrow morning, Your Majesty." She curtseyed and left the room backwards, not turning her back on her king as tradition required.

Spike was slowly getting a grip on his daily routine. He began his working day by going through the most important British newspapers, though he was especially interested in anything reported about his mother's health. Although Sir Rupert kept assuring him she was doing better, he wanted to get an unbiased opinion. What he hated most was when Sir Rupert had another two red boxes with the new day's mail brought in. This time, Sir Rupert also informed him that he had to be proclaimed as his mother's successor at Accession Council in St James's Palace as soon as possible, and that he had 'taken the liberty' of inviting the members of the Privy Council and other important people whose names Spike could not remember any more the moment Sir Rupert had finished his lecture.

Spike was left by his desk with a twenty page manuscript containing the so-called accession declaration – a speech every new monarch had to make as soon as the old one had died or abdicated, and which he, of course, would have to learn by heart.

"Tomorrow morning, we have to leave soon, so be done with breakfast by seven," Sir Rupert admonished him as he left. "And," he added, casting a disapproving look at Spike's black jeans and matching shirt, "Wear something decent, Your Majesty."

Spike looked down at himself. What was wrong about that again? Why did Sir Rupert have to be that fussy about everything?

Sir Rupert had told him not to smoke, but he bloody needed a cigarette now. He produced his cigarettes from his shirt pocket then realized he did not have a lighter with him. He searched the drawers of his desk and found matches with the Royal Coat of Arms on it. "They even got their own matches round here!" he murmured. He turned the matchbox around and read the inscription: Produced exclusively for the Royal Family. He wondered how much collectors would pay for those matches on the black market. Not that he'd ever get a chance to find out because he was stuck in here.

Spike skimmed the pages of the manuscript. He hated learning texts by heart, but at least the studying of the declaration gave him a good excuse to cancel his polo lesson with Sir Riley.

Spike decided to get some fresh air before turning to the twenty pages. He meant to leave the palace through the side door for a walk in the park, when he suddenly saw Buffy walking down the hall in his direction with her cleaning trolley. She was wearing her uniform again. God, he wanted her. Spike remembered the way her eyes had been rolling back, the way her body had moved the night before... and the way he had just run away like a teenager whose hormones blocked the way to his brain. He faced her and was determined to apologize.

Buffy saw him at once, putting on a smile. "Why, Sir Riley! I mean, Spike," she greeted him.

"Er... hello, Buffy," he said, his attention distracted once more by her eyes.

"Are you any better?" she inquired.

"Better?" he asked, puzzled.

"You were in such a rush last night I assumed you were not feeling well. A cold shower can work miracles..." She winked.

"Yeah, I'm... much better, thanks." 'Get a grip on yourself, man!' the rock singer in him screamed. He put on the self-assured smile that had every girl in the disco melt. "How about watching the rest of the movie tonight? I could get the DVD. And a DVD player."

Buffy smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I'm going out with some friends tonight. Dinner, disco..."

"Oh." Spike envied those friends. Not only were they to spend the whole evening with this lady, but also they were actually going out to a real restaurant and a disco. He didn't know if he would ever be able to do that again.

Buffy hesitated. "You can come along, if you like."

Yeah, that would be great. Going to a disco in a royal with a police escort, dancing the night away at some club and being presented to the Privy Council as the new Head of State the next morning. If that didn't put a girl off him for life... He shook his head. "Sorry, I can't. Have to get up early in the morning, I got an appointment."

She raised a brow. "With a horse?"

He blushed. "N-no, of course not," he stumbled, "Dentist. Yeah. Gotta see the dentist!"

"Oh," Buffy exclaimed, "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Don't worry," Spike hurried to say and cast his eyes down. He was an appalling liar.

Buffy nodded. "Okay, then. So, see ya."

*

"A dentist's appointment?" Buffy's friend Alexander 'Xander' Harris burst out, pieces of his fries scattering across the table. "Is the guy insane?"

"I know!" Buffy said, barely touching her salad, "First he asks me to watch a movie with him, then I ask him out, and he says no???"

"Well, you didn't exactly ask him out," Buffy's friend Willow remarked, "You said you were meeting your friends and he could come along. There's a difference."

"He's some kind of perv," Xander's girlfriend Anya insisted, "Why else would he want to spend the night alone in a narrow bed with you, but not go meet your friends? Who knows what he'd have tried!"

"No, I think he's alright," Buffy disagreed, "Just... shy, maybe."

"Yeah. Sure." Anya cast her a pitiful look. "A man who asks you to fake an orgasm at first date must be very shy."

"It wasn't a date," Buffy defended herself.

"Buffy's in love," Willow noticed, "It's no use arguing with her!"

"Do you think I pushed it?" Buffy asked in a shock, "Did I scare him away when I pulled the Harry and Sally on him?"

Xander looked interested. With a dreamy expression, he said: "Maybe it would help to know what exactly you did when he asked you to fake the orgasm. Can you give us a demonstration?"

Anya pushed her elbow in his side.

"Ow!" Xander complained.

Buffy smiled. "And who's the perv now?"

*

Buffy had been putting all her frustration into wild dancing at the clubs. When she was returning to Buckingham Palace at three in the morning, she was sweating and still wide-awake, having no desire whatsoever to go to sleep. Her mind was still on Spike's odd behavior. Didn't he like her? Or was he a pervert, as Anya had suggested? Or gay, as Willow had assumed? She thought of him pressing the pillow over his crotch the night before. No, definitely not gay.

Buffy passed the staircase leading to the royal leisure center. She knew the swimming pool was there, next to the cinema. Her father had the keys to these facilities, and Buffy often used the pool secretly, at night, to clear her thoughts. She decided tonight was exactly such a night.

Buffy sneaked back to her room to get a bikini and a towel. She put on her uniform over the bikini, just in the unlikely case anyone else was up this time of the night, then she went back to the pool.

To her surprise she realized she did not need her dad's key, someone had forgotten to lock the pool. Buffy went in and closed the door behind her.

She was not alone. Buffy watched in fascination for a moment.

A man was swimming in the pool, parting the water with muscular arms. As he emerged to the surface, Buffy meant to leave, but he had already seen her.

"Buffy!" Spike said, surprised. "Did you have a good time with your friends?"

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"I could ask you the same question," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Cleaning the pool?" she suggested helplessly.

He smirked. "At three in the morning. With your towel."

"My dad got me the keys," she explained, casting her eyes down.

Spike grinned.

"Okay, I snatched them from him," she admitted, "But I only come here at night, and I never get caught! What's your excuse, tending to the sea horses?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm sure His Majesty doesn't mind our being here. He's very busy learning his accession declaration by heart, training for polo and answering his mail. He won't have time for a night swim."

Buffy hesitated. "What about your dentist?"

Spike shrugged. "Feelin' better already."

"You should go nevertheless," Buffy insisted.

He smiled with amusement. "Are you planning to stand there all night, or are you coming in?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so, it was a stupid idea anyway."

Spike ran a hand through his soaking hair. "Oh, come on!"

Buffy took a few steps backward. "I think I'm going back to my room. Have to get up early in the morning."

She stood by the door, her blond hair falling down over her shoulders, the towel held before her like a shield. Spike would not let her walk away. He swam to the edge and climbed from the pool.

Buffy held her breath. Without the stupid polo clothes – in fact, without any clothes on at all – he looked even more gorgeous. His skin was all shiny with water. Her gaze traveled down the muscles of his arms, down his chest, his abs... she looked away. He surely hadn't expected anyone to show up, stark naked as he was.

His eyes were still on her. He did not seem the slightest bit embarrassed.

"If anyone comes in..." she whispered breathlessly.

"Isn't that the thrill about this scene?" he asked in a low, velvety voice.

"You mean, apart from your being naked?" she asked back.

Spike approached. Buffy stood stock still, like in a dream.

"I like your uniform," Spike remarked. Buffy shivered as he went to his knees before her, like the day before when she had yelled at him for ruining the freshly cleaned carpet.

His hand, still wet, closed about her calf once more. He looked up into her eyes.

Without thinking, Buffy parted her legs.

Spike's fingers ran over her foot, her ankle, up her calf, circling her knee. Then his hand disappeared under her skirt, slowly stroked her thigh, moving to her inner thigh.

Buffy gasped.

He carefully avoided touching her any more, instead his hands took hold of her uniform, and he pulled the simple dress over her head. For a moment, he just stood there, whether he was admiring her bikini or rather what it covered she could not tell. Then he turned and jumped, head first, back into the pool.

Buffy managed to snap out of her trance and followed, climbing into the water slowly since she did not want to suffer a heart attack. Though she had to admit he had her very close to getting one. He was swimming like he wanted to break a record.

"What do you think you're doing?" Buffy complained as she caught up to him, panting, hardly getting the words out coherently.

"Swimming," he said levelly, not in the least out of breath.

"Not that," Buffy snapped, "What you're doing is unfair! First you don't wanna go out with me, and then again... I mean, those... signals," she said helplessly.

He held on to the edge of the pool and looked at her questioningly. "Signals."

"Do you ask every woman to fake an orgasm or go night swimming with you?" she burst out.

"No," Spike replied, "So far you've been the only one."

"Then why that stupid lie about the dentist?!" she inquired.

Spike sighed. "I do have an important appointment in the morning, not with my dentist, though. I can't tell you about it, Buffy. You'll just have to trust me."

"I don't even know you!" Buffy protested.

He nodded, a shadow fell over his face. "That's right. There are many things you don't know about me. Things you wouldn't want to hear."

"I wanna know everything about you."

His blue eyes sparkled. "Why?"

Buffy blushed. "Cos I kinda like you. I guess."

He smirked. "Despite my being a stupid sonuvabitch who trampled all over your carpet like an elephant?"

Buffy began to giggle. Spike couldn't help but laugh with her. After a minute Buffy was laughing so hard she had to hold on to him not to sink. Then she caught the serious gaze in his eyes. As she studied the expression on his face, he breathed out and closed his eyes. Buffy ran her hand over his sharp cheekbones, then bent over to his face. He felt her breath.

Suddenly, there were noises on the corridor. Heavy steps, and the sound of keys.

"Someone's there!" Buffy panicked. "They're gonna catch us!" Her eyes were wide in alarm.

Spike shook his head, without saying a word, and listened hard. The steps were approaching the door.

"Down," Spike whispered.

"I can't hold my breath for long enough," Buffy whispered desperately.

Without warning, Spike pressed his mouth over hers and drew her down under water with him. They heard, muffled by the water that someone had opened the door to the pool, holding a flashlight, looking around.

"Anyone there?" he shouted.

Spike clearly distinguished Sir Rupert's voice. His heart was a living beat in his chest. Buffy's towel and uniform were still lying on the floor by the pool. He prayed Sir Rupert wouldn't see them. He felt Buffy's lips on his as he was sharing his breath with her, and her whole body tensing up. They couldn't hold it much longer.

"Must have been my imagination," Sir Rupert murmured. "I'll tell Rayne off for forgetting to lock the pool for the night." He shut the door behind him and locked it firmly. The steps grew fainter as he put distance between the pool and himself.

Spike and Buffy came to the surface, struggling for breath.

"One more second and I would've suffocated!" Buffy gasped.

"You did great," Spike panted.

Buffy realized she still held on to him like a drowning person. It felt nice. "You're gonna give me a heart-attack," she protested.

Spike's face was close to hers, their lips almost touching. "I'll do my best," he whispered. Then he kissed her.

First very gently, tentatively his tongue brushing against her lips. Buffy melted into the embrace, opening up for him, her tongue darting into his mouth, savouring him. For the first time since the doors of his golden cage had closed behind him, Spike felt alive. Kissing Buffy was like touching a live wire.

Buffy pressed against him, feeling every muscle, every bone in his body.

Spike ran his long fingers through her wet hair, taking in her scent, which mixed with the scent of the chlorine in the water.

She held on to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. He got the feeling she weighed nothing at all in the water. He turned and steadied her against the wall of the pool, gently removing her hands from his body and putting them on the wall, signaling her to hold on tightly. Then he took a deep breath and dove below the surface of the water.

Buffy wondered what he was up to when she felt a tug at her bikini slip. A few seconds later the tiny strap of tissue came up; dancing on the surface of the water. She felt Spike diving between her legs. Buffy gasped as her feet lost contact with the ground, as he lifted her up against the wall of the pool, her legs resting on his shoulders. Still under water, he was going down on her. His lips brushed over her mound, and she didn't know whether to wonder how he could breathe this way or scream her heart out. In the light of where they were and that they might be overheard, she preferred to do neither. He came to the surface, his breath hardly indicating he had been underwater. He slid his hand between her thighs, his fingers caressing her inner folds. Instinctively, she thrust her hips against his hand, the water splashing slightly from the movement. She looked at him with glazed eyes.

Spike breathed deeply, then dove down again, replacing his fingers with his tongue, carefully avoiding water to get into his system.

Buffy held firmly on to the pool. Her head fell back, her eyes facing the ceiling, and for a moment she thought she saw the famous stars and fireworks as her body shook in convulsions at her lover's ministrations. Her chest rose and fell as she was trying desperately not to pass out, then she was leaving her body, watching his soft platinum hair floating gently in the water and his arms steadying her as he did his best to give her a heart attack. Buffy bit down on her lip to stifle a scream as she came, letting her breath escape in a long moan.

Spike let her go and came to the surface, now also panting for air.

Buffy pulled him closer and wrapped her legs about his waist again, bucking her hips in his direction provokingly.

"Signals clear enough for you now, pet?" he asked smugly.

Buffy tilted her head. "I'm not sure," she said, resting her head against the hollow of his neck.

He smiled wolfishly. "Hang on a sec." Then he gently lifted her up and set her down on the edge of the pool, climbing from the water and hurrying to the deckchair where he had left his clothes. Curiously, Buffy rose and followed him.

He held a tiny package in his hand and opened it with fleeting fingers.

"Spike..." she began.

"Don't speak," he rasped, putting the condom to its use. Without another word, he lay her down on the deckchair and flung himself on top.

"Spike, I..." Buffy whispered.

He silenced her with a kiss. He could not bear if she stopped him now. If she told him he was going too fast and she wanted to wait, if she refused him now, he would go insane. "No talking," he said huskily, "Can't wait."

"That's not it, but Spike..." Buffy tried to say when he parted her legs. She tried to talk, but coherent words just wouldn't come when he touched her, his hands assaulting her breasts. Her fingernails scratched all over his back as he entered her, thrusting mercilessly. He covered her mouth with his to stifle her screams. Buffy felt the plastic of the deck chair painfully against her back, she knew she would be all bruised in the morning, but she was just past care as he was pounding into her, letting her sky explode all over again.

Sweat was breaking from her skin, she shuddered as he pushed her over the edge, her face was flushed and her eyes hooded. Her muscles clenched around him, so hard it was almost pain. Seeing her come, for real this time, was enough to make him lose his self-control. He pumped into her with full force until he was completely spent and came to rest in her arms.

"That one was for real, wasn't it?" he gasped. He kissed her hair. She tasted of the pool water, however, he did not give a damn. "What was it you wanted to tell me, pet?"

Buffy blushed. "Can't tell ya now."

Spike ran his hand over her breasts and felt her shudder. "Don't be stupid, you just let me fuck your brains out, you can tell me anything."

Buffy giggled. "Spike, you were so caught up in the moment you didn't listen... I wanted to tell ya... actually, I'm on the pill."

Spike fell back in the deck chair with a moan. "Oh, god." He buried his head in his hands. "I'm a bloody idiot!"

"No, you're not," Buffy protested, soothing him with another kiss.

They lay there, just basking in each other's presence and the aftermath of their lovemaking, when Buffy finally sighed. "We should leave. I completely lost track of time, but it's late... or, early. And then, there's your appointment."

He nodded slowly. He didn't want to leave and be a king again. Against his will, he began to dress. As he put on his watch, he cursed silently. "Bloody hell, it's almost six! I gotta go!"

Buffy hurried a kiss over his lips. "Just go, leave cleaning up to me."

"Thanks." He gave her a look that almost made her want to jump him again. "See you tonight. Let's say, I'll pick you up at your room, about eight? I don't wanna leave, but I have to."

Buffy looked at him pleadingly. "Where are you going? Can't you tell me?"

He shook his head with regret. "Sorry. Wish I could."

"C'mon," Buffy said seductively, "You just fucked my brains out, you can tell me anything."

With a smile, he unlocked the door and left the pool area.

Buffy sighed as she fished her bikini from the pool, put on her uniform and discarded the condom. She then picked up the foil that had been around the condom. She was startled for a moment. On it, she recognized the Royal Coat of Arms. She frowned. "Do they sell those in a drug store?" she wondered aloud. Then she pocketed it. Couldn't hurt to have a souvenir.

*

Buffy did her morning work in a fairly good mood, given that she hadn't got more than an hour or two of sleep before her workday had started. She felt sore between her legs, but as long as she did not have to walk up and down too many stairs, she did not particularly mind. Maybe that night Spike was gonna kiss it better for her? She giggled at the thought.

The other housemaids cast her a disapproving look.

Buffy concentrated on her work again.

As every Thursday, she was having lunch with her dad. Her father being one of the more influential employees, he had two rooms, bathroom and kitchen in another wing of Buckingham Palace. Buffy opened the door with her spare key.

"Hi dad, it's me!" she sang, but she got no reply. She headed straight for the kitchen to find a note from her father attached to the fridge.

I'll be late – important appointment. Why don't you have a sandwich while you wait?

Love, Dad.

Buffy sighed. Everyone had important appointments today! She opened the fridge and fetched tomatoes, cucumbers, mayonnaise and tuna. While she was preparing her sandwich, her mind returned to the events of the night. At last a boyfriend her father would approve of, a genuine Sir! Was that what Spike was, her boyfriend? Buffy wondered. Would it be too early to tell her dad she was in love? But he would probably look her in the face and know she'd got laid, he always did, and he always chided her.

Buffy cut the sandwich and flung herself on the couch in her father's living room, grabbing the remote and switching on the TV.

The news was on. A banner ran through the picture: Breaking news – Queen abdicates.

Buffy's eyes widened. Had the old crow finally decided to let ol' Charles have a go? She increased the volume.

"... this is Claudia Vayne, live from St James's Palace, where the abdication of Queen Elizabeth II was announced this morning. The official reason given for her withdrawal from her duties was her worrisome state of health. Against predictions of royalty experts, the Queen has announced that the Prince of Wales and his line will be excluded from succession due to inappropriate behaviour, hinting at the Queen's children's marital pandemonium and divorces. In the course of the past decades, scandals have shattered the perfect world of British royalty time and again. Official press releases from Buckingham Palace confirm a fresh start for the monarchy is welcomed, if not intended."

"No," Buffy said disbelievingly, "Please, not Edward!"

"Prince Edward has announced officially he would not succeed his mother to the throne for personal reasons, yet has refused any other comment apart from that," Claudia Vayne continued. Pictures of Prince Edward were shown on the screen before the scene cut back to Mrs Vayne standing on the grass before St James's Palace. "This morning, Accession Council is being held at St James's Palace. All members of the Privy Council have been summoned. Members of the House of Lords, the Lord Mayor and aldermen and other leading citizens of the City of London, and High Commissioners of Commonwealth countries are attending. Following the proclamation, the Sovereign reads a declaration and takes the oath to preserve the Church of Scotland. The oath known as the accession declaration - an oath to maintain the established Protestant succession - is normally made at the next State Opening of Parliament. In London the public proclamation of the new Sovereign is always first read out at St James's Palace; it is also read out in Edinburgh, Windsor and York. In each city the accession is traditionally proclaimed at several different spots."

Buffy hardly followed the explanation. Her brain was working. If not Edward, who was next in line? She found she had no idea.

"I'm now talking to Lord Quentin Travers, expert on British royalty and personal friend of the Duke of Edinburgh for many years. Lord Travers, can you tell us anything about the young man who will be the next Sovereign?"

Lord Travers looked very self-important as he faced the camera. "It has come as a surprise to all of us," he explained, "I have had a chance to speak to Her Majesty yesterday, and Her Majesty assured me she had not made her choice lightly. King William V is in fact the same age as Prince Edward, yet he has spent much of his life at public schools and universities abroad and at charity projects in remote areas of the world."

"Yeah, sure," Buffy said sarcastically, "More likely at nightclubs, making out with some stripper, as far as I know that family..."

"Now let's hear the declaration of accession, held at St James's Palace at nine o'clock this morning."

The camera switched into the richly decorated great hall of St James's, where every leading citizen of London worth their titles was present.

The perspective focused on a group of people at a microphone.

Buffy crept closer to the TV. There was her dad!

"Smile for the camera, daddy," Buffy murmured as she put her sandwich away and was looking for a video cassette to tape the coverage for her dad. He'd be thrilled to see himself on the news!

She was so caught up in getting the tape ready she barely paid attention on the handsome blond man in a fine designer suit who was taking the place at the microphone. The crowd was cheering when Buffy finally found an empty tape and inserted it in the tape recorder.

She was fishing for the remote on the couch when his clear and soft voice rang down the hall.

"I, King William V..."

Buffy startled and dropped the remote. That was Spike's voice! She stared at the TV. He looked so different in his suit, yet she recognized him at first sight. His blue eyes were serious, looking right at the camera, seemingly straight at her, through her. "This isn't happening!" she exclaimed.

He cleared his voice. "I, King William V, by the Grace of God, King of this Realm and My other realms and territories, Head of Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, swear to rule according to law, to exercise justice with mercy and to maintain the Church of England. Furthermore, I swear to preserve the established Church of Scotland and uphold Protestant succession..."

It was Spike. No doubt. But he couldn't be! Someone that gorgeous, that smart and good with his hands [and lips, and cock, and tongue...] couldn't be the Queen's son! Buffy reached into the pocket of her uniform, taking out the condom packaging with the Royal Coat of Arms on it. She turned it around.

Produced exclusively for the Royal Family.

She fell down on the couch, her face flushed. "So that was your important appointment, smug bastard!" Buffy burst out. "Holy crap!" She remembered how his lips had felt on her skin, how he had dove between her legs and pounded her into the deck chair. She would never have suspected... *Oh God, why didn't you just tell me? What am I to you? A nice distraction?*

That was when the door opened.

"Oh, you're here already," her father greeted her.

Buffy hastily stuffed the body of evidence back into her uniform pocket. "Hi, Dad," she said, trying to sound normal, "You're on TV!"

He chuckled. "Amazing, isn't it." He sighed. "I had a hard time taking care of our new monarch."

"Yeah, me too," Buffy murmured.

Her father frowned. "Sorry?"

"Nothin'!" Buffy hurried to say. "What about I fix us some lunch, and then you can tell me all about... King William." For the first time, she heard his real name from her own lips. It felt strange. Luckily, her father was too absorbed to notice her confusion. She practically fled to the kitchen. *I should get my dad one of those t-shirts, My daughter's screwing the King and all I got was this lousy shirt!*

TBC...

Buffy made some tea and sandwiches for her father, though she had to admit she herself wasn't hungry any more. Too many thoughts were running through her head.
"Thank you, dear," her father said gratefully as she brought him his lunch. "This day was a nightmare!"
Buffy sat down beside him. "Why?" she asked casually.
"Can you keep a secret?" her father asked.
Buffy nodded curiously. That moment, the telephone rang.
"Let the machine get it," Buffy suggested.
A female voice was heard through the answering machine's speaker. "Hi, this is Joyce."
Buffy's father was momentarily startled as he heard her voice unprepared. He jumped to get the phone. "I'm here, Joyce."
Buffy could not hear the other side of the line any more. She could tell by the sound of her father's voice that her mother was upset. She sighed. It was all her grandma's fault! Just because she did not want her son to marry an American without any titles, her parents had broken up before she was born, and her mother was now in her second unhappy marriage. Things could be worse. Her half-sister Dawn never saw her father at all, Hank Summers had no more interest in his own child than in his stepdaughter Buffy. And since she wasn't old enough to move out, she had to live under the same roof as that moron Ted.
"Yes, I'll tell her." Buffy's father cleared his voice. "Yes, it's been nice talking to you too, Joyce." He hung up. "That was your mother. She says hi. And she tells you not to forget to send off your university registration for next year. The deadline's in two weeks' time, and you have to consider the mail takes longer from England than from home."
"I won't forget." Buffy nodded. "How's Mom?"
He sighed. "She appears to have some trouble with... TED," he pronounced the name like he was talking about some especially nasty insect.
Buffy looked at him with a mixture of hope and despair. "Dad, this is ridiculous! I know you still care about mom, and she cares about you! Why else would she call you whenever she's got a problem with her relationships? Dad, why don't you tell her to send Ted to hell and come back to you?"
Her father ran a hand over her hair. "Wish it were that simple, Buffy. There are so many reasons we never married..."
"Yeah, but grandma isn't around any more," Buffy objected.
"Why would your mother want a stiff British Sir now?" he asked skeptically.
Buffy sighed. "'Cos you're better than any Hank or Ted in the whole world!"
Sir Rupert smiled weakly. He did not feel like finishing his sandwiches any more, but he kept eating because he did not want to offend Buffy.
"Now, you wanted to hear about His Royal Highness," Sir Rupert changed the subject. "Let me assure you, I am not easily to be shocked, but this king truly is a catastrophe. His manners are those of a third grade rock singer, he speaks like an ordinary dock worker, and he draws his general knowledge from 'Who wants to be a millionaire?'!"
"But what about all the public schools he attended, Eton, and Oxford University?" Buffy asked, flabbergasted.
Sir Rupert snorted. He was not allowed to talk about the King's background, but he had no intention to pretend the new sovereign was a genius. "If it hadn't been for me, he would have ruined his first public appearance completely. This time, I could brief him and write his speech for him, but he has no idea about our traditions and ceremonies. The only thing he can hope for is to marry a decent noblewoman from a good family as soon as possible, so she can cover his mistakes for him."
Buffy's eyes widened. "He is to marry?"
Sir Rupert nodded. No need to mention he had not talked about the king of that yet. "Of course. The King needs a consort, especially because of the public relations. We need a fairytale wedding in this country, and a Queen who represents England to the world, as the last one did. With this king, the end of British monarchy is at hand. I have already taken the liberty to make a list of eligible noblewomen. His Majesty will host a ball soon and make a reasonable choice."
Buffy fumed. Spike was making out with her in the swimming pool while he was already planning his marriage to another woman? She tried to concentrate on the conversation with her father, yet her mind was elsewhere. How could he do this to her?

*

Buffy was still furious when she was getting ready for her date. She applied her makeup and mascara with rage, almost tore her hair out as she curled it and picked her shoes considering which would hurt most if she hurled them at Spike's head. She tried several of her dresses just to discard them again. She growled. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

*

Spike was only half way through his mail when Sir Rupert entered his study without bothering to knock.
"Ah, Sir Rupert!" he welcomed him with a smile, "That went well this morning, didn't it?"
Sir Rupert tried not to think of the eyebrow piercing he had to tell Spike to remove before they drove off to St James's Palace and barred the fact that Spike had greeted the Prime Minister with a hearty 'How're doin', mate?" from his thoughts. "It was satisfactory," he agreed diplomatically. With another disapproving look, Sir Giles noticed that Spike had applied the seal to his mail upside down. "Sir Riley told me you missed your polo lesson," he remarked sourly.
"I couldn't possibly leave my mail just to enjoy another polo lesson, that would be irresponsible" Spike replied innocently.
"I could take care of the remaining letters," Sir Rupert offered.
"God, no!" Spike hurried to say then added quickly, "I mean, I do take my duties seriously!"
"You do," Sir Rupert said, not attempting to hide the irony of his words. "Your Majesty's schedule for tomorrow," he said stiffly, handing him another bunch of documents.
Spike had a superficial look at the papers. He arched an eyebrow at Sir Rupert. "A reception?"
"The newly appointed ambassador of Tokelau is coming to London," Sir Rupert explained, "Your Majesty is expected to host a dinner and give the ambassador a formal audience. Members of the diplomatic corps will be present."
"And where the hell is Tokelau?"
"Your Majesty will find information on the ambassador and the country of Tokelau in these documents."
Spike sighed. "More schoolwork?"
Sir Rupert seemed unimpressed. "Good evening, Your Majesty," he said and made to leave.
"Rupert, I mean, SIR Rupert!" Spike called him back.
"Yes?"
Spike tried to sound as casually as possible when he asked: "Whom do we normally call if we want to send someone flowers?"
"It is unnecessary to send flowers to the ambassador."
"Not for the ambassador!" Spike snapped, "So what do I do? Can I just call a flower shop or is there a licensed Royal Flower Shop?"
"You won't send flowers," Sir Rupert replied patiently, as if explaining something very simple to a small child.
"Why not?" Spike asked.
"You're forgetting who you are," Sir Rupert snorted, "The King of England can't just send flowers to some woman as he pleases!"
"She's not just some woman," Spike protested.
"No," Sir Rupert said dryly, thinking about the raven-haired beauty on Spike's lap at the club and his hand moving under her skirts, "I reckon she is a decent noblewoman preserving her virginity for marriage."
"I don't want you to talk about her that way," Spike chided him, "You may speak a better English than myself and have attended better schools, you may be more experienced in ceremonies and traditions, but that doesn't give you the right to judge me and question every sodden step I make!"
For a moment, Sir Rupert's mask fell, and he looked as if Spike had hit him in the face. Then he regained his composure and bowed silently.
"I asked a question," Spike said more calmly. "Why not?"
"Because a king's consort must be chosen very carefully. The English King's consort is going to become Queen and rule at his side. If you send flowers to a woman who is not eligible to the throne, this will damage your reputation, and we will have a scandal on our hands. If your order flowers, too many people will know about it - your Secretary, the florist's assistant who takes the order, the florist who arranges the flowers, the person who writes the card, the banker who charges the flowers to your account, the delivery man. The gutter press pays an awful lot of money for information of this kind. That is a risk Your Majesty cannot take."
Spike looked sad, but he saw Sir Rupert had a point. "Can't I order them for myself?" he asked helplessly, "Without a card, and have them delivered to myself?"
Sir Rupert began to wipe his glasses. "Then the yellow press will rumor you might be gay," he said matter of-factly. "Believe me, Your Majesty, my only concern is for your happiness," he added, changing to a more friendly tone. "It would be better if you just forgot about that dark-haired and probably even Catholic Irishwoman."
Spike did not bother to tell Sir Rupert that he was not talking about Drusilla. If he told Sir Rupert about Buffy, he would probably get her fired, and his chances of ever seeing her again would be slim. He thanked him politely instead.
"At your service, Your Majesty," Sir Rupert said levelly and turned to leave. "Sir Riley is out at the polo field waiting for you. I suggest you do not make him wait."

*

Not having slept very well, Spike was just in the right mood to kick someone's ass when he met Sir Riley for his next polo lesson. He hated Sir Riley's wide grin, he hated the dumb pony, and most of all he hated himself for wasting precious time he could make much better use of preparing for his date with Buffy.
"The objective of the game is for a team to score the most goals by hitting the ball through their goal posts at the end of the ground," Sir Riley explained, beaming. "I will now show you the most important defensive maneuvers. Riding off is a basic defensive maneuver where the player urges his pony to shove an opponent's mount away from the ball, allowing the player or a team mate to get a clear shot. Also a player will ride off an opponent who is about to strike the ball. As a player attempts to make a shot to hit the ball, an opposing player may use his mallet to hook the mallet of the other player. A Player may hook fairly if is he is on the side where the stroke is being made or directly in front or behind the striking player. Is that clear?"
Spike nodded, having not even a basic idea what Sir Riley was talking about.
Sir Riley gestured at the pony. "Shall we start, Your Majesty?" Without another word, he swung himself on top of his own pony elegantly.
Spike cast his pony a hostile look. Darla neighed impatiently.
As Spike approached, she shied away.
Riley grinned. He rode his pony next to Darla. "May I take your mallet?" he offered.
Spike thrust his mallet in Sir Riley's hand angrily. If it hurt, Sir Riley did not show it.
Spike grabbed the saddle and tried to pull himself on top of the pony, but Darla turned her head furiously and backed away again, jumping several feet. Spike got his head out of the way of her hooves just in time. "That's it, I'm out of here!" Spike decided.
"Nah! Try again, once more with feeling!" Sir Riley suggested.
Spike cast him a mortifying look. This time, he would not end up in the mud. He sighed and stroked the pony's mane slowly. Then he made another futile attempt to climb her.
He startled when he heard steps approaching. Perfect, now the bad day was getting even worse! Someone else of his staff would see him making a complete fool of himself. Spike caught Sir Riley's gaze as he looked at the unexpected visitor. Sir Riley's eyes got a dreamy expression; he was stunned by the young woman's beauty.
Spike turned around. To his horror, Buffy was walking towards them. "B...Buffy!"
Buffy smiled. "Sir Riley," she addressed Spike provokingly; then she looked at Sir Riley on his pony. She cast her eyes down and curtseyed deeply before him. "Your Majesty, forgive me for interrupting Your Highness's polo lesson."
"Er... I'm not... he is..." Riley stuttered incoherently.
Spike shook his head vehemently and signaled Sir Riley to shut up before Buffy raised her eyes again. "His Majesty meant to say, I am the instructor, so I am the one to apologize to."
"Actually, I..." Sir Riley began, looking very confused.
Spike cut him off. "What can I do for you, Buffy?"
Buffy suppressed her anger. How could he embarrass his poor polo instructor like that? The guy looked nice. She decided to push it even further. "Sir Rupert sends me," she explained, thinking it wiser not to mention Sir Rupert was her father, "He asked me to tell you that an ambassador, who is coming to visit Buckingham Palace tomorrow, is a passionate polo player and would enjoy being shown around the stables. Could you arrange a visit, please?"
"Of c..." Sir Riley began.
Spike turned Buffy around by the shoulders so she was no longer facing the unfortunate polo instructor. "It will be my pleasure," he assured her.
"Good," Buffy said, then gently freed herself from Spike's grip and curtseyed before Sir Riley again. "Please, accept my apologies for interrupting the lesson, Your Royal Highness."
Riley opened his mouth to speak, but Spike did not allow that to happen. "Yes, of course, Buffy, but I was just showing His Majesty the defensive maneuvers, like... like..." He gestured helplessly. What the hell were those maneuvers called again?
"Riding off and hooking," Sir Riley added sourly.
"Correct, Your Majesty!" Spike said happily and gave Buffy a forced smile. "If you will now excuse us, Buffy, we are very busy."
Buffy smiled. "If His Royal Highness doesn't mind... I love horses. I'd just like to stand here and watch."
Spike's blood went cold. "I'm afraid that..."
Sir Riley smiled wickedly. "My pleasure, Miss...?"
"Summers, Your Majesty," Buffy beamed, flirting shamelessly.
"I don't think..." Spike began, but Sir Riley, side-glancing at Buffy, replied: "You don't want to question your King's judgment, do you, SIR RILEY?"
Spike sighed. "Of course not."
Sir Riley gestured at Darla. "Would you kindly mount your pony and show me the riding off again?"
Buffy clapped her hands. "Oh, I'd love to see that!" she cried enthusiastically.
Spike cleared his voice. "All right, then." As he laid a hand on Darla, the pony neighed with indignation, eyes wild.
Buffy felt almost sorry for Spike, seeing immediately he had no idea about riding or polo. She took a step toward Darla and gently stroked her mane, then took the reins. "You're a beauty," she said softly, "What's your name, baby?"
"Her name's Darla," Riley announced proudly.
Buffy looked deep into his eyes. "Thank you, Your Majesty, you are too kind."
Spike felt like he would vomit any second now.
"Okay, Darla," Buffy whispered to the pony, "Let's be nice to Sir Riley, right?" She held the reins and nodded at Spike.
He slowly touched the saddle and finally managed to mount the pony. He looked very relieved, his blue eyes gazing gratefully at her.
Buffy smiled at him. For a moment, she almost forgot her anger. Almost.
"Now, how about the maneuver?" Sir Riley suggested.
Spike shrugged helplessly. "Your Majesty has improved greatly," he finally said, "Why don't you show Miss Summers what you've learnt?"
"Gladly," Sir Riley said, nodding at Buffy, giving her another radiant smile, and rode off in the sunset.
Spike breathed deeply. A narrow shave!
"Gotta work now. See you tonight," he said softly and managed to follow Sir Riley at a lower pace without being thrown off again.
Sir Riley glared at him as he caught up with his instructor. "Your Majesty, don't you think you owe me an explanation?!"

*

Buffy was just taking a last look into the mirror when she heard Spike's faint knocking at her door. She took a deep breath and opened.
Spike's breath caught in his throat. Buffy was wearing a black tank top with matching leather skirt that emphasized her gorgeous legs, her hair fell over her shoulders in curls, and silver creoles were dangling from her earlobes.
"Hey," Buffy said with a charming smile. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.
Thank god, she obviously had not watched TV. "Hi, Buffy," he replied, his voice slightly hoarse, "These are for you." He handed her a bunch of yellow tulips and pink roses that had been randomly and not very skillfully arranged, with raindrops still on the petals, no green arranged with them, and no wrapping.
Buffy looked at the flowers with amusement. *The English King couldn't afford any better flowers?* "Did you steal those from the palace gardens?" she asked with amusement.
Spike blushed deeply because that was precisely where he had got the flowers from.
Buffy filled an empty soda bottle with water and carefully arranged the flowers within. They looked a little better now. "There you are!" she said cheerfully, "Now, let's go!"
Spike's eyes widened. "W-where?" he stumbled.
Buffy enjoyed his panic. "I was thinking, dinner and dancing?" *Now, how are you gonna get out of this, William?*
Spike felt his body tensing up. "I didn't... I mean, why don't we stay here," his eyes were scanning the tiny room, "It's more... comfortable."
Buffy shook her head. "I wanted to go out!" she insisted.
Spike knew he could not sneak out of Buckingham Palace without being seen, and because of the television coverage, everyone in Britain – apparently except Buffy – knew his face now. He put on his best sexy smirk and ran his hands over her waist. "How about some night swimming?" he said silkily.
Buffy felt her body responding to him, but her mind forbade her to let him get away with his lies. She backed away and asked casually: "So, how did your appointment go?"
"Fine," he assured her.
"There's... nothing in particular you mean to tell me?" she asked desperately.
Spike gulped. This could be the moment of truth. If he now told her... no, he couldn't. He had pushed this too far already. "No," he said, trying to sound unconcerned. "How 'bout your day?" he asked quickly, congratulating himself on the smooth change of subject.
"I've been cleaning the banqueting hall for some reception the King's holding," Buffy told him. "Some ambassador's coming from a tiny island."
"Tokelau," Spike said without thinking.
"How come you know?" Buffy asked in fake astonishment.
"Er... the King told me during his polo lesson," Spike lied.
"Did he really?" Buffy asked innocently, "Tell me more. What else did he say?"
Spike shifted uncomfortably. "So, you were saying you were cleaning the banqueting hall..."
"Yeah," Buffy confirmed. "Then I was having lunch with my dad. We do that once a week. I hardly see him 'cos he's working for the king all the time." She studied his expression. She could see how uncomfortable he felt talking about the subject, how he avoided her eyes. *Nagging conscience, huh?* she thought to herself. She almost felt pity for him, but then focused on her plan. "I haven't told him about us yet, to be honest," she said obliviously. "I can never predict my dad's reactions." She looked at him with tenderness. "Sometimes I feel very lonely."
Spike looked at her, running his fingertips through her hair. "I know the feelin'."
When he kissed her, Buffy felt the current running through her body, but she also felt a desperate anger. How could he hold her, kiss her like that and keep lying to her all the time?
"What's he like?" Buffy asked slowly.
"Huh?" Spike tried hard to concentrate on what she said.
"The king," Buffy explained.
"Oh, him," Spike replied. "All right, I guess." He did not want to go there. He kissed her again to distract her. "Listen, Buffy, why don't we go to the pool now?" The pool was safe. He could lock it from the inside.
"No, I feel like going out!" Buffy insisted, trying to make him reveal his identity in some way. "There's a Hollywood classics special at the Odeon tonight!"
A relieved smile went over Spike's face. "I think I got a better idea. There is the private Royal Cinema at the Palace, and with the reception tomorrow, the king won't need it! We could break into the cinema. It won't cost us anything, and we can even pick our films!"
Buffy was angry at herself for not thinking of the Royal cinema. But how could she argue now? "What if we get caught?" she asked helplessly.
Spike frowned. "You didn't mind breaking into the pool even before we met." He smiled manipulatively. "But if you're afraid, that's ok, we can go to the Odeon then."
Buffy raised her chin. "I'm not afraid of anyone! Let's go!"

*

"Any preferences?" Spike asked. "There are loads of Hollywood classics in the archive."
Buffy smiled wickedly. "Have you seen 'Roman Holiday' with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck?"
Spike shrugged. He had always been more into music than films, and the title did not ring a bell. "No, I haven't," he admitted.
"Oh, we have to see this one, then," Buffy said, her blood boiling inwardly. In 'Roman Holiday', Audrey Hepburn starred as the runaway princess of a mythological kingdom who spends 24 hours touring Rome and falling in love with an American journalist. Buffy leaned back in the comfortable armchairs in the Royal cinema as Spike tried to get the movie running. This could be very interesting.
"Ah, here we go." Spike had managed to operate the projector and took a seat next to Buffy. The film started. "Paramount News brings you a special coverage of Princess Ann's visit to London, the first stop on her much publicized goodwill tour of European capitals. She gets a royal welcome from the British as thousands cheer the gracious young member of one of Europe's oldest ruling families. After three days of continuous activity and a visit to Buckingham Palace..."
"Wrong coat of arms," Spike murmured.
Buffy looked at him questioningly.
"The coat of arms isn't the one for the monarch. The Sovereign has got a slightly different coat of arms from those of the other members of the Royal family. The details shown here are those of the Prince of Wales. They got that wrong." While he was still speaking, Spike realized how dangerous it could be to play the know-all here. Why couldn't he just shut the bloody hell up?
Buffy nodded slowly. "You do know a lot about the royal family," she said ambiguously.
Spike put an arm around her shoulders. "Sorry, didn't mean to show off, pet," he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead. Buffy shuddered.

*

"Joe Bradley, American News Service."
"So happy, Mr. Bradley."
Audrey Hepburn as Princess Ann walked from the stage. Buffy wiped away a tear when Gregory Peck's character looked back at the empty stage where the princess last stood, then turned and walked away.
THE END.
By now, Spike was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
As the credits went by, he asked her cautiously: "Did you like it?"
Buffy gazed at him with a grave expression. "I think Princess Ann should have told Joe from the beginning."
Spike looked at her disbelievingly. "But he KNEW! He was the one who tried to take advantage of her, he just wants the Princess story, the exclusive!"
"That's not the point," Buffy insisted. "She had no idea he already knew about her identity, so it would have been her obligation to tell him the truth."
Spike slowly shook his head. "Maybe she just wanted to be a normal girl for a day. Do you think they would have had such a good time together if she had told him she was a princess?"
"Of course not!" Buffy burst out.
Spike tried to keep his voice from shaking. "So it would have been a very sad film."
"It IS a very sad movie!" Buffy disagreed passionately. "Their time together was an illusion, they couldn't possibly get together, could they?"
Spike cast his eyes down. "Not in the 1950s, no."
"And not even today!" Buffy told him, "And she wouldn't even have liked being a normal girl had she been trapped in a boring job without luxury and servants, having to worry if she'll be able to pay her rent every month! Her day in Rome was just a nice distraction before she goes back to her palace and her jewels!"
"She seemed to enjoy the simple life," Spike pointed out quietly, "Maybe she'd prefer that to her palace if she had a choice."
"You can't know that after 24 hours," Buffy disagreed. "She had no right to walk over other people's feelings like that!"
"She didn't mean to," Spike said defensively, "And Joe ain't no bloody angel! He could've said something as well, couldn't he? He knew who she was almost from the beginning!"
"Why do you think he didn't sell the story in the end? He was in love with her, and it was all hopeless!" Buffy talked herself more and more into rage, tears welling in her eyes. "He thought he might have found something, someone special, only to see that he's beneath her and she'll be forever out of reach! Now, how is that fair?"
"That's Hollywood," Spike replied helplessly.
"No, that's life!" Buffy jumped from the armchair, now openly crying, her face flushed.
Spike slowly rose. "Buffy..." he began, now very concerned.
"Did you at least enjoy it?" Buffy asked accusingly in a shrill and petulant voice.
Spike stood staring at her, petrified. "You're not talking about the bloody film any more."
"No," Buffy yelled, "I'm talking about my bloody life, Your Royal Highness!" She turned to walk away from him.
Spike grabbed her arm. "Buffy, please."
"Let go," Buffy warned him.
"We have to talk!"
Buffy quickly raised her other hand and slapped him, hard. "Hope you enjoyed shagging the servants, Your Majesty," she said icily, "'Cos you'll never get that close to me again."
He did not try to stop her as she stormed from the cinema.
Buffy ran down the corridor, blind with tears, never looking back.

TBC...

5

Spike had not slept well that night after what had happened between Buffy and he. He longed to talk to her and explain himself once again, yet the pretty housemaid avoided the corridors of Buckingham Palace like the plague all morning. Spike prepared himself for the ambassador's visit, but his mind was elsewhere.

He glanced down at the heap of torn rose petals at his feet and sighed. He had been so sure he could fix their little disagreement by getting Lady Roberta to send a dozen red roses to Buffy in his name. He trusted her to keep his secret. Well, she had. But Buffy had sent the roses back to him with a note:

Let me put this in a way I know you'll understand: Sod off!

This wasn't the way he would have handled this in his old life. He'd had girlfriend trouble before, but he did not normally send flowers. He used to walk on stage and make an announcement about the next song being for a very special girl, then looking straight at her, giving her a puppy dog look from soulful blue eyes. Then he would pick a romantic song, usually something the girls went for, and he had her melt. Makeup sex ensued. Not this time. Buffy was in a different league from all of his former girlfriends, and never had a row with one of them bothered him that much. And just as this happened, he had to be in this weird situation. If this was a taste of what his love life was going to look like as a King, he preferred to be a rock singer. And he'd always thought every girl wanted to be a queen!

He checked his appearance in the mirror and took a deep breath.

"Welcome, Ambassador," he rehearsed, "So happy to meet you at last. Hope you had a pleasant journey." He saw into his own eyes and felt panic rising. "Hope you haven't noticed what a poor excuse for a King I am."

*

"Oh no, no way!" Buffy protested when she was given her schedule. "I'm not gonna serve dinner at the ambassador's reception!"

Sir Rupert shrugged. "We cannot afford any mistakes during this dinner, Buffy, and given your vast catering experience, I simply cannot spare you."

Buffy shook her head, fuming with anger. "Catering experience, I was a waitress for one summer vacation, and I made burgers at Doublemeat Palace! I'm hardly qualified for carrying plates at a royal reception!"

Sir Rupert was unimpressed. "I cannot understand your righteous anger, Buffy. Most young female employees at Buckingham Palace would consider it an honour to get this close to their King."

Buffy blushed deeply. Her father had no idea how close exactly... "He's not MY King," she reminded him furiously, "I'm American!"

"I admire your patriotism," Sir Rupert replied sarcastically. "If you are done hanging the stars and stripes banners, I suggest you went straight to your work."

Buffy glared at him. "I'm not gonna play the servant for some spoiled brat pretending to be Prince Charming!"

Sir Rupert looked at her skeptically, but did not say anything further. It was probably his fault anyway that his daughter had such a negative picture of King William. After all, he had been the one talking about a catastrophe that might mean the end of the monarchy as they knew it...

"Dad, don't make me work at this dinner," Buffy pleaded. "I don't wanna be near the... King." Still the word came out wrong somehow.

Sir Rupert shook his head slowly. "Buffy, I don't know what your problem is. We’ve talked about this before, remember? When you started your work here, in the Palace, I specifically warned you that you would not receive any special treatment based solely on the fact that you’re my daughter." He sounded strict, and Buffy knew from a look at his face he was serious when he added: "Be there at six o'clock sharp - or else, you're fired."

Buffy's eyes widened. She knew her father was perfectly capable of turning his threats into realities. Thus, she nodded obediently and left, her blood boiling under the surface. But she did not go to her work right away. She hurried to her father's quarters and went straight to his bedroom, searching the nightstand. She did not have to look for long to find what she had known must be there. With a pleased little smile, Buffy slipped her father's pills into the pocket of her uniform. He wouldn't notice if they were missing, tonight he would definitely not need them.

*





As Buffy assumed her position among the other servants in the great dining hall, her heart was beating like a drum in her chest. She had to get through the evening. She joined the others in a long row at the side of the hall. The servants had to assume their positions near the buffet while the guests, mainly members of the Diplomatic Corps, formed two rows on each side of a long stretch of red carpet.

The Master of Ceremonies entered. "Ladies and gentlemen, His Majesty King William V. of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and Her Excellency Ambassador Woods of the Republic of Tokelau. Please stand for the National Anthem."

The three musicians began a tune Buffy had never heard before, slightly exotic, but nice. The door was opened, and Buffy held her breath. Spike was crossing the red carpet, accompanying an elegant woman in a long red dress. Buffy did not see her. Spike was walking in, looking dignified and graceful. He was wearing a dark uniform with golden ornaments and military decorations he had hastily been awarded in the morning, the colour of his eyes emphasized by a royal blue sash running from his left shoulder down to his waist. He was not smiling as he showed the ambassador to her place at the table, opposite to him.


He cast a brief look at the servants, noticing Buffy amongst them, trying to catch her eye. Buffy quickly glanced away. Only now she did let herself seize the opportunity to look at the visitor. The ambassador's dark skin was smooth, her hair cut short but still curly. Her dark eyes were huge and showed a kind and good-humoured nature. Her figure was lean but muscular, she moved with the grace of a great cat.

Buffy raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Did you know that the ambassador was a woman?" she whispered to her neighbour Sadie.

The other housemaid nodded. "Yeah, Ambassador Nikki Woods from Tokelau." She sighed. "And she gets to have dinner with Him!"

"And to discuss boring affairs of the state," Buffy added sourly.

"Yeah, I'd love to have an affair with him as well," Sadie said dreamily.

Buffy felt a pang of jealousy. Who does that girl think she is?

Spike waited until the anthem had subsided and Ambassador Woods had taken her seat. Only then did he sit down, the other guests following his example.

"It is an honour to have you here tonight, Your Excellency," he addressed her.

Nikki nodded. "I have had an agreeable day and I am looking forward to living in your beautiful country, Your Majesty."

Everyone looked at Spike. He cleared his voice. So what? Clearly he was expected to do something, but what? Why hadn't anyone told him what he was expected to say?

The servants exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Sadie went to the buffet and grabbed a piece of toast, waving it at Spike behind the ambassador's back.

"Oh, the toast!" he exclaimed with relief, reaching for his glass. Those guests and servants who had seen Sadie's efforts could hardly suppress a chuckle.

The servants hurried around the table to provide all guests with a drink.

"You're taking the upper right side of the table, I'll take the upper left," Sadie whispered to Buffy.

"No, I'm so not," Buffy disagreed. Spike's side was the upper left, and she did not intend to leave that one to Sadie. She pushed the other housemaid aside and reached for Spike's glass, filling it and slipping one of her father's blue rectangular-shaped pills into the glass, shaking it slowly for the pill to dissolve faster. She glanced around anxiously, but no one seemed to have noticed.

Spike looked at her. "Thank you," he said softly.

Buffy did not reply.

Spike rose from his chair, raising his glass. "To Ambassador Woods. May you feel at home in our country and may many joyful years ensue in your new office."

The guests drank to Nikki Woods's health.

Spike was nervous as hell. He emptied half his glass at the toast. His features tensed. That was awful! What did Buckingham Palace serve their guests, vinegar? Well, at least it was strong. He finished it off by drinking the rest of the champagne.

In the meantime, Buffy was filling up another glass, this time with wine, since he was done with the champagne, giving it the same treatment. Then, she proceeded to deliver it to him.

Buffy smirked. Now, that was gonna be interesting.. She did not have time to meditate upon what she had just done; she was hurried along by the other servants to fetch the soup. It smelled lovely, of cream and sea fruit. She put the soup bowl down in front of Spike without looking at him.

Spike took a spoon, only to see no one else did. He concluded that he was expected to open the dinner officially first. He hesitated. Then he shrugged. "Tuck in."

Sadie closed her eyes in shock. Buffy grinned. Yeah. That was eloquent!

Some of the members of the Diplomatic Corps coughed into their napkins to hide their laughter, the others exchanged mild smirks.

Whoops. Somethin' wrong there. Spike smiled at the ambassador apologetically. "I mean, I hope you'll enjoy your meal."

Nikki Woods smiled faintly. "I got that one. Thanks." As she took her spoon, Spike noticed with relief the other guests were starting as well. He relaxed a little and began to eat the soup. Buffy silently stepped to his side and refilled his glass. As the first course proceeded, he felt his skin warming. No wonder with the hot soup and the bloody candles. But there was no way a King could just take off his jacket during an official reception, was there? He decided to take his mind off the rising temperature by talking to the ambassador politely.

"How's the soup?" he asked.

The ambassador smiled politely. "Delicious, thank you."

"Our cook has picked specialties from your country to make you feel at home," he explained.

Nikki Woods nodded. "In my country, they say sea fruit is good for your sex life."

Spike almost choked on his soup. He stared at her with wide eyes. Hardly the kind of conversation one expected at a diplomatic reception.

The ambassador giggled, leaning slightly over the table. "Hey, where's the famous British sense of humor?"

The guests laughed politely, Spike only reluctantly joining them. He had been convinced joking was a no go at a reception. Luckily, Ambassador Woods seemed rather informal and not holier-than-thou like a good portion of the other guests. As she leaned over the table, Spike got a good look at her low neckline. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

Buffy smiled innocently as she brought the next course in. "Chicken breasts," she said in a low voice. She brushed against him lightly as she walked on to the next guest.

Spike grabbed his glass, almost knocking it over.

It was indeed getting hot in the room. Relax, he told himself, it's a bloody fact that men think of sex once in every twenty minutes.

He kept his mind on the conversation. "Has your family come to England with you, Madam Ambassador?"

"Sadly, no," she admitted, "I have a little son, Robin. He's still with his godfather, but I'll have him brought to England as soon as I find a good school for him. Maybe you could advise me there, Your Majesty. Which schools did you attend?" Ambassador Woods asked.

Spike concentrated on his plate, not looking straight at her. "Eton, and later on to Oxford, but also to several other boarding schools abroad."

"Really? My attaché went to Eton, maybe you've heard of him, Richard Willoughby III."

"I don't think so," Spike said, trying hard not to look up, slicing his chicken with a hint of cruelty.

"I'm amazed; his father was teaching English literature at Eton, you must have met him!"

Spike shook his head. "Maybe I was abroad at the time, yeah, that's possible."

Nikki eyed him suspiciously, then smiled again. "Since my dad was a diplomat as well, I've been to many expensive schools abroad, I'm so happy to have someone to exchange memories with at last! Where were you situated?"

Spike's mind was a rollercoaster. Think. There must be some country she can't have been to! "The university of Beijing," he suggested helplessly.

"Oh, what a pity, I haven't been there," Nikki Woods said with regret.

A lady's face further down the table lit up considerably. "Jì Rou Hen Haachì, Bushìma," she exclaimed happily.

Spike shook his head. Bloody hell!

"What do you think?" the ambassador asked curiously.

"On what?" Spike asked, puzzled.

"I said Jì Rou Hen Haachì, Bushìma," the lady down the table repeated. "Do you agree?"

All eyes were on Spike. He looked at the lady carefully. "I s'pose?"

Nikki Woods and the lady smiled at each other, exchanging two or three phrases in Chinese, before returning to their meals. "I totally agree with her too, the chicken's really lovely, isn't it?"

Spike nodded. That was close. Again! How was he supposed to know anyone at this table could speak Chinese? He could have slapped himself for not looking at his guests more closely, the lady did look Chinese. For some reason, he felt like ripping the woman's throat out. Then again, she was really cute. He wondered what she would look like naked. Was the heating on? He was glad when the course was over and the beef was carried in. He did not particularly like beef on mint sauce, but at least no one was going to test his language skills any more, and it kept his mind off these inexplicable thoughts of sex.

"So you had an agreeable day here, Madam Ambassador?" he asked again.

"Very much so," Nikki Woods replied, "Your polo instructor, Sir Riley, showed me around the stables. He's such a nice man, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Right," Spike grumbled.

"I enjoy riding, don't you, Your Majesty?" Nikki asked enthusiastically.

"I prefer swimming, thank you very much." Pictures flashed before Spike's mind of Buffy's gorgeous legs around his waist in the pool.

Buffy saw him shifting in his chair when she approached. His wine glass was empty... again, and by now he had to feel the effects of the pills she had slipped into his glass. She deliberately made her hips sway as she walked past him, and yes, she felt his eyes on her all the time.

Spike felt for his golden collar. Why was it so damn tight? He felt sweat breaking from his forehead. Maybe something was wrong with the food and he felt a fever from food poisoning? What a headline for tomorrow's 'Sun': "Rotten meat at Buckingham Palace - Diplomatic corps poisoned, King in bed with salmonella!" His gaze shifted towards Buffy. Maybe she'd take care of him when he was sick... He shook his head. What was wrong with him?

"Very British," Nikki Woods remarked as the plate was put before her, "Mint sauce! Just what you needed to freshen up after a long day!" She reached behind her neck, massaging her shoulder, then slowly ran her hand to the front again.

Spike caught himself admiring her soft dark skin, then reached for the wine, noticing it was empty. He gestured at the servants to refill.

Buffy was at his side immediately. She noticed his squirming in his seat, his staring gaze, and smiled inwardly. She brought the bottle down and let it slip from her grip on purpose. The bottle fell down on Spike's lap, spilling the wine all over him.

Nikki Woods and Spike's neighbours "Awww"ed.

Buffy's expression was one of a very well faked shock. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Your Majesty!" she hurried to say, picking up the bottle, "I don't know how that could happen to me, I'm SO SORRY! I'll get something to clean that up."

Spike could not believe it. Had she dropped the bottle on purpose? No, she wouldn't go that far just to embarrass him in front of his guests.

Buffy took a large piece of cloth from somewhere, dipped it into Spike's glass of water and began to dub it over the wine spills on his pants.

"That's --- That's ok," he stumbled, "I'm fine, you don't have to..."

"I insist!" Buffy said, kneeling on the floor at his feet so he got a good view of her breasts, as she began to move the cloth over his lap.

"Please," Spike began, his hands closing around Buffy's wrists, "No big deal."

Buffy felt his cock twitching under her hands. "Oh, I think it is," she said, consciously moistening her lips with her tongue. "Let me take care of that. You don't want it to stain, do you?"

Spike thought he would burst when Buffy ran her little pink tongue over her lips, while she kept stroking his almost painful erection with her hands, pretending to clean up the wine with the cloth. He tried to keep his face straight. Part of him did not care about the guests, part of him just did not want her to stop touching him even if it meant erupting in front of the assembled Diplomatic Corps and the Ambassador of Tokelau. It took him an enormous effort of will to push her away. "I believe this is enough, Miss Summers, thank you," he said with determination.

Buffy looked at him with a blank expression. "Always glad to help you out, Your Majesty."

Nikki Woods smirked. She had no idea what was going on between the young King and this extremely pretty housemaid, but she bet he would be running to take a royal cold shower right after the reception. His face was priceless.

Spike coloured deeply as he felt the ambassador's eyes on him. "Shall we have dessert now?" he suggested.

"I'd love to," Ambassador Woods agreed.

The servants brought a beautiful creation of Belgian waffles on vanilla ice-cream and whipped cream, decorated with chocolate and huge bananas.

Spike stared at the bananas as if they were about to attack him.

Nikki Woods had been a trained diplomat for some years now, but she could not hold back any longer. She laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" Spike asked angrily.

Nikki wiped away a tear, still giggling. "Oh, Your Majesty," she gasped, "You're killing me!"

*

Spike let the cold water caress his sweating body. He was positive something had been wrong about his wine; he had tried a sip from another glass before he had left. And it had tasted much sweeter. It wasn't just that Buffy had tried to demean him in front of his guests and the evening had been a disaster. She had done something to him. Why else would he feel so damn horny? The water began to clear his mind. "We can't go on like this, Buffy," he told himself.

*

Buffy was pleased with the way the evening had passed. She had seldom seen Spike so self-conscious, and she bet he was having a very cold shower right now. She followed the servants as they filed out after the dinner, heading for the kitchen to have dinner themselves, hoping there might be some of that delicious dessert left for them.

"Miss Buffy Summers?" she was suddenly addressed from behind.

"Yeah?" She turned around.

A soldier of the Royal Guard stood in front of her. "I have to ask you to follow me," he said matter-of-factly.

"A true romantic, huh?" Buffy asked, kidding.

He did not seem to have a sense of humour. "Please, don't make this harder, Miss Summers. You would not want me to make you follow."

Buffy looked at him, puzzled. "Is this a joke?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Buffy shrugged, a little uneasy. "Where are we going?"

"I am not authorized to talk to you about the nature of our destination. Royal order."

"Oh." Buffy nodded. The soldier seemed very serious. Spike probably wanted to see her about the dinner incident. Was he gonna fire her? Buffy was deep in thought as she followed the soldier through the corridors.

"The King's study is that way," she pointed out.

"We are not going there," the guard said curtly.

Now Buffy was very confused. He led her through the doors out through the park of Buckingham Palace, now completely in darkness, to the parking lot. Buffy was shivering. It was a still cool spring night, and she wore nothing but her uniform. "Can I get a cardigan, I'm freezing," she said.

The guard shook his head. "You won't need it, it is just a short distance to walk."

A black van, decorated with a tiny Royal Coat of Arms, was waiting in the parking lot, guarded by three more soldiers. She noticed them exchanging pitiful looks. The soldier shoved the back door open. "Oh no," Buffy refused, "I'm not getting into this van without knowing where we are headed! This looks like a kidnapping!"

"You have nothing to dread. From us," the soldier assured her. Buffy did not like the pause between the two phrases. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "This is ridiculous. Tell the King he knows where to find me if he wants to..."

The soldiers blocked her way as she was trying to back away.

"Get into the van," another guard told her roughly. He grabbed her arm and pushed her inside, then closed the door behind her.

The driver started the engine.

"Great," Buffy murmured, tugging at the door. But she saw immediately it had been child-proofed and was only to be opened from the outside. There were no back windows, and a tinted screen separated her from the driver. She would have to sit back and wait where they were going. An alarming thought crossed her mind. Was Spike having her taken right to the police? What she had done could well be considered bodily injury, could be regarded as a crime and punished as such. Buffy began to panic. Maybe they would give her a sentence, or send her back to the US, never allowing her into the country again? Nonsense, she tried to calm herself. Nobody's sent to jail for spicing someone else's drink with Viagra (TM). She tried to distinguish the road through the windscreen, but it was too dark for her to see anything. She thought about what she had done and had to admit she had overreacted. She had sent back his flowers, not giving him a chance to explain himself. He was mad at her. Had to be. But, Lord, he had looked hot in that uniform!

Buffy hugged herself in the backseat. The car wasn't heated, and it was a very chilly evening. She was shivering. What would she say if the police questioned her? "Yes, officer, I put something in his drink because he didn't tell me he was the King before we fucked"? Yeah, that would definitely excuse anything! She imagined her father's face, how he was shaking his head in shock. How could you do this, Buffy? Your mother and I are very disappointed in you. And, no, we're not paying for a lawyer, this experience will shape your character.

"Stupid Buffy," she murmured. How could he have her taken to the police without giving her a chance to explain she had only done this because she was hurt? Why did she have to push him over the edge by spilling the wine and deliberately turning him on? It had seemed so good an idea then! Maybe she was worrying for no reason at all. Maybe they were kidnapping her furtively to take her to an especially romantic setting where he would wait for her, telling her how much he missed her and how wrong he had been? Maybe he would even sing her a romantic song, with ensuing makeup sex? Yeah, and maybe elephants would learn how to fly.

After what seemed an eternity, the van stopped. The driver did not descend, but the door to the van was opened from the outside.

Buffy got from the van. "I know this place, I've been there before!" she exclaimed immediately, then she saw where they were. This was Tower Hill, and they were standing right at the main gate where cars were not normally permitted. London's most impressive former prison towered above them, with a thousand years of history as royal prison, scaffold and palace. Her father had taken her on a tour of the Tower when she was a little girl to show her the crown jewels. The huge building now looked nothing like the romanticized medieval castle it had seemed on that bright and sunny summer's day back then. It reached far into the night sky, dismal and threatening, uncanny and hostile, endless walls of crude stone blocking her way, reducing her to a small and unimportant creature next to the dark sublimity of the place. Fascinating and deadly, a fortress against all those threatening Britain and the crown. And again, there were soldiers, with dark grey coats and very grave expressions. Hardly a romantic setting. So much for the song theory. Buffy sighed.

"Follow us," one of them said, unlocking the main gate to the Tower.

"We can't enter there," Buffy knew, "The Tower's locked every evening for the night, my dad and I went to see the Ceremony of the Keys when I was in grade school, during my summer vacation!"

"Tonight is an exception. Royal Order," the guard said coldly. "Now, Enter."

Buffy hesitated. "Are you not coming?"

He shook his head. "We're not allowed to. Someone's gonna pick you up inside."

Buffy walked through the gate with slow and hesitant steps. Winds were howling, she was really trembling from the cold now, so close to the water and out in the open. The gate crushed closed behind her. A narrow path led from the main entrance down to a complex of buildings and a second gate, formerly the entrance from the riverside facing the much younger Tower Bridge which had only just seen its first century of London history, brightly lit against the dark clouds, but now blocked from Buffy's sight by the sinister walls closing her in.

"Buffy Summers," someone said.

Buffy turned around to see a man in his fourties waiting for her. He was wearing the typical uniform of the Tower guard, the Yeoman Warders. The uniform was different from the way she remembered it, maybe because the former Queen's initials E II R on the Warder's chest she knew from her childhood had been replaced by a W V R, William V Rex, King William V. "Let me guess," she said, "I'm to follow you."

"That's right," the Warder said lightly, "My name's Paul. Normally I'm showing tourists about the Tower."

"But not tonight," Buffy noticed.

"Not tonight," Paul confirmed as he was walking beside Buffy, towards the famous Bloody Tower and then right through the gate. "Did you know you entered through the very gate where Anne Boleyn arrived once upon a time?"

Buffy forced herself to smile. "Really." She looked at Paul's blank expression for a moment, then she shrugged and followed him on. "It's cold, do we have far to walk?"

"Not far," Paul assured her. "Sorry I haven't got a jacket to offer, you should've brought a cardigan."

"Thanks, never thought of that," Buffy said sarcastically.

They were surrounded by darkness. No street lamps, just faint moonlight and the howling of the wind. Buffy began to understand why people believed in ghosts here. The Tower really did spur the imagination. She swore she saw movement behind one of the upper windows. Maybe the two dead princes, haunting the Bloody Tower for all eternity?

"Scared?" Paul asked.

"Nah!" Buffy refused, laughing nervously. Then she looked at Paul's uniform more closely. "Isn't there another uniform that you normally wear?" she asked, puzzled.

"You're right," Paul confirmed, "We get to wear this uniform only for special occasions, such as royal birthdays, coronations, executions...!"

Buffy felt a chill running down her spine. "But there are no executions nowadays any more, are there? You're just telling people that to scare tourists' kids, right?"

Paul did not reply. He just started to whistle a tune as they were walking up a hill and up some steep stairs. "Do you see that block of granite over there?" he asked.

Buffy followed his outstretched arm and nodded. "Yeah?"

"That's the scaffold where Anne Boleyn lost her head," he added helpfully.

"Oh." Buffy felt very cold now.

Paul turned left before the scaffold, making sure Buffy got a good look at the block of granite and the memorial plate next to it. "They say the severed head was still praying for some minutes. Witchcraft. Did you know the head sometimes didn't come off at first stroke?"

Buffy looked away and walked quickly on. They were heading for another tower. "It occasionally took three blows, one to stun you, one to kill you, and one to sever your head."

"Very... informative," Buffy replied. This guy definitely had an obsession with decapitation.

Paul unlocked the door to the Beauchamp Tower.

"This is where many prisoners were kept before their executions," he told her. "Come on in."

Buffy eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

Paul rolled his eyes. "Women! You don't want to keep the King waiting, do you?"

"So... no police, then?"

Paul laughed outright. "What do you think this is, a police station?"

Buffy relaxed a little. She entered the tower. Paul locked the door behind them and removed a restrictive rope keeping the tourists from the darker part of Beauchamp tower where they were headed. "This way, up the stairs," he said.

Buffy climbed the stairs in pitch dark, trying not to stumble, which was hard because the steps were not all equal. At the end of the staircase, there was a wooden door. Paul, contrary to Buffy, wasn't out of breath in the least. He unlocked the door and pushed Buffy inside.

She lacked orientation for a moment and had to close her eyes because, other than the staircase, this room was brightly lit. When she had become used to the brightness, she staggered backwards in fear. Instruments of torture were hanging from the walls, the centerpiece of the room being an executioner's blade with matching block.

Paul started whistling again as he took heavy iron chains from the wall, fastening them firmly around Buffy's wrists.

"Okay, you win, now I'm scared," Buffy said, trying to keep her voice steady, "Tell Spike he's had his fun, you can stop this charade now."

Paul looked at her, almost pitying her. "You didn't think you could try to poison the British King and get away with it, did you? In this country, we call this treason."

"You said there wasn't going to be any police," she reminded him.

"Yeah, well, there won't. We usually deal with traitors ourselves." Paul smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Buffy. I'd say drop in some time again, but... sadly..." He shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Buffy shrieked, her voice suddenly shrill. "I'm a US citizen, you can't..."

"You're also a British Sir's daughter. You ought to have known better. Well, but Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard didn't have a clue either!"

Buffy was about to give a sharp reply when Spike's sudden entry silenced her. He entered the room through the same staircase and door Buffy and Paul had come. He was dressed in that gorgeous uniform again, only that the sash was blood red instead of royal blue now.

"Thank you, Paul," he said in a low and dangerous voice.

Paul bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Spike, I was just saying..." Buffy began.

"Shut up," Spike said quietly, "I don't want to hear it. And for you, Buffy, it's Your Majesty."

Buffy's eyes widened. She was about to argue when she caught the cold gaze from his steel blue eyes. What she saw there was murderous rage.

She felt Paul's hand on her shoulder. "Kneel before your King," he said quietly.

"Duh, I'm American, I'm not...!" She felt Paul's hands press her down to the cold floor.

"You're accused of treason against the crown and attempted poisoning of the King," Paul told her, "How do you plead?"

"This is ridiculous," Buffy said.

"How. Do. You. Plead." Spike said in a loud and clear voice, looking down on her.

"Not guilty," Buffy whispered. "I want a lawyer."

"You never learn. How regrettable," Spike said, every word a threat.

Buffy looked at him helplessly. "I want a lawyer, please?" she tried. She attempted to find some hint in Spike's eyes indicating he was not completely serious, but to her horror she found none. "You don't expect me to believe you'll have me executed for spicing your drink with Viagra (TM), do you?" she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

"So you admit your crime against the crown?" Spike asked.

"Yes, I mean, no!" Buffy said, confused, tired, and chilled to the bone.

Spike shook his head and sighed dramatically. "Buffy Anne Summers, you have been found guilty of the charges brought against you and will be punished accordingly."

"I'm a US citizen," Buffy said in a trembling voice, "This isn't a trial, but a crime against a US citizen."

Spike nodded at Paul.

Paul took a black scarf from his uniform pocket and began to blindfold Buffy with it. As her hands were cuffed, she had no way of preventing him. "Anne, huh?" Paul asked while he was making sure she could not see any more. "Yeah, it's true: history's always repeating itself!"

Due to the blindfold, Buffy could not see Spike winking at Paul before the Warder left the chamber. She was in the dark again, cuffed and blindfolded, kneeling on a cold stone floor, and, for all she knew, with a lunatic who wasn't only King, but also enjoyed diplomatic immunity.

He's gonna kill me, she thought desperately.

Spike felt thrilled at the sight. Her hardened nipples were showing clearly through the thin fabric of her uniform as she was kneeling on the floor, trembling, if from the cold or from fear he couldn't tell.

Buffy listened for any sound in the silence, but in vain. So she remained where she was, on the floor, waiting anxiously for his next move.

TBC...

The tables turned

Buffy was waiting. She heard something heavy being moved around the room. She did not know for how long she had been kneeling there, blindfolded, with her hands chained to her back, listening for every sound, when he suddenly spoke.
"Bend forward, Buffy," Spike said quietly, "Put your head on the block in front of you."
"Spike, please. We can talk about this," Buffy replied in a small voice.
"You should have come and talked to me this morning," Spike said coldly, "I'm done talking."
Buffy shook her head violently. "No! It's not too late! You don't have to do this. I know, deep inside you don't want to."
He sighed, sounding impatient and irritated. "You heard me. You don't want me to repeat myself."
Startled, Buffy obeyed. She realized Spike had been moving the heavy block of granite into the middle of the room where she was kneeling. Hesitantly, she laid her head on the block. Images flashed before her mind, of the scaffold down on the green, and the giant blade she had seen on entering the room. Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard didn't have a clue either...History's repeating itself... "Oh, God," she whimpered.
"Are you scared?" he asked, his voice low and softer than satin.
"Of course I'm scared," Buffy whispered, "Please, Spike, let me go, I won't tell anyone, I promise! I'll be off Buckingham Palace and out of the country by tomorrow morning!"
He ran his hand through her hair. "I'm afraid it's too late for that, luv."
She heard him walk around the block behind her, heard something heavy and metallic being dragged over the stone floor. The blade! She thought, panicking. He's dragging the blade behind me to make it easier for him to wield it. Paul's voice rang in her mind. It occasionally took three blows, one to stun you, one to kill you, and one to sever your head. It was too much for Buffy. She thought she would faint any minute, but she didn't, was condemned to go through this consciously. Her body shook with silent sobs.
"Any last words?" Spike asked from behind her.
Buffy's blindfold was wet with tears. Spike waited for her to regain her speech. She could not say any more and prepared herself for the blade, deadly blows raining down on her, while the lips of her severed head would still be moving... Her voice was barely audible when she said: "Make it quick."
There was a deadly silence in the room. Nothing stirred but the cool breeze of the night. Then Buffy felt the warmth of his body next to hers, Spike's hot lips on her body, his hands pushing her skirt up to her waist and removing her thong, stroking her, caressing her flesh, breathing silently on her skin.
Buffy began to laugh, almost hysterically. "You're not killing me, are you?" Even more tears were streaming from her eyes as realization hit her; she was safe and with that all her tension subsided.
"I didn't say that," Spike warned her playfully.
Buffy writhed in order to turn around to him, but his hands pressed her back down.
"Lie still," he said, his fingers assaulting her clit. Buffy gasped.
"You're not gonna untie me either or let me see your face, I guess?" she asked, her voice rough and shaking, her emotions in turmoil somewhere between fury, relief and arousal.
She almost heard the smirk in his reply. "No buggering way."
Buffy desperately wanted to see his eyes, wanted to talk everything over, make up properly, apologizing and accepting his apology, but she knew it was futile to ask him for that kind of conversation now. This was about power, everything symbolic, the Tower, the block she was lying on, the chains that held her hands in place. He was going to make her pay for what she had done, and all she could do was play along nicely.
Spike increased his pressure on her tiny pearl, painfully slowly. She shifted, tried to gyrate her hips to make herself more comfortable and get herself in a position in which she would be able to endure his attentions for longer, but he did not let her, forcing her back to where she was. "You said you wanted it quick," he reminded her, his fingers moving faster. Buffy felt waves of passion rolling over her, carrying her away, her body tensing up. Her blood was coursing through her veins at top speed.
"That may have been a bit rash," Buffy admitted, her breath going quicker with the minute, telling Spike how close she was. Good. This was as close as she was going to get for the moment.
"Do you have a last wish?" he rasped, close to her ear.
Buffy turned her head to kiss him, but he had backed away quickly, just before her lips found his, silent laughter ringing in her ears. She shifted over his hand, trying by herself to increase the pressure to get off, but Spike pulled away.
"I can't hear you," he said loudly. "Tell me what you want."
"You, Spike," Buffy replied.
Spike ran his hand over her inner thighs, carefully avoiding giving her any kind of release. "We had agreed on something," he informed her in a strict tone.
Buffy understood. "You, Your Majesty," she suggested.
Spike rewarded her by increasing the pressure for a short moment. "That's better," he praised.
"Much better," she agreed in no more than a whisper.
"Are you close, Buffy?" he inquired, though he already knew the answer.
"Very close," she confirmed.
"I like the sound of that," he said silkily and backed away. Buffy wailed her protest. Without a word of explanation, he rose and walked toward a window, opening it and letting in the cool night air. Buffy shivered at the sudden cold. She heard the sound of a lighter being switched on, then smelled the distinct odour of a cigarette. He was smoking? Now?
Spike inhaled the smoke and sighed. "Oh, finally! Bloody hell this feels good. Pfft, role model, my ass!"
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "You're not smoking now. You can't."
Spike shrugged. "I'm the King. I assure you, I can."
Buffy felt uncomfortable, needy, wet, and cold. She knew smoking a cigarette took about ten minutes! He couldn't leave her like this for ten minutes! She cleared her voice. "I'm still here."
"I know." He nodded, watching her, trying his best not to laugh at her desperate expression and her attempts to rub her thighs against each other for comfort.
"You're not comin'. Right?" Buffy asked, the sudden reality of her situation hitting her hard.
Spike blew out a cloud of smoke. "The way I see it, you're not comin'."
Buffy coughed deliberately. "That stuff's gonna kill you, you know?"
He chuckled. "You're cute when you're mad."
"I'm not mad," Buffy insisted immediately.
"No," Spike replied with a small smile, "You're horny."
"No, I'm so not," Buffy hurried to say.
"Good for you, 'cos I feel like two cigarettes tonight," Spike informed her and almost laughed when Buffy moaned at his revelation. For a moment she considered to ask him to close the window, then realized she would be stuck in a room without any fresh air. Given that she was likely to do some more heavy breathing, that wouldn't be the brightest idea. Thus she just waited. After what seemed an eternity, she heard the click of the lighter once more. Just ten more minutes. She just had to hold on for ten more minutes. Buffy tried to keep her mind elsewhere, thinking of her tasks for tomorrow, her college application, and yet she kept coming back to Spike's image in his uniform at the dinner table.
She tensed immediately as she heard his steps. Her heart was beating wildly as he bowed down and rattled her chains. She heard a key click in a hole, and to her relief she could move her hands again. Her wrists hurt badly, but that didn't matter right now. "Finally!" she said happily and went to remove the blindfold.
Spike stopped her. "Not yet." He clasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Although Buffy's knees were still shaking, she managed to stand.
She heard Spike walking around her in a circle, like a predator contemplating his prey. "Would you do something for me, luv?" he asked in a low voice which would have made her promise him anything.
"Of course," she agreed, trying to sound casual, wondering what he might ask of her.
He stood behind her, close, but not touching her. "Would you undress?"
Buffy nodded silently. Her hands were trembling a little, so it took her a moment to follow his instruction. She unbuttoned her black housemaid's uniform dress slowly, feeling his breath at the back of her neck going faster with every inch of flesh she revealed to his gaze. She desperately wished she wasn't blindfolded, so she could see him and the expression in his eyes, for she wanted to lock her gaze with his as she came. But there was no way she could dictate this game's rules, for it had been his game from the beginning. It dawned on Buffy she had had her game and her fun earlier that evening. She let her dress slide down her body, standing in the middle of a cold room full of torture devices, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
"And..." Spike pressed his body against hers so she could feel the heavy fabric of his uniform against her bare skin as he kissed the hollow of her throat and ran his fingertips over the lines of her face. Buffy smelled cold smoke on his hands. He was so not the shiny example of a King... and he was driving her crazy. Spike ran his hands down her neck and breasts, then with a feathery touch, moved his hands to her back where he skillfully unclasped her bra and let it fall to the ground with the rest of her clothes. Then he resumed his task by circling her aureoles with his fingers. She leaned into him, listening to his voice. "And would you..." His touch sent an electric pulse throughout her body when his left hand slid down between her legs, exploring her inner folds, meanwhile, his right hand went on searching for something in his uniform pocket "... let me use a little toy?"
Buffy wasn't sure where this was going, but she didn't particularly mind trying something new. Besides, her ability to think clearly was disturbed by the moisture between her legs and the throbbing of her clit. "Oh... okay," she whispered.
He parted her lips with his thumb and index finger, then she felt something cold and metallic being shoved inside of her. Her inner muscles contracted around it, and once more she was near the edge, shifting in his arms, her skin burning with the approaching peak. She felt his fingers adjusting the item, moving it into the right position. She was certain that if he brushed against her clit just one more time, she would come so hard she would definitely not be able to continue standing.
"Careful," he warned her in a dangerous tone, "If you come without my permission, it's all over."
Buffy was tempted to laugh. Without my permission! The nerve… "Not much I can do about it," she said lightly, her voice heavy with desire, "It'll be your entire fault, now won't it."
"I'm serious, Buffy," he said, an open threat and a kind of sadness in his tone that made him sound like a true King punishing a traitor. Buffy wondered what he meant by 'it's all over'. Was he really planning on breaking up with her if she climaxed before he saw fit? Or was this just another game? She was not planning on finding that out and with a heavy resolution she forced to get a grip on herself before she got too carried away.
"Remember," Spike admonished her once more, his hand at the bottom of the tiny vibrator inside of her, "Whatever you do, don't come before I tell you."
"Yeah. Right." Buffy said with more than just a hint of sarcasm. She knew all about faking an orgasm - she'd had plenty of time to practice with her last loser of a boyfriend, Parker -, but no one ever told you how to fake not having one.
"Ready?" Spike asked her.
Buffy was puzzled. "For what?"
An instant later, she knew. He pressed a button of the vibrator, and it started humming and throbbing inside of her, only on the first level and not very intense, but enough for it to drive her out of her mind with all the stimulation she had got before. Instinctively, Buffy pressed her thighs together in order not to drop it, which did not ease things out for her. A funny thought crossed her mind. If she was getting too wet, would the batteries have the same effect on her as a hairdryer in a tub? Hell, what was she thinking? She wanted to come! Buffy shifted uncomfortably, trying to get used to the heat in her loins, focusing on the 'it's all over' part of Spike's little lecture, which was like having sex under a cold shower.
He ran his hands through her hair. "Sure you still want to do something for me?"
Buffy meant to reply something, but she just managed an incoherent "Uh-huh".
"I want you to do something I know you must be good at."
The tension in Buffy's muscles was almost too much to bear, she could already feel her mind leaving her body and the famous fireworks approaching. She couldn't. She mustn't.
Spike was watching her struggle for a moment, then decided to take the next step. "Go down on your knees, Buffy," he asked her.
Buffy wasn't keen on kneeling again on the hard cold stones, and it wasn't too easy to kneel down without losing what he had put inside of her, but she was relieved at his request. A BJ wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and she'd wanted to do this from the moment she had first seen him naked. So she wasn't surprised when she heard him walking in front of her. He bent down to kiss her, then stood before her and said: "Open your mouth, pet. I'm going to put something inside, it's about seven inches long."
Buffy obeyed - strange, she could have sworn he was more like nine or ten inches - and prepared herself to deep throat him.
Something was put in her mouth, yet it wasn't what she had expected. It felt like plastic, it was very thin, and there was something... furry in her mouth? Buffy ran her tongue over it to examine it more closely.
Spike loved her puzzled expression. It was priceless.
Buffy frowned, then took it from her mouth. "A seven inch toothbrush?" she asked, a little annoyed. She realized it was even her own toothbrush. Someone had to have fetched it from Buckingham Palace. "Are you trying to tell me I have a bad breath?"
He chuckled. "It's not for brushing your teeth, what were you thinking, luv?"
Buffy had never heard of a toothbrush used as a sex toy. What was the point of this?
Spike gently removed her blindfold.
Buffy blinked at the sudden brightness of the room and had to close her eyes again for a long moment. When her eyes had adapted to the light, the scenery around her seemed even more confusing. She was kneeling on the floor, her own toothbrush in her hand, in front of a bucket with water and a bottle of detergent.
Spike smiled at her with a smug expression. "The Yeoman Warders are very reliable as soldiers, but this place isn't very clean, don't you agree? Look at the floor. If you were wearing your dress now, it would be all dusty."
Buffy stared at him, her voice not quite as steady as she had hoped with the throbbing vibrator between her folds, "You want me to... clean the floor??? Here? Now? With my own toothbrush???"
Spike nodded. "Exactly. You're my housemaid, aren't you? It's your job!"
Buffy looked around the room. It wasn't too big, but cleaning the floor just with a toothbrush would take an eternity. Buffy squirmed as the vibrator's throbbing seemed to be getting more intense. She noticed Spike's hand moving in his uniform pocket. Did the bastard have a remote control in there? His eyes were on her all the time, looking her up and down, resting on her breasts and cunt for longer than would have been necessary. This wasn't helping. No, it wasn't helping at all.
"This is gonna take forever," Buffy complained, aiming at his mercy, playing little girl lost as she cast him a pleading look. "I'm not sure I can... last... that long."
Spike shrugged. "The sooner you start, Buffy, the sooner the job will be done."
Buffy pushed her hair back with her hand, baring her neck in a submissive gesture. Then she cast him a seductive look from hooded eyes. "Don't you think we can negotiate... about another kind of... job?"
It took Spike an effort of will to keep his face straight. That little vixen was playing the temptress now. He felt the bulge in his uniform pants and was dead sure she could see it, but he resisted the temptation to jump her and lit up another cigarette instead. "Not a chance, pet."
He felt for the remote in his pocket and pressed another button.
Buffy shrieked, her body shaking.
He showed a little mercy and turned it down a bit.
She had got the warning. With a heavy heart and sighing deeply, Buffy dipped the toothbrush into the water.

*

The window sill was covered with a thin layer of ashes, and the remains of six more cigarettes were scattered not very decoratively about it when Buffy put the toothbrush aside. She had reached the other side of the room, the opposite wall, the door. Her toothbrush was black, her face flushed, her knees sore. Her blonde hair was ruffled and hanging loosely into her face, sticking to her sweaty body. Her back hurt and made her feel twenty years older. If it hadn't been for the numbness and aching need in her privates, she would not have been sure she was still alive.
She glared at Spike, who was now sitting on the block of granite, looking slightly bored. "Are you happy now?" she asked between gritted teeth.
Spike extended his hand. "Come."
Buffy rose from the floor with an effort. She shook her head. "No. I'm not taking any more orders from you. I've had enough games for tonight, Spike." As she saw his hand moving towards the pocket, she quickly reached between her legs and removed the vibrator, which now lay throbbing in her hand. "Y'know," she said thoughtfully, regarding it for a while, "I've wanted to do this for at least an hour!" With this, she cast it down to the stone floor forcefully.
Oddly, the thing wouldn't break. It was built for damage apparently. Buffy walked stiffly to the part of the room where her uniform was lying discarded on the floor, picking it up and trying to smother the crumpled fabric. "I've made a mistake, yes," she said, hurt and frustration in her voice, "But that doesn't give you the right to demeaning me and playing the King, thank you very much!"
His voice cut the silence that followed like a knife. "You didn't listen, Buffy," he said, his gaze locking with hers. "I told you to come."
Her head flew around, she was staring at him. She wouldn't give in. She wouldn't fall victim to those eyes. She wouldn’t let him win. Then, why was she walking towards him?
He pulled her close and kissed her, clasping her so hard she was sure to be bruised in the morning. He regarded her with an amused smile when she straddled him and began to undo his pants. She pushed them down with resolve and positioned herself on top of him. Her mound brushed against him as she struggled to remove his uniform jacket and shirt, tossing them aside leisurely, the metallic military decorations clattering to the floor. His skin was almost white in the bright ceiling lights. Spike thrust into her without hesitation. It was all it took for Buffy. She was leaving her body, hovering above the two of them, convulsing and exploding around him, screaming in a voice sounding so strangely deep she could not quite believe it to be her own, her fingernails digging bloody furrows into his white skin. Spike watched her in awe, not even noticing the blood and the stinging of his skin. Her hot breath in his face made him shiver as he pounded into her, desperately trying to make her scream some more. Her closed eyes and fluttering eyelids, the smell of her, though or maybe because she was sweating, made him want to do things to her one could not talk about in polite company. Her inner muscles clenched around him and squeezed him so hard he had to think of polo and Sir Riley naked [No going there...] to keep control.
"Thought you weren't taking any more orders," he gasped.
"I'm making an exception," Buffy replied as her trembling subsided.
"Lucky me," he commented ironically and slid from the block of granite, laying Buffy onto the floor without slowing his rhythm.
"Is that your best, Your Majesty?" Buffy asked, coming down, but still panting.
"No," Spike replied, changing pace to deeper, almost painfully slow thrusts.
Buffy's back was sore and full of scratches caused by the sharp edges of the stones, yet she felt tension building again. Suddenly Spike pulled out of her and flipped her onto her stomach. Buffy let out a small moan as her breasts hit the hard stone floor. He positioned her on her knees and spread her thighs apart. She stifled a scream when he thrust into her from behind at a breathtaking pace.
Buffy giggled as pleasure flooded over her. "And Sir Riley says you can't ride!"
Spike pulled her closer so she would feel each of his movements. "So, does he?," Spike replied sourly, going much harder and much faster than before.
"Take... it... slow... How... long... are you gonna last...if you rush in... like this?" Buffy gasped, beginning to marvel at his constitution. Then she remembered what had got her into the Tower in the first place. If the pills could make something go on in the basement for her old dad, what effect did they have on a younger man?
There was an edge to his tone when he replied: "The full game..." He thrust with full force, his hand went to her clit providing extra torture, "...is 8 chukkas..."
"Eight... what?" Buffy screamed, unprepared for the sudden attack.
She couldn't see his face, but practically heard the bitter laughter in his voice. "Rounds, Buffy." His index finger circled around her clit, while his other arm held her firmly in place. "Each chukka is timed to last 7 minutes," he whispered to her, still increasing his speed. Her hair was falling over her shoulders and showed her bare neck. "Then a bell is rung, but the game goes on..." He couldn't resist. He bit her neck playfully. Buffy went off like a firecracker as another orgasm held her firmly in its grip. Spike was watching her and continued to please her until she was completely spent, then added gently, "...until the ball goes out of play." He pulled out of her, reaching behind the block of granite where a fire blanket had been stored, unfolding it and spreading it on the floor. Buffy lay down on it, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes, exhausted but blissful.
Until she felt Spike's tongue laving her breasts. Her eyelids fluttered open.
He grinned. "Or for another 30 seconds when the bell is rung again, the chukka ends where the ball is." His caress was gentle, yet he left no doubt this wasn't the aftermath, but merely foreplay. Buffy heard a strange noise. As she turned her head, she saw the vibrator still humming dutifully on the floor since no one had taken the time to turn the thing off. Spike followed her gaze and rose to get it, then started cleaning it carefully.
"Give me a break," Buffy pleaded.
He lay back down next to her. "Wanna try again? Once more with feelin'?"
Buffy moaned. This was all her fault! The pills were to blame for his endurance, his nerve endings had to be practically dead!
As if he was reading her mind, Spike added: "Thanks to you, luv, I can go all night."
Buffy thought of how long they might be at the Tower already. "What time is it?" she asked quietly.
Spike looked to the window where a pale moon had made its way through the clouds. "I guess about three more hours till sunrise. He sighed. "I'm sorry we haven't got longer. Just not enough time to do everything to you that is prohibited in this country. But I can still try."
Buffy smiled. "God save the King."

*

The driver of the royal limo was too discreet to wonder what was going on in the backseat behind the tinted window pane separating the driver from his royal employer. He turned on the radio, but he still heard the sounds, the sighs and stifled screams behind his back. The sun was already rising as he drove back from the Tower towards Buckingham Palace, and he could see the silhouettes through the rearview mirror, in the backseat, in an unnatural position, arching against the seat, strangely bucking their hips. He was beginning to understand why that Beefeater Paul had been so quick to disappear after his watch below Beauchamp Tower all night, murmuring something about having to "run home to Maria" and "heads will roll". Strange guys, those Tower guards.
He almost lost control of the steering wheel when a groan escaping from a male voice was so loud it drowned the BBC news on the radio. "BLOODY HELL, BUFFY!!!!!!!!!"
The driver was startled, then shook his head to get image building in his mind out, and drove faster.

*

"What do you mean, he's gone?" Sir Rupert shouted.
"When I went to wake His Majesty, I found the room empty," the Chamberlain apologized, "I have no idea where he went. I suppose he might have gone for a walk."
"A walk," Sir Rupert snorted, "He's got an appointment in Whitechapel in twenty minutes!"
"I'm so sorry..." the Chamberlain began once more.
"You're so fired," Sir Rupert snapped.

*

Spike and Buffy sneaked into Buckingham Palace through the rear entrance, both of them virtually falling asleep while walking.
"I'm gonna fall off the ladder if I try hanging the curtains today," Buffy complained.
"Don't worry, I'll catch you," Spike replied lightly and kissed her.
A loud and angry yell made Buffy shy away.
"No one can just DISAPPEAR from Buckingham Palace without being seen by anyone!"
"Oh God," Buffy whispered, pulling Spike aside behind an ancient knight's armour, "My dad's gonna freak out! He's gonna kill me if he finds out where I've been!"
Spike listened for a moment to the rant. He knew the voice and rolled his eyes. "Sir Rupert's gonna kill me if he finds out about us!"
"We needn't tell him right now," Buffy suggested.
Spike shook his head in despair. "Do you really think we could keep this a secret? We're all living here under the same roof, Buffy."
Buffy smiled. "Buckingham Palace's got quite a big roof. How about only for a while? It's gonna be exciting, sneaking away to meet, stealing kisses between audiences and polo lessons..."
He embraced her. "You make it sound so easy."
She lingered in the embrace for a moment, then broke it with a sigh. "You gotta go."
"I know. Will I see you tonight?"
Buffy nodded, and then hurried down the hall to get to her work before anyone knew she was gone.
Spike followed her with his eyes until she disappeared, resisting the urge to kiss her goodbye once more. He heaved a sigh and walked towards his study.
Sir Rupert turned around and glared at him. "Oh, Your Majesty, I did not expect you would grace us with your presence today!"
Spike shrugged. "Went for a walk."
The Chamberlain glowered at Sir Rupert with a triumphant expression.
Sir Rupert eyed Spike suspiciously. "In your uniform." The uniform was crumpled, the decorations in disorder, some of them missing, and white stains of unknown origin were clearly visible on the royal blue fabric.
Spike nodded. "I'd better change."
"You have a consecrated duty," Sir Rupert replied, his temper rising, "You can't just come and go as you please! Do you realize you have an appointment in Whitechapel in twenty minutes? How exactly are you going to make it on time?"
Spike shrugged. "I'm afraid I'll just be late."
"The King is never late!" Sir Rupert exploded. "Tell me precisely where have you been!"
Spike's patient tone changed. "That's none of your business, Sir Rupert. And you'd better not delay me any more, I'm going to change into something nice, and then we’ll meet downstairs."
Sir Rupert glared at him, but didn't say anything else.

*

"I now declare this shelter open!" Spike cut the tape and was rewarded with applause and cheering from the crowd. He had never expected so many people to show up only to see him open the new youth shelter in Whitechapel. A crowd of kids, mostly female teenagers, were gathered around the building, waving tiny paper flags and crying their hearts out to catch his eye. Maybe being the King of England was a bit like being a rock star, after all.
The photographers took the opportunity to get a few nice snapshots of their new King as he was shaking hands with the woman who was in charge of the shelter, Anne.
"You must be so proud," Spike said politely.
Anne smiled weakly. "It's a start."
Spike frowned. "I'd expected some more enthusiasm - what's wrong with the new shelter?"
Anne shook her head. "Nothing. You wouldn't understand."
The Mayor took Spike's place at the microphone to answer press questions. As the general attention shifted away from Spike, he led Anne a few steps aside. "Tell me," he offered, "Maybe I can do something."
Anne sighed. "Do you know how long we've struggled to raise enough money to build this shelter?"
Spike shrugged. "A year?"
"I wish!" Anne snorted. "Make that eight."
Spike's eyes widened. "Eight years?"
She nodded. "Bureaucracy. The city doesn’t give away money easily. London's expensive, with all its parades and sights having to be paid for, why bother with hopeless cases? Many young people in Whitechapel are unemployed, and they end up in the streets if they don't have a place to go. Once you're homeless, it's difficult to find your way back into normal life, so they're on the dole permanently, a large percentage of them are drug addicts who become criminals to pay for their drugs. This shelter's got fifteen beds for homeless teenagers to spend the night. We'd need at least fifty and still wouldn't be able to make cover for everyone in this area. We need more money from the city, or from the government, to build another shelter for Whitechapel or at least, expand this one. Then, the shelters have to be furnished properly, trained staff has to be employed, street workers, psychologists, doctors, we would like to offer a hot lunch once a week, English classes for immigrant people and their children, books for the common room." Anne sighed. "It goes on and one. It really is a long way to go."
Spike nodded slowly. "Tell ya what. I got a meeting with the Prime Minister later today, and I'll see what I can do for you."
Anne smiled warmly. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We need all the help we can get."

*

"Your appearance at the shelter opening was satisfactory," Sir Rupert told Spike as he was walking next to him through the corridors of Buckingham Palace later that evening. Coming from Sir Rupert, this was a great compliment, so Spike nodded and thanked him.
"You are to meet the Prime Minister at 18.30," Sir Rupert explained, "I hope this will go just as well." He stopped at Spike's study. "Good luck, Your Majesty."
Spike frowned. "Are you not coming with me?"
Sir Rupert smiled faintly. "The King's weekly meeting with the Prime Minister, and as all communication concerning you, it always remains confidential. You meet him alone. No written record is made of such meetings; neither you nor the Prime Minister talk about what is discussed."
Spike sighed. "Protocol. Again!"
"You will be fine," Sir Rupert encouraged him. "He will report on what is going on in Parliament, show you the week's results of parliamentary work, you will approve of it, and that is the end of the meeting. No reason to worry. It is just a formality."

*

"A formality!" Spike fumed, "They're cutting 50% of the budget for all London shelters, schools, hostels and local community schemes! How can I approve of that?!"
Sir Rupert seemed unimpressed. "Nobody expects you to. You just cannot allow your personal feelings to stand in the way of your judgment."
Spike glared at him. "You were at the shelter this morning, too! We saw how hard people are working to improve things! I talked to that woman, Anne. She told me it took them eight years to get the money, and she has got so many wonderful ideas, but she needs more money, not less!"
"The budget is limited," Sir Rupert simply said.
"Then they have to cut elsewhere! Politicians' salary, for instance. Or charge people for watching the Changing of the Guard!" Spike's fist went down hard on the mahogany desk. "What did the bloody desk cost?"
Sir Rupert shrugged. "I honestly have no idea."
"Could you buy five more beds for the shelter for it?"
Sir Rupert looked at him, almost pitifully. "Probably more like fifty."
"That's what I mean!" Spike replied triumphantly. "Before I got locked up in this golden cage, I lived in a tiny flat with a wobbling bed and near the end of each month I hardly had the money to replace a light bulb! How can I just sign the parliamentary decision to cut down on projects such as shelters and schools?"
"Your approval is unnecessary," Sir Rupert pointed out. "It is a parliamentary decision. The King is the official Head of State, but he cannot prevent the passing of a law, or the spending of the budget. You can't tell the Prime Minister what to do."
Spike stared at him. "I can't? I did!"
Sir Rupert laughed. "Rest assured, it will not change a thing. Parliament is a political body, not a charity one. You have no power whatsoever over the British government. If it makes you feel better, make a donation to the shelter you visited, some children's books from the Royal library, the old stuffed animals of the princes, some cheap Swedish wooden beds."
"This won't solve the problem!" Spike insisted.
"Of course not," Sir Rupert agreed, "But it will get you positive headlines. The press loves you already, if you..."
"I don't care!" Spike snapped, "I'm gonna do more than that! I'm gonna double the budget for all social institutions!"
"You can't," Sir Rupert said dryly. "England is a constitutional monarchy, the key word being constitution. The King's power is merely representative."
"I'll host a press conference, then," Spike said stubbornly, "I'll tell the press what the government is planning, the public pressure will become too much for them, and people will start making donations!"
"You cannot do that either," Sir Rupert explained patiently, as if talking to a very small child, "England is governed by the government, that is why they are called the government. The King represents England. Therefore, the sovereign must back all parliamentary decisions, or keep his peace. You may have your own personal views, but they are beside the point."
Spike could not believe it. "I'm King, but I don't have any power, and now I don't even have my bloody civil rights any more? I can't say aloud what I think?"
"You can always say what you think... as long as it concurs with the government's policy."
Spike looked into Sir Rupert's eyes with an expression so violent the older man shrank back. "Then what am I King for?"
"Being King is not a privilege, Your Majesty. It is a burden," Sir Rupert said solemnly.
"I thought you were here to support me," Spike said in a low voice, disappointment in each word.
"I am," Sir Rupert confirmed.
"I don't see how," Spike challenged.
Sir Rupert took off his glasses and began to wipe them absently. "Permission to speak openly, Your Majesty."
Spike stood before him. "Go ahead," he told him, "So at least one of us gets a say."
Sir Rupert held Spike's gaze. His voice was calm, yet determined and strict, reproachful. His gaze darkened, and he looked very energetic, younger than his age, as he let all the repressed anger and tension pour out in a harsh lecture. "In ancient Rome, the war heroes returning from the colonies were crowned with laurels, but there was always a person standing behind them during the parade, whispering to them 'You're not a god.' This is what I am, Your Majesty. And you are beginning to forget who you are. I am here to prevent you from making a fool of yourself by acting like a child and embarrassing your Royal Mother and your country. Pull yourself together, or else you'll never be a proper King, but only a stubborn boy dressing up in his mother's clothes, figuratively speaking, of course. But understand this, we all have our crosses to bear. If you absolutely do not want to behave, I suggest you go back to the hole you came from. As a King, you can make a difference - but you'll have to learn to pick your battles."
Spike stared at him for a long moment. "Fine." He turned to walk away. On his way out, he turned to look at Sir Rupert one last time. "I want no part in it."
He rushed out and slammed the door.
Sir Rupert sighed. "Which is beside the point, too."

*

"Spike! Spike!" Buffy had to run to catch up with Spike, who was making his way down the corridor in long strides, wearing his usual dark jeans and t-shirt along with black leather duster, carrying a bag and his guitar. "Where are you going?" she panted.
"Out," he snapped, without stopping.
"Hey!" Buffy grabbed his arm and blocked his way. She put her hand on his chin to make him look at her. She was startled as she saw the look in his eyes. She had never seen him that devastated. "What happened?" she asked, scared.
Spike told her in few words what had happened during his meeting with the Prime Minister and the row with one of his own counselors. "I can't do this any more, Buffy," he told her desperately, "I can't pretend to be someone I'm not. I gotta get out of here. I'll go nuts if I stay. That is, if I get out. Since I can't say what I want, I doubt they'll let me go where I want."
Buffy took a deep breath. "Then we'll go together. We could take my car. You could hide under a blanket, in the backseat." Buffy did her best not to blush at the word 'backseat'.
Spike put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her. Imitating Sir Rupert, he replied: "That would be satisfactory."
Buffy smiled. "Where are we going?"
Spike chuckled. "To my world."
She shrugged. "That's okay with me. Just... no chains, and no Tower tonight, please."
He smiled wolfishly. "You're spoiling all the fun, pet."
Buffy pressed closer to him. "I'm sure we're gonna have a good time, Your Majesty."
Spike frowned. "Spike. Just Spike."

*

An hour later, the royal Chamberlain rushed into Sir Rupert's office without knocking. "Sir Rupert," he gasped, "His Majesty... has... disappeared!"
Sir Rupert did not even look up from his paperwork. "He has done that before. Most of the nights, I have no idea how His Majesty is spending his time. We had a little disagreement earlier tonight. Trust me, he will return in the morning and get back to business."
The Chamberlain cleared his voice, trying to keep the panic out of his words. "He's taken a bag with his old clothes, and his guitar."
Sir Rupert felt his stomach churn. This could only have one implication: Spike was not so sure if he would ever be coming back again.

TBC...