Naruto Fanfic: A Rift to Royalty
Chapter 2: The Bodyguard Gambit
Edward Windsor stood by the tall windows of his private study, the morning sun casting golden streaks across the Kensington Palace gardens. Beyond the manicured hedges, London hummed with life—cars, tourists, the distant wail of sirens. Yet inside these walls, his world felt like a chessboard, every move scrutinized, every misstep a potential checkmate.
At twenty-five, he was no mere prince lingering in the shadow of the crown. He was the Duke of York, a title granted at twenty, and the steward of the royal family's vast financial empire. Investments, estates, trusts—he managed billions, a role that made him indispensable and, he knew, a target.
His gaze drifted to the guest room door, where Tsunade slept. Or didn't—she seemed the type to sleep with one eye open, like a lioness in a strange den. The woman from another world, with her blazing amber eyes and warrior's stance, had upended his carefully ordered life in a single night. A void rift, she'd called it. A tear in reality that dumped her into his bath, of all places, and then sealed shut. She was stranded, a shinobi from a place called the Hidden Leaf Village, and Edward had promised to protect her.
But how? The question gnawed at him as he sipped his tea, the porcelain cup warm in his hands. Kensington Palace was a fortress of protocol and paranoia. Servants gossiped, courtiers schemed, and his family—God love them—saw threats in every shadow. Edward's position, third in line to the throne, was a lightning rod. His cousins, the Prince of Wales and his sister, held the spotlight, but Edward's financial acumen gave him real power. Power bred enemies. He'd received anonymous letters before—veiled threats, warnings to "watch his back." His uncle, the Duke of Clarence, had once half-joked that Edward's ledgers made him a bigger target than the King himself.
Tsunade was a wildcard in this delicate game. Her presence, if discovered, would spark chaos. She had no identity, no record, no trace. If someone investigated—and they would—they'd find nothing. No birth certificate, no passport, no digital footprint. In the modern world, that wasn't just suspicious; it was a neon sign screaming "danger." The palace security team, led by the hawk-eyed Colonel Marsden, would assume she was an assassin, a spy, or worse. MI6 would swoop in, and Tsunade… Edward's stomach twisted. They'd lock her in a black-site lab, dissect her like a specimen, all because she wasn't human. Not in their terms.
He set the cup down, running a hand through his chestnut hair. His blue-gray eyes, usually calm, flickered with unease. He couldn't let that happen. Not to her. She was fierce, yes, but there was something else—a vulnerability she hid behind her smirks and threats. Stranded, alone, in a world that must feel like a fever dream. He'd seen the way her hand lingered near her waist last night, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. She was a warrior, but even warriors needed allies.
The guest room door creaked open, and Tsunade emerged, looking absurdly striking in his borrowed clothes. The cashmere sweater clung to her frame, and the trousers, rolled at the ankles, gave her a casual edge. Her blonde hair was tied back, the diamond mark on her forehead catching the light. She yawned, stretching like a cat, and Edward's heart did a traitorous flip. Focus, he told himself.
"Morning, bath boy," she said, her voice laced with mischief. "Sleep well, or were you up all night worrying about your fancy palace?"
He managed a smile, gesturing to the breakfast tray on the desk—croissants, jam, a pot of coffee. "Thought you might be hungry. And it's Edward, not bath boy."
"Whatever you say, prince." She sauntered over, grabbing a croissant and tearing into it with unladylike gusto. "Not bad. Better than ration bars." She eyed the coffee, sniffing it suspiciously. "This poison?"
"Coffee. It's… a stimulant. Try it." He poured her a cup, amused by her skepticism. "We need to talk, Tsunade. About what happens next."
She leaned against the desk, sipping the coffee and grimacing. "Bitter. Okay, talk. What's the plan, genius? Hide me in your closet forever?"
Edward paced, choosing his words. "It's not that simple. This palace is a snake pit. Everyone watches everyone else. I'm third in line to the throne, and I manage the family's money—billions of pounds. That makes me a target. People have tried to… get rid of me before."
Tsunade's eyes narrowed, her posture shifting to alert. "Assassins? In this soft world?" She snorted, but there was a glint of respect. "Didn't peg you for a survivor, Edward."
He shrugged, masking the old fear. "I'm careful. But you… you're a problem. No offense. If anyone finds you here, they'll assume you're after my life. Or the crown's secrets. And if they investigate you—"
"They'll find nothing," she finished, her tone flat. "No name, no clan, no village. I get it. Your people don't take kindly to ghosts."
"Exactly. They'd arrest you, interrogate you. Worse, they might…" He hesitated, the image of her in a lab too grim to voice. "They'd treat you like a threat. Or a science project."
Tsunade's jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. "Let 'em try. I'd level this place before they touched me."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Edward said, half-serious. "A war between you and MI6 would be… messy. There's another way, but I don't think you'll like it."
She raised a brow, sipping the coffee again, less grimace this time. "Spit it out, prince."
He took a breath, bracing for rejection. "You could pose as my bodyguard. Officially. I'd hire you, give you a cover story—say you're a private security consultant, ex-military, something vague but believable. It'd explain why you're always with me, why you're in the palace. No one would dig into your background if I vouch for you. It's the only way to keep you safe without raising questions."
Tsunade stared at him, and Edward braced for a laugh, a scoff, or a flat refusal. She was a shinobi, a warrior from a world of chakra and jutsu. Guarding a "soft" royal like him? She'd probably rather punch through a wall. But to his astonishment, she set the cup down, crossed her arms, and nodded.
"Fine. I'll do it."
Edward blinked, stunned. "You… will? Just like that?"
"Don't look so shocked, bath boy." She smirked, but her eyes were sharp, calculating. "I'm not an idiot. I know what happens to someone with no identity in a place like this. Back home, a shinobi without a village is a rogue—hunted, distrusted. Here? I'd be a sitting duck. Your plan's not terrible. Plus…" She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "I get to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't sell me out."
Edward's mouth went dry at her proximity, her scent—clean, with a hint of the forest—filling the air. He cleared his throat, stepping back. "I wouldn't. But… good. Bodyguard it is. We'll need to work fast. I'll forge some documents, get you a name. Something simple, like… Tessa Sanders?"
"Tessa?" She made a face. "Sounds like a merchant's daughter. Make it something strong. Like… Tsu. Tsu Sendo."
"Fine. Tsu Sendo it is." He jotted it down, his mind racing. "We'll say you're ex-special forces, hired privately. I'll brief you on palace life—protocol, who's who, how to act. Can you… tone down the 'I'll break your bones' vibe?"
She grinned, all teeth. "No promises."
Edward sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips. This was insane, but it might work. Tsunade as his bodyguard would keep her close, safe, and—admit it, Edward—fascinating. Her strength, her wit, the way she challenged him… it was like nothing he'd ever known.
The rest of the morning was a crash course in deception. Edward sat Tsunade down with a laptop, showing her photos of the palace staff, key royals, and security protocols. She absorbed it with a shinobi's focus, though she scoffed at the idea of bowing to anyone.
"Your world's obsessed with rules," she muttered, scrolling through a diagram of the royal family tree. "No wonder you're all so tense."
"It's tradition," Edward said, leaning over her shoulder. "Keeps things orderly."
"Orderly's boring," she shot back, but her eyes flicked to his, a spark of amusement there.
He pulled back, heart thudding. Focus.
He drafted a fake CV for "Tsu Sendo," using his access to the palace's secure servers to plant just enough data to pass a cursory check. By noon, he'd arranged a meeting with Colonel Marsden to introduce his new "bodyguard." The risk was high—Marsden was a bloodhound—but Edward's title gave him leeway. Dukes didn't get questioned. Much.
As they prepared, Tsunade practiced walking in a pair of Edward's spare boots, grumbling about their fit. "If I have to fight in these, I'm blaming you."
"You won't need to fight," Edward said, adjusting his tie. "Just look intimidating. You're good at that."
She smirked, striking a mock pose—fists up, stance wide. "Intimidating enough, prince?"
He laughed, the sound surprising him. When was the last time he'd laughed so freely? "Perfect. Let's go."
They stepped into the corridor, Edward in his tailored suit, Tsunade in a borrowed blazer and trousers, her blonde hair sleek. Servants glanced but didn't linger—Edward's presence was enough to quell curiosity. For now. But as they approached Marsden's office, Edward's stomach knotted. This was the first test. If they failed, Tsunade's freedom—and his own carefully built life—could crumble.
Tsunade nudged him, her voice low. "Relax, bath boy. I've got this."
He met her eyes, finding confidence there, and nodded. "Right. Let's do this."
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