urge to take the keys to the cellars and go free all the dragons. The desire hurt like passion. Graymore could barely contain her impulse.
She needed to breathe steady and think of pleasant things. It is about the next dragon hunt, for example. There! She’s calmed down. Nothing seems to be happening anymore. Her mind is free from foreign spells.
An unfamiliar face flashed into the hall. A slender stranger in a cloak of improvised scales and claw clasps was strolling between the dancing couples. Is he choosing a partner? For some reason Graymore’s heart sank at the sight of him. He wore a mask that mimicked a dragon. But there were many who wore such masks now. After all, the skinned dragons are not available to all, but only to the victors. So others order dragon masks for themselves. It is also a kind of luxury.
The stranger wore expensive jewelry. Even ministers would have admired his rings. Perhaps he was some kind of overseas king. Graymore herself had not yet been crowned. She is tacitly recognized as ruler, since she alone can protect the state from dragons, but her brothers are still alive and settled in foreign lands. Before the coronation, their renunciation of rights to the throne in favor of his sister must be settled.
The stranger who attracted Graymore’s attention may be their messenger. The princess has decided to ignore principles and violate etiquette. Why can’t the winner be allowed to have one dance? It was as if the stranger was waiting and looking for just her.
He said nothing, but it seemed to her that he called out to her.
The few candelabras in the hall and the chandelier went out. A gust of wind that blew in through the window must have extinguished them. The ball continued in the shaded surroundings. No one would even notice that she had broken the rules. Graymore stepped toward the stranger. There was no invitation to dance, but he eagerly put his arm around her waist and spun her around in a dance. This was a dance that Graymore did not know. The steps were too complicated. Sometimes she had to fly above the floor in her partner’s arms. Maybe he was an elf with his wings hidden under his cloak.
«Are you from the northern woods?» Graymore broke the prohibition against talking. It is unlikely that the spirit of a captive dragon had come for her to speak to her on purpose. Most likely she was a winter elf, as the northern woods are full of them. The thickets there are teeming with the harsh but beautiful elves of winter. Since they themselves for their stubborn temperament are not invited anywhere, what could he do but sneak into the ball.
Her partner said nothing. And his hands were not cold at all. Maybe it was the velvet gloves. The gloves threatened to turn into mittens, because sharp golden fingernails protruded from his fingers. They were red-hot to the touch. Graymore even burned herself on them. She guessed her partner wasn’t a winter elf after all. Otherwise he would have brought the cold with him to the castle. But then again, if he were a dragon-agent, the candelabra wouldn’t be extinguished by his approach. As soon as dragon ambassadors arrive or fly in, all the candles are ablaze. Graymore knew this for a fact, for once a dragon-worshipped minstrel was sent to her to declare dragon war. There was fire in the dragon-slave’s eyes. As he spoke, sparks spewed. As he entered the throne room, all the fireplaces and candles flickered, even the pillars. But once Graymore had defeated the dragons and unmasked the minstrel, he was just a shy boy who claimed to have been grabbed by a clawed paw at a dusty crossroads and dragged off into the heavens. That was all he could recall. Before his captivity, he had heard a voice calling to the crossroads, telling him to obey. But dragons can’t talk, can they?
Could her dancing partner speak?
He just picked her up and almost flew above the floor with her.
«You are not one of my courtiers!» She looked closely at the eyes beneath his mask. They were golden as sparks. «You are not a knight, nor an advisor, nor an ambassador! I do not know you.»
«You know me!» The voice beneath the mask resembled a hiss, but it caressed the ear nonetheless.
«And who are you?»
«Suppose I am your conscience.»
«How interesting is it!» Graymore snorted, suspecting something fishy. It is time to call for the guards, for she is unarmed now. Even the dagger she usually wore behind her corsage she had left in her bedroom. She should have known that even on the day of her victory over the dragons there would be danger! Today is her triumph, after all, and an attractive and dangerous stranger leans toward her and whispers as if she has lost.
«I am your conscience! I am your destiny!»
Graymore tore off his mask and screamed. Beneath the mask blazed solid fire. The stranger had no face at all. Only flickers of flame burst from the exquisite jabot, forming a head. The dancer turned into a pillar of fire, hovering above the hall. Graymore fell to the floor as soon as he let her out. There were no burns on her, but it was as hot as the inside of a furnace.
Graymore screamed for so long until the column of fire, formerly a stranger, dissolved into darkness. The candelabra in the hall were lit at a very bad time. Everyone could see that the dragon-winner was screaming in terror. The crowd stared at Graymore in bewilderment.
«Perhaps she’s had too much to drink,» the guests whispered.
«It’s bad luck to scare a dragon maiden on her moment of triumph,» the ministers murmured.
Graymore could hear every rustle and understand the words of any who stood far away. Her hearing was sharpened. It sounded like someone’s magical interference.
The situation was uncomfortable. Graymore jumped up from the floor and hurried out of the ballroom. Outside the windows, the motley lights of the fireworks were still blooming. They resembled heavenly bouquets.
How marvelous that after the deadly dragon fire, the skies above the city were lit with multicolored flames of joy. Graymore did not immediately see the dark dragon’s silhouette, which almost merged with the darkness of the night. The dragon hovered above the towers, displaying its spiky tail as if taunting:
«You won’t catch me!»
Before Graymore could raise the alarm, the dragon vanished into the night.
Enchanted Princess
The events of the feast were delicately silenced. Compromising the future queen was not an option. Well, if it’s not too much to drink! It happens to everyone! Graymore had never had more than a glass of wine in an evening, but who would believe her. She acted like a madwoman or bewitched at the ball.
You can’t blame magicians you don’t even know. Such accusations had been made before. Back in her childhood days, when healers had failed to cure a strange ailment that caused her whole body to burn as if she were being burned at the stake.
Some sorcerer had bewitched her. So it was said, at any rate. Was it rumor or truth? Where did the frail girl get her strength when it came to fighting dragons? Where did her magical instinct for approaching dragons come from? If she is not enchanted, then there is no explanation.
She was probably enchanted out of goodwill. The internal fever that heralded the approaching dragons could be considered a curse. But the gift of defeating monsters was itself a blessing. It was probably the gift of some good fairy who had decided to protect the whole country. Livellin had been besieged by dragon packs for centuries. The kingdom bordered the mountains on all sides, where in all likelihood, there were dragon nests. Somehow the neighboring countries suffered
