Characters: Spike, Buffy. AU.

Rating: NC-17.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Joss does. Just borrowing. Don't sue.

Author's note: If you have issues with a parody involving the British Royal Family, I would recommend you to skip this fanfic. No offence whatsoever intended, the monarchy just provides the background for a BTVS fanfic. However, the reality has been adapted and exaggerated a little to serve the purpose of my story.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

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 20^th 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.
 
 


 

"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 20^th. 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...
 
 












 

"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!*
 
 
 

Next