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Author's Chapter Notes:
Author's note: The Yeoman Warden Paul mentioned in this story does exist, and his tour, in which I had the honour of participating, is very much like it is described in the story. If you are interested in the history of the Tower or just want to get an idea of the places and people mentioned, I strongly recommend you visit one of the virtual tours at http://www.tower-of-london.com/index2.html and http://www.toweroflondontour.com or http://www.hrp.org.uk/webcode/tower_home.asp for historical information. The island of Tokelau also exists, it is located in the South Pacific, though details are ficticious.

Unfortunately, like my belusted Spike, I don't speak Chinese either and got the info from the web. If anyone can help me out with translating "The chicken is good", I'll be glad to correct the phrase.

If you would like to see Spike in the uniform mentioned in the text, stop by my site, I've prepared a fake at
http://www.buffythevampirelayer.com/fanfic/koh.JPG
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...





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