Chapter 9: The Drunk Shinobi
The Aston Martin's headlights cut through London's midnight fog as Edward Windsor sped toward Kensington Palace, the Queen's birthday banquet a glittering memory. The Grand Ballroom's chandeliers, Hollywood stars, and his grandmother's radiant smile lingered, but Edward's focus was on Tsunade, slumped in the passenger seat. Her maroon gown shimmered faintly, her blonde hair loose, her amber eyes half-lidded. She'd sipped only two cups of red wine—Bordeaux, potent and rich—but Earth's alcohol had hit her shinobi system hard, leaving her slightly drunk, her reserved demeanor softened into a rare looseness.
"Prince," she mumbled, her voice slurring, her tone less pragmatic than usual. "Your… sparkly castle. So many lights. Like… chakra flares." She gestured vaguely, her hand flopping, a drunken giggle escaping—a sound Edward never thought he'd hear from the disciplined Hokage.
He chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. "That's London, Tsu. And you're tipsy. Two cups, and you're gone. Lightweight." His teasing was gentle, his heart warm at her unguarded state, though he stayed alert, the Mayfair tail from weeks ago a nagging shadow.
Tsunade tilted her head, her diamond forehead mark catching the dashboard glow. "Light… weight? I've drunk sake barrels, prince. Your wine's… sneaky." She hiccupped, then laughed, her reserved intensity melting into a playful haze. Edward grinned, their bond glowing in the quiet car.
At Kensington Palace, he parked and rounded to her side, opening the door. Tsunade tried to stand, wobbled, and nearly fell, her gown tangling. "Easy, Tsu," Edward said, catching her. He scooped her into his arms, her weight light despite her strength, her head lolling against his chest. Her scent—wine and jasmine—stirred him, but he focused on getting her inside, his steps steady through the palace's silent halls.
Unbeknownst to Edward, miles away at Buckingham Palace, the banquet's aftermath buzzed with royal gossip. Queen Elizabeth sat in her private parlor, her floral-embroidered shawl draped over her shoulders, sipping tea with Edward's parents—the Duke and Duchess of Clarence—and his brother, the Earl of Wessex. The room was warm, corgi figurines lining the shelves, but the air crackled with curiosity.
"Mother," the Duke said, his navy suit crisp, his brow furrowed, "that woman with Edward—Miss Sendo. Who is she? He's never brought a lady to court, let alone looked at one." His tone mixed shock and suspicion, Edward's bachelorhood a long-standing family jest.
The Queen's sharp eyes twinkled, her robust presence undimmed. "Tsu Sendo, his security consultant. I keep track of my grandson, Clarence. She's been with him since the summit, highly capable." She paused, her smile knowing. "Though I confess, her family eludes me. No records, curiously."
The Duchess, in emerald silk, leaned forward, her voice soft but intrigued. "Security consultant? She looked… regal, in that gown. And Edward was smitten, Clarence. You saw how he watched her." Her maternal instinct sensed a shift, Edward's heart no longer his own.
The Earl, younger and sly, grinned. "Smitten's an understatement, Mother. They were practically a couple. Half the room thought they'd announce an engagement." His tease drew a chuckle from the Queen, who raised her cup.
"Let him have his secrets," she said. "Edward's cautious, but Miss Sendo's no ordinary aide. I trust his judgment—for now." Her words closed the topic, but the family's whispers lingered, Edward's transformation the night's true spectacle.
Back at Kensington, Edward carried Tsunade to his private apartments, her drunken murmurs filling the air. "Prince… your kunai… sharp as Konoha's," she babbled, her words a jumble of shinobi lore, her voice slurring. "And… ramen. Need ramen." Her giggle was absurd, her reserved facade gone, and Edward stifled a laugh, charmed by her nonsense.
In his suite, he set her on a velvet chaise, but her face paled, and she clutched her stomach. "Oh no," she groaned, then lurched, vomiting onto her gown, the maroon silk stained. Edward acted fast, scooping her up and carrying her to the en-suite washroom.
"Hang on, Tsu," he said, setting her by the sink. He dampened a cloth, wiping her face gently, her eyes fluttering, her drunken haze unbroken.
"Your world… spins too much," she mumbled, leaning into his touch, her voice soft. "Don't… leave, prince." Her vulnerability hit him, a rare glimpse beneath her pragmatic shield, and his heart tightened.
Her gown was ruined, the smell sharp, so Edward decided to change her. "Gotta get you clean, Tsu," he said, his voice steady despite his nerves. He reached for the zipper at her back, his fingers brushing her warm skin. But the gown, perhaps loosened by her earlier wobble, slipped off in an instant, pooling at her feet. Edward froze, his breath catching.
Tsunade stood in her undergarments, her curvy figure—106 cm bust, as Naruto's lore boasted—screaming at him. Her collarbone, delicate yet strong, gleamed under the light, her silhouette a vision of strength and beauty.
Heat surged through him, his face flushing, his body burning. She was breathtaking, every curve a temptation, and for a moment, he wanted to pull her close, to devour her as desire roared. But she was asleep, her head lolling, her drunken state absolute.
Edward clenched his jaw, suppressing the fire. "Not like this," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I want you awake, Tsu. When it's real."
With disciplined care, he grabbed a soft robe from the wardrobe, his hands trembling as he draped it over her, covering her curves. He gently maneuvered her arms into the sleeves, tying the belt, his touch respectful, his heart pounding.
She stirred, mumbling, "Prince… warm," but didn't wake, her trust in him unspoken.
He carried her to his bed, the four-poster grand but intimate, and laid her on the silk sheets, tucking a blanket over her. Her face relaxed, her breathing steady, but Edward was still "hot all over," the image of her burned into him. Unable to resist entirely, he leaned down, his lips brushing her collarbone, a fleeting kiss—soft, reverent, a promise of what could be.
Her skin was warm, and he pulled back, his heart racing, guilt and longing warring within.
He sank into a chair, watching her sleep, his mind a storm. The Mayfair tail—Malin's associate—flashed in his thoughts, a security email from earlier warning of continued surveillance. Buckingham was safe, but Kensington wasn't impregnable. He'd protect her, drunk or not, shinobi or not.
His phone buzzed, a message from his brother: "Gran's thrilled, but Father's digging into your 'advisor.' Good luck." Edward sighed, the royal gossip another hurdle.
As dawn crept through the curtains, Tsunade stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
"Prince?" she croaked, her voice hoarse, her gaze confused. She glanced at the robe, then him, a faint smirk forming. "Did I… make a mess?"
Edward grinned, relief washing over him. "A small one, Tsu. You owe me a new rug." Her dry chuckle, weak but hers, sealed the night—a chaotic, burning step closer.
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