AN: As of today, this story's category has been changed from Shakespeare to Romeo and Juliet.


'Good afternoon, Romeo. It is very good to see you back in one piece. How was the mission?'

A studious, solemn young man, of his own age, greets him with a slight smile. The other man beside him, mischievous and grinning, a maverick, is not so restrained, slapping him hard on the back.

'Ben, I told you! It seems young Romeo here nearly had the Prince poisoned while he was guarding him! Great job, by the way, Romeo, you give us all a good name!'

Benvolio lets out a sigh and adopts the weary expression he often uses when talking to Mercutio, his child-like companion.

'I was merely being polite, Mercutio. You also forget that he did save the Prince, after all. May I also request you stop using that ridiculous shortened form of my name?'

As Mercutio opens his mouth to retort, Romeo raises a hand to cease his friends' bickering. It has been a long, tough mission and he does not want to think about it. Thankfully, they both have enough tact to cease their banter.

'Have you received details of our next assignment yet?'

Romeo shakes his head, unsurprised; Benvolio is always in the know of what they are to do next. Strangely, it seems Mercutio is also very well informed.

'It looks like we're going to a ball!'

'We are there to provide protection, not to enjoy ourselves.'

But even Benvolio is smiling, and his tone indicates he does not really mean what he says. After all, they are young men, Guardians though they are, and they do like a good time, even serious Benvolio.

Mercutio elbows Romeo, none too gently, in the ribs.

'Well, that's not why Romeo's going to be looking forward to the celebration, is it? I heard that Lady Rosaline's attending!'

Romeo sighs and Benvolio's face remains passive, but there is a smile in his eyes. Rosaline is a young noble lady, whom Romeo's friends believe he harbours a secret love for. True, he feels something for her, but love? He is not quite sure. But that doesn't stop him feeling something, she is a great beauty, with long, golden hair...Of course, they all know that nothing can happen, she is a noble and he, though a Guardian, is lowly born.

But even so, he is eager for the celebration to come, true, he must attend to protect and guard, but that is more a formality than anything, there will be many Guardians present, and he is certain that he can let his hair down, so to speak.

He doesn't know what's coming.


Romeo is at the ball, which so happens to be a masquerade, when it happens.

The Guardian in him is telling him that this is a dangerous situation; there is so much opportunity for disguise at a masquerade. The youth in him is telling him that this is a good time to chance upon a dance with Rosaline.

She's not going to know who I am. Class distinctions don't matter here; it might be the only chance I ever get...

He decides to search for her, as well as avoid Mercutio, who is doubtlessly helping himself to wine, and Benvolio, who is doubtlessly endeavouring to keep their friend out of trouble. He does not want their teasing, or rather, Mercutio's teasing and Benvolio's meaningful looks. But he is only halfway across the room when a girl catches his eye.

She is dressed in a simple dress, when asked later he will say it was green, but what really captures him is the silver half-mask she wears. It is elegant, with a strange pattern he has never seen anywhere before. It reminds him of a river, the way it ebbs and flows, strong and elegant. He gathers his courage, Rosaline forgotten, and approaches her.

He makes a slight bow.

'May I have this dance, my lady?'

She curtseys back.

'Of course, my lord.'

The minstrels strike up a new tune and they spin around the floor among the dancers, a sea of colour and fabric. She is graceful and light on her feet. All too soon, the dance ends, she curtseys, he bows and they part, but not before she whispers into his ear.

'In the gardens, when the minstrels play the last dance.'

He nods, and she sweeps away from him and vanishes.


Now, he is no longer intent on enjoying the evening. He just wants it to end as soon as possible. He would have it that the next dance was the last dance. Time inches forward and the minstrels strike up the last tune. He slips out, unseen, into the garden, and climbs into a tree to wait. It's a perfect vantage point, and no one shall see him there.

Where is she? She hasn't had second thoughts, has she? I don't know what I'd do if she has.

She does not come.

It is traditional, after the last dance is played, for the King to enter the gardens to farewell his guests. But he is an elderly man now, so he is brought out on his palanquin by the bearers, as the guests fan out after him. Romeo remains in his tree, gazing at the full moon.

As the King begins to speak, he sees a shadowy figure at a balcony, facing the gardens. His senses are on alert, and his instincts tell him danger. The figure raises their arms, and he sees a bow. He knows who the target is. In desperation, he pulls his throwing knife from its scabbard and throws.

It strikes the stones beside the figure, as was his intention, startling it. He then quickly climbs into the next tree, and leaps for the balcony's edge. The figure still searches for the source of the noise, and finds it. Up close, he sees the figure is female. He draws his sword and strikes.

She dodges, just in time. With a shock, he finds he recognises the patterning of her mask.

But she asked me to meet her in the gardens...I understand her plan. I would have been distracted, searching for her in the crowd of people, not watching for potential danger. I guess she didn't count on me climbing a tree.

She takes advantage of his distraction, and presses forward, cornering him. He does the only thing that comes to mind, and tugs at her mask, pulling it loose, and it falls around her neck. She is temporarily stunned. So is he. She is the servant girl, the girl who poisoned the Prince. She recovers first, and lashes out with her sabre at him.

It's only a glancing wound to the calf, but it draws blood immediately. She is good. A wound to the leg will stop a man, incapacitate him. It is quicker than killing, and she makes good her escape, vanishing into the night. The other Guardians have noticed the skirmish on the balcony, but are too late to catch her. He curses her, that siren.

Damn it! Montague will have my head for this.

But the next day, lying in the infirmary, he receives a mysterious parcel. A red tulip, accompanied by the silver mask and a single sheet of paper.

Romeo,

I'm sorry I didn't keep our appointment. Perhaps next time, when your leg heals. I'm sorry for that too; I know it hurts a lot.

Love,

The Girl Who Best You with the Sabre

How does she know his name? He hates to admit it, but she's got pluck, spirit, and daring, for sure, as well as plenty of cheek.