Her Royal Bodyguard Read online

  Her Royal Bodyguard

  A lesbian romance

  Margaux Fox

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading!

  Her Christmas Carole

  Falling For Her

  1

  “I’ll make this very simple for you Alexandra,” said her father, King George VII. A tall man, usually distant from his daughter, he sat across the large oak desk looking across it’s rich leather top.

  “You are a Princess. You are the heir to my throne. You must marry and bear children. No, it doesn’t have to be Lord Hugo, but you must find someone suitable. I have had Henry draw up some suggestions and over the following weeks you will spend time with any that interest you. You will choose a husband. The future of the monarchy depends upon it.”

  Henry, her father’s advisor, jumped in with a thick folder which he handed to her. “Please take a good look Ma’am. We have done a lot of research on these men. I have included all the information I can. Please come to me if you have any questions or you don’t like any of them, I will find more for you.”

  Henry was like an attentive dog in the way he followed her father around. He smoothed down his navy blue suit jacket with it’s bold red lapels. Alexandra hated this new uniform the palace staff wore. She always thought the red lapels looked cheap.

  Alexandra felt the burden of the throne yet again. The promise that, upon the death of her father, she would become Queen. It seemed sometimes like a joke. Like a fairytale. As though it was someone else’s life than her own. But it wasn’t. She had been carefully trained and prepared her whole life for her future. For her responsibilities that went beyond merely herself. She would become responsible for England, the United Kingdom and the countries of the Commonwealth.

  As the only child of the King the pressure was all on her.

  “You have a year.” King George said. “A year from today, January 1st 2021, I will announce your marriage. You get to choose who. Obviously within the usual constraints. But please, Alexandra. You will without doubt become Queen. Our country is a mess. Nobody is happy with the Prime Minister or the political mess we are in. The people of our kingdom need you now. They need to see your strength, they need to see a Royal Wedding and a Royal Baby. They need to see your commitment to this monarchy’s future. You are the darling of the media. You are the heir they want. Please, Alexandra Victoria, you are thirty four years old. This is your moment to shine. Give the people what they want.”

  Alexandra sat quietly, so much rushing through her quick mind.

  “I was older when I married,” he continued. "But it is different for men. I could still father children. There are things we must do in this life. There are burdens that we must bear, you and I, and my mother before us. Just us, the direct heirs. There are ways we must live and appearances we must keep up.” He looked up to her.

  “Sacrifices.”

  “Sacrifices, Alexandra. Our lives are not our own. We belong to the people. The throne will govern our choices. I know we have your eggs frozen and that buys us time and options, but there aren’t endless years Alexandra. This is your duty. Do not let us down.” His eyes were firm and stoic.

  “I will look at my options Father.” Alexandra gestured to the folder with her eyes. Duty bound her lips from saying the words she wanted to. The words she was thinking. She had called the meeting to say she wanted to end things with Lord Hugo. That she had never liked him especially. They had given her that permission, but followed it up with more pressure. More sacrifice required from her. An order to interview new potential husbands.

  “Please do so, Alexandra.”

  “Thank you for your time Ma’am.” Henry bowed his respect to his future Queen. He was about forty years old and the stress of his work had begun to tell around his eyes. He was beginning to look tired. Alexandra wondered if his respect for her was because he still wanted to work as the Monarch’s right hand when her father died. Not that King George was dying. But he was seventy two now. He wouldn’t live forever.

  She would have a woman, she thought to herself. Obviously there was a tradition for Royal Advisors to be men. Not anymore. Queen Alexandra would have a right hand woman. It was 2020, times were changing.

  Alexandra had begun to notice that as she grew into adulthood, she started to get her own way on a lot of things, as long as she didn’t clash with her father. The monarchy may not have held the power that it used to years ago, but it still did hold power. Her’s second only to her father’s.

  Alexandra nodded her respect and turned and left her father’s study. Her chambermaid Jess waited outside for her and quickly fell in step next to her as she headed back to her own living quarters.

  “Ma’am I have the copy of ‘Hello’ Magazine you requested, it is in your Drawing Room.” Jess’s tight navy waistcoat emphasising her slim waist and petite frame as she scuttled along next to Alexandra. New to Alexandra’s household. Determined to be the most keen and the most helpful.

  “Your clothes are pressed and laid out for your first appearance at the children’s charity lunch. You need to be ready for 11.30am. Alicia is here to do hair and make-up. Natalie thought that neat blue McQueen dress would be ideal for today. Then you have the dinner with the Polish Ambassador tonight. Natalie has a dress by an up and coming Polish designer for you to wear and you will dine at the private room at the Ivy so that you can be photographed coming and going. They think it best for you to get some more exposure.”

  “Thank you Jess.” Alexandra looked to her. Jess smiled and blushed, still not used to working for royalty. Every time overcome by the fact that someone as famous as Alexandra knew her name. Alexandra was one of the most photographed women in the world. One of the most loved celebrities. Always kind, always polite. Always supporting a range of charities.

  Alexandra breezed back into her chambers and immediately slipped into the role she had been playing her whole life. Immediately into the Princess that people expected and wanted to see. She picked up ‘Hello’ magazine and slipped into the chair by the mirror where Alicia was waiting to do her hair.

  “Good morning Alicia. Good morning Natalie.”Alexandra smiled kindly to each woman in turn. Acknowledging their existence and the work that they did for her.

  Alicia ran her fingers through Alexandra’s ash blonde long bob. Alexandra regularly won magazine contests detailing the “Most Stylish Woman” or “Most Beautiful Woman” of the year. The media loved her and loved to take her photo. It wasn’t hard to be beautiful and stylish when you had a team around you whose full time job it was to make sure you were the most beautiful and stylish at all times.

  Alexandra often wished she could say publicly:

  “It isn’t true. None of this is real. I don’t really look like this. Beauty isn’t what really matters.”

  But it would be a lie. Beauty still did matter in this fucked up world that we lived in. It was still vitally important that Alexandra was always beautiful, always stylish.

  Alicia worked away at Alexandra’s hair. Alicia’s father was African American and her mother was white and she grew up in a poor area of London. Alexandra chose to employ her bec
ause it was important to her that her staff reflected diversity. It was important that her staff weren’t all white and middle class. Alicia wasn’t chosen to be politically correct. Alicia was chosen because visibility matters. A mixed race working class girl in Alexandra’s inner circle matters. It helps the people to believe. Alicia was great at her job. But lots of girls were. There could be hundreds of suitable candidates for hair and make up for the future Queen of England. But Alicia it was.

  Alexandra thumbed through the pages of the magazine. ‘Hello’ was always the magazine of choice for Royal features. They had run a feature on Alexandra’s work in a cancer hospice. Photos of Alexandra with the cancer patients. Alexandra sitting at their bedside, talking gently to them. Alexandra playing games with them, laughing with them. Alexandra making them feel human again. It did the image of the Royal Family a lot of good to cultivate their ‘Perfect Princess’. Alexandra, Princess of the people. Alexandra, always lovely, she could connect with anyone.

  Alexandra turned the page. The photographers had captured her holding the hand of a dying woman.

  Olivia

  Alexandra remembered her name. She always would. Olivia’s gaunt eyebrow and eyelash-less face under the headscarf. Olivia was the same age as Alexandra and had a new husband and a baby. She had spoken of the things she wished she could have done, the life she wished she could have lived. How she wished so much she could live to see her baby grow up. But it was taken away from her. She was only thirty four years old. Alexandra had written a card to her the following day and asked her staff to keep her appraised of Olivia’s condition. It was only a week later when she was informed that Olivia had died. There it was, life and death; that quick and easy stroke that could happen to any of us at any time.

  Yet, here was Olivia, forever immortalised in a photograph with Princess Alexandra. Olivia dying in bed and Alexandra sitting next to her holding her hand. Alexandra’s own face kind and gentle. A tear on Alexandra’s cheek. Was that real? Did they photoshop it? It was an iconic photograph that Alexandra knew would raise her status. A photograph that would be all over social media by now. The ever loving Alexandra with her kind open heart. The image of herself that had been cultivated carefully by the palace’s press and media department since she was a child.

  Princess Alexandra the good.

  Princess Alexandra would be a brighter future.

  Queen Alexandra one day.

  Polls said she would be far more popular as a monarch than her father had ever been.

  The public loved Alexandra and demanded more and more from her. Alexandra looked at her blue eyes in the mirror, her ash blonde hair full around her face with Alicia’s work. Her make up immaculate. Small tasteful diamonds glinting at her ears and neck.

  She was the Princess the people demanded. Every year she gave more of herself and it was never enough. Could she feign a marriage to a suitable man just to make the people happy?

  She had one year to do it. To find a man to marry. To give the people the Royal Wedding that they wanted.

  Alexandra sighed as she got up and went to her dressing room to put on her perfect outfit.

  Her life was not her own.

  2

  Sergeant Erin Kennedy was part of branch SO14 Royalty Protection in the Metropolitan Police. She was just getting her breath back after a tough gym session following a nightshift. She had been working on Residential Security at one of the Royal Country Residences. A big country castle with none of the Royal family currently in it. Sure, a great use of highly trained royalty protection officers she always thought. She was frustrated by how boring Residential Security actually was. A glorified security guard.

  Sweat dripped off her face and between her breasts under her police T shirt. As usual, she had trained hard. Her dark hair damp to her head and her face red with exertion.

  “Kennedy. Get over here.” Inspector Colin Travis shouted from the padded matting. He was the lead on unarmed combat. He was a tall, muscular guy with a bald head and intense blue eyes. He moved straight to a recap of things they had done before. He went to attack Erin from different angles with different weapons or methods of attack and every time her body reacted quickly and immediately diffused the threat.

  “Very good Kennedy. Very Good,” he said. “Now we are going to run through a defence from a handbag snatch.

  Erin watched him as he asked her to pretend to grab the handbag from the training dummy. He went through the moves she needed to make to defend it. She always enjoyed unarmed combat. She had had times when Colin had thrown her to the floor and looked at her with those intense blue eyes that she had felt almost heterosexual. There was an intensity to his grip and his moves. She learnt to replicate them exactly. He was a very good teacher.

  She finished up her training and then headed to shower and change and ordered a taxi to the train station to head home.

  She made it home to her West London apartment later that day. It was grey and raining outside. The nature of her work was antisocial. She had 3 days off now. A Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Her few friends worked normal office hours so were nowhere to be seen.

  Erin flicked the kettle on and settled on the sofa, contemplating her life choices. The Royalty Protection Unit had sounded prestigious and exciting. But it wasn’t proving to be. It was taking up most of her life and her days off she often spent bored and lonely.

  Her phone beeped and a voicemail flashed up. She swiped to listen to it.

  Erin sweetheart, it’s Mum. Your father and I were wondering when you are going to visit us. It has been such a long time since we have seen you.

  Erin groaned and deleted it. She didn’t have a great relationship with her parents. They had never loved the fact that their errant daughter was gay. Unmarried. No children. They ploughed all their energy into their golden son- Erin’s brother Jack who had done exactly what was expected of him. Good job, nice but bland wife, two children. They had never appreciated Erin’s job.

  “Erin, darling. It is no job for a woman, the police in London. Why must you insist on doing such a manly job?” Erin’s mother was patronising and painfully middle class. Nothing Erin did or said would ever make her parents happy.

  Her phone beeped again. A text.

  Babe, just wondering if you are home tonight? I could come over. x

  Erin’s on/off on/off girlfriend Sophie. Girlfriend really wasn’t the right word. On/off because she couldn’t decide what she wanted. Sophie was twenty nine years old and still had no idea what she wanted. A man or a woman? A relationship or not a relationship? Sophie changed her jobs as regularly as she changed her boyfriends and girlfriends. Sophie was charming and lovely and pretty but entirely unreliable as a partner. But then, Erin wasn’t so sure she really wanted a long term partner anymore so maybe it was fine.

  Erin did know that Sophie’s text still had the ability to interest her straight away. It had been a while since she had had sex and Sophie could always be relied upon for a hot night, if nothing else.

  She caught her fingers involuntarily typing in response.

  Sure, come round for 7. Wear red underwear.

  Company. Sex. A way through a miserable Monday evening. Better than another evening alone.

  Erin took the opportunity to catch up on some sleep and set an alarm so she would be up when Sophie came over.

  A dumb decision perhaps. She hoped Sophie wasn’t going to bring drama with her.

  Erin’s alarm woke her and she stretched in bed, yawning. Her muscular body naked and pale from the winter. She got up and pulled on some underwear and a black vest with no bra. Her dark hair was a long tangle so she dragged a brush through it and spritzed herself with her favourite scent. It was an androgynous perfume, mostly masculine, a little feminine. It was enough, she thought as she looked in the mirror, her eyes dark and dangerous. There was no need for more clothes. She wouldn’t be wearing them long enough.

  Sophie was late. Unsurprisingly. But at 7.40 the doorbell rang. Erin answered i
t. There was Sophie. Dazzling. Heels and a long coat. A cloud of scent and long blonde curls. Erin’s lonely flat suddenly was alive again.

  “Hey,” Sophie said as she breezed in. “You look great.”

  Then she removed her coat and there she was just in red lace underwear and heels. Her body all the curves and perfection of a swimwear model. Her heels gave her the appearance of a porn star.

  Erin knew she would leave the heels on while they fucked. Sophie knew Erin liked the look. And Sophie lived for attention. Sophie shone for people wanting her.

  Erin always wanted her.

  Erin was all over her straight away, Sophie pushed back onto the sofa, her wet underwear pushed to the side as Erin was on top of her and thrusting her fingers into her. Sophie bit into Erin’s shoulder as she took it. Hard, passionate, relieving the frustrations of them both. They were ready, they were both so ready. Erin felt Sophie’s orgasm all over her hand and underneath her body. Sophie had this gift of never really tiring of sex, this insatiable need. She would come and then seconds later, she would want fucking again. More, harder. And the cycle would repeat. The sex between Erin and Sophie was very much one way. It always had been. But Erin didn’t mind that. It meant she never had to be vulnerable. Moving Sophie’s beautiful body as she wanted her, taking her in different positions, every which way. Moving location, all over the apartment. Sophie still loving it, Sophie vocal and appreciative. God knows what the neighbours thought. The walls were paper thin.