The Red-Haired Knight

I spent my whole life in the forest, caring for my mother. Never left. Never had reason to.

Then a stray arrow found me, and I died.

Or I should have. Instead I opened my eyes inside a novel—same name, same face, wearing the skin of a maidservant named Maylin.

I hadn't even had time to get my bearings in this new world when I understood the problem.

This Maylin dies early. In the original story, she barely makes it past the first act.

I needed to leave the count's estate before the plot caught up with me—but Maylin's body was bound by a magic contract. The estate's borders were walls I couldn't cross.

To break the contract, I would need help. And the only candidate was a minor character from the source material: the red-haired knight, a supporting role the author had left half-finished at the edges of the story.

He was a Sword Master. He'd been hiding his identity and wandering the roads, trying to find a cure for his madness—and he was currently staying at the count's estate as a traveling knight, waiting for something I didn't yet understand.

I'll make him medicine for the madness. In exchange, he breaks the contract. Simple.

The plan made sense in my head.

It fell apart almost immediately.

"I believe I told you to state your business." A pause, flat and complete. "Rat."

He didn't let anyone near him—

"Did I give you permission to use my name?"

—his temper was vicious in the particular way of people who've decided other people are not worth the effort of courtesy—

"If I'm not cured, you die."

—and he had a way of saying terrible things while wearing the most beautiful smile, as if the words and the expression belonged to entirely different conversations.

Could I do it? Could Maylin actually survive the ending that had already been written for her?