Crimson Crosshair had nut brown hair and red eyes. Her eyes had not been red when she was born. Her eyes had been blue, but most babies have blue eyes when they are born. Exactly nine hours after Crimson was born, she was cursed, and her eyes became red, which begat spooky fairy tales involving demon children.

  Her mother had not been remotely amused by the curse the dark fairies of the wood cast on her daughter, along with the name they gave her. It made her sound fierce, which was exactly the opposite of what she hoped for in a daughter. Crimson was the child of the captain of the guard and the granddaughter of the village blacksmith. The women in Crimson’s life were terrified of her because of her red eyes, but the men who watched over her sought to make her as fierce as her name. She could wield any weapon, drop any opponent, and fill any defeated man’s mouth with curses.

  All of which was quite handy, considering she was often attacked simply based on the color of her eyes.

  The red eyes did not stop Crimson from growing up or from wanting what other girls wanted. However, she was not as able to get them the way an uncursed young woman could.

  On the night in question, Crimson was not where she usually was. There was a masked ball taking place at the Earl’s home, and the ramparts needed to be guarded. Normally, Crimson took an errant guard’s place on the night of a ball, so he could slip away unnoticed and meet a lady in secret. Not everyone wanted their daughter wed to a soldier, so Crimson volunteered for duty on those nights. But on this one night, she was not on guard duty.

  On the starry night of the masked ball, all the soldiers had gallantly offered to skip their trysts and allow Crimson the opportunity to attend the ball. She groaned at their misplaced sympathy and the costume parts they provided, giving her a dress to wear that belonged to one of their sisters, and a mask that one of them had been given for a previous party that had not been worn because it was too pretty for a man to wear.

  “This isn’t necessary,” Crimson complained. “Everyone will be able to see my red eyes. It’s not much fun if you can immediately identify the person you’re dancing with.”

  “No one will recognize you,” one of the boys offered. “It will be dark. They’re trying to make it confusing so you don’t know who you’re with. It’s the perfect time for you to go in and have a little fun.”

  Crimson envisioned a young man from their kingdom showing her interest, and then at midnight, abruptly losing interest when he saw her without her mask. The idea of the forthcoming humiliation did not interest her.

  Still, she allowed the soldiers she had been trained alongside to tell her what the men liked in a lady. She didn’t think for a moment she’d be able to pull off the studied glances, the pretend blushes, and the proper application of compliments and reluctance. To be truthful, the dress they had given her wasn’t even pretty. It was an abomination, which was why the brother had been able to give it to her in the first place.

  When she was ready, and they were wishing her well, it was very clear from their glances that they didn’t think she stood the tiniest chance of having a good time that night, but they had done their best for her. Yes, it was awkward. Yes, it wasn’t helpful, but dang it! They had loved her enough to try.

  They admired her because they saw her from the front and the back. From the back, she looked like a woman and sounded like a woman, smooth and tranquil. In fact, she spilled femininity from almost every corner of her being, completely without her knowledge. She looked helpless, vulnerable, welcoming, and like beauty was a language that she could speak… until she turned her eyes full on whoever was in her path. From the front, the spell was broken, smothered, never to be reborn. Once a man saw the ruby fire that ignited her innards, he forgot about her delicate wrists and ankles, the curve of her waist, and the unique curl of her hair. Instead, henceforth, she became the personification of death, and he wished he had never laid eyes on her.

  The soldiers her father trained were different from other men because it was part of their training to learn not to fear death. Many of the men who had trained with Crimson had left the town, gone to the capital, and distinguished themselves as especially talented fighters in the service of the king. They knew no fear. To the boys in chainmail, she was their ticket to fame and fortune. If they could fight her, they could fight anything. Many of them couldn’t, so they stayed in town, served as guards, and sought to protect their walls with her. Crimson couldn’t fall in love with any of them. They couldn’t match her in combat, but they knew that somewhere deep inside her, she wished she could be seen as something special by someone.

  A masked ball was the perfect opportunity… or so they thought.

  Crimson didn’t go into the ball. She couldn’t stand to. None of the soldiers would know if she didn’t go. She walked down the torch-lined walkway, entered the mansion along with the other guests, almost anonymous, and then slipped down the corridor that led to the back gardens instead of the ballroom.

  The gardens on the Earl’s estate were some of the most beautiful in the whole kingdom, and for once, she would be able to see them.

  Slipping out the back way, she strode through the archways of climbing plants and the perfume of flowers.

  However, she was not the only one who sought to miss the dancing, and the garden was practically thronged with guests chasing each other between the shrubs.

  The only place quiet enough to think was a greenhouse. There were many greenhouses on the property, but she found one that was quite out of the way. It was one dedicated to the cultivation of herbs, so it was empty. Crimson slid inside and found a bench, where she allowed herself to sit.

  Crimson wasn’t good at sitting. She was a person of action and preferred to move, but just this once, she would sit like a lady and let the moon move in its arch across the sky.

  She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone.

  The greenhouse had two distinct rooms. A figure strode up beside her and said, “I don’t mean to alarm you, but I am here too.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Crimson did not leap in the air or put a knife to the figure’s throat. She had been expecting party guests, so she didn’t move at all, but instead turned and inspected the man sharing the space with her.

  He was dressed as a plague doctor, wearing a large mask with a beak on the front. His hood had dropped, and his tousled hair stuck out in the back where the mask straps meant business.

  “Very serious costume you’re wearing,” she remarked drolly as she examined his elaborate mask.

  He paused, stopped, and seemed to look at her for the first time.

  “You found the ball boring too?” she asked with her head limp in one direction. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Do you mind if I?” he asked, indicating a place on the bench next to her.

  “Not at all.”

  Slowly, he unstrapped the beak mask from his face and exposed his chin, lips, and jawline. He still wore a black mask over half his face, with only a tiny bit of the glassy surface of his eyes exposed.

  “What do you normally do at these things if you find dancing boring?” he asked, crushing a handful of herbs into the beak of his mask.

  “I only know what the boys do.”

  “Oh? And what do they do?”

  Dropping every ounce of feminine artifice the soldiers had encouraged her to show, she said, “They find a girl, a place like this, kiss her until they’re caught, and then brag about it… possibly until they are sent to the capital as reinforcements.”

  “Are you waiting for someone?” her visitor asked, realizing he might be in the way.

  “No. No one would ever want to kiss me,” she said dispassionately.

  “Wouldn’t they?” he asked, looking her over and not spotting the thing that ruined her chances of being seen as a romantic partner.

  “No. They wouldn’t,” she stated, allowing her head to loll back and exposing her beautiful throat in the moonlight that fell through the glass ceiling.

  The masked man scoffed lightly, still filling his beak. “You must have a terrible personality. I’m intrigued to discover how bad it is.”

  “How would you even begin to discover how bad a woman’s personality is? They’re taught to lie to you constantly. Be agreeable. Show restraint. Hide.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yes,” Crimson replied, feeling very knowledgeable on the subject. “She’s supposed to make eyes at you, so you feel comfortable finding out about her and ultimately introducing yourself to her. But she’s only allowed to look at you once so that she isn’t accused of making eyes at you, because that would be unladylike. One curious glance is allowed.”

  “Really?” he asked, dropping his beak mask and turning sideways in his seat to look at her better. “What else?”

  “She’s supposed to act delicate, so that she can pretend to faint and then pretend to have you help her, then she pretends like you’re lifting her when she’s doing all the work herself. She has to seem light as a feather.”

  “Tell me more,” he encouraged.

  “She’s supposed to lie to you and tell you she’s never been kissed under a full moon at midnight before, and that’s why she’s so charmed that you have done so.”

  He chuckled. “And they’re all lying?”

  “I’m not lying,” Crimson said dreamily, closing her eyes on the promise of slumber. She hadn’t realized she was so tired. “You can go back to the party,” she said, thinking that the bench was a perfectly reasonable place to take a little nap before the ball was over. She was Crimson Crosshair, and she was perfectly safe wherever she was, whatever she was doing.

  “Hmm, go back to the party?” he said, his voice non-committal. “What if I’d rather stay out here with you?”

  “You’re probably missing some excellent vittals.”

  “Maybe I am, but you’ve sparked my curiosity. Why are you so detested? What do you have hiding under your mask?” he teased, touching the side of it.

  “Death,” she replied.

  “Huh?” he chuckled. “Are you here to take me to the place beyond the grave? If you are, I accept. I feel like I fight you always, and it would be a very comforting idea indeed if I thought that all those who die are greeted by you.”

  Then it was her turn to tilt her body toward his. Their eyes met, but in the dark, hers didn’t look red. “Who are you?” she asked, wetting her lips in a sudden, unknown expectation.

  “It’s a masked ball. I can’t say.”

  “And you’re not afraid of death?”

  “I am afraid of death,” he conceded, a smile playing upon his lips, “for other people. Not for myself. I can die. That’s fine, but I want to see other people grow old, live their lives as much as they can.”

  Crimson’s breath caught in her throat. What he said was like music to her ears. “Are you a soldier?” she hesitated in asking.

  “No.”

  “I wish I knew who you were so I could be honorable in my own way,” she breathed, her words full of regret.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I knew you were single and free, I would ask you to kiss me tonight.”

  “And if my kiss is death?” he asked calmly.

  “You still think I’m an ordinary girl?” she asked, lacing her fingers together and turning them inside out to make a symbol she always thought of as eight swords.

  He didn’t seem to notice and continued, “Then tell me one thing about yourself. Something no one else knows, and when I hear it, I’ll know who you really are.”

  “Are you sure?” Crimson asked in awe.

  “Yes,” he said, “certain.”

  She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m cursed.”

  He kissed her.

  Neither of them was expecting much from the kiss. He had actually known he was going to kiss her as soon as she had mentioned kissing early in their conversation. He thought she would not have mentioned such a thing if she hadn’t been particularly welcoming of the idea. Actually, he didn’t think their kiss would have that much to do with him. He was a man, and he was handy when she, a beautiful woman, was feeling lonely.

  However, he was wrong. He was deeply wrong. She tasted the way women taste, but also like sugar, like he had never tasted sweetness before that moment, like maybe he had never been alive before that moment. Once he started kissing her, he didn’t think he would ever be able to stop.

  On Crimson’s end, she was encountering problems. She had spent her whole life forgotten by mankind as a romantic prospect. She knew all about men. She knew things about men as sober truths that other girls her age squealed about at private parties for girls. She knew all about how weak and uncertain a man could be. She knew the way the soldiers acted at balls, and the counteract to all the lies she had been taught. The men pretended to be courageous, valiant, one-man armies in order to secure the affections of the girl they liked. It had all been stupid to Crimson, who wondered if she would ever want to kiss a man before the masked man at her side told her he welcomed death. It had been said with so little bravado that it didn’t seem like it was pretended for her sake. He had even kissed her after she told him she was cursed. For once, she wanted to stop pretending that she didn’t want all those things the other girls wanted.

  So, she kissed the unknown man in front of her with all her heart.

  The ball ended, and they didn’t leave the greenhouse.