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 less from dragon’s raids. Dragon’s raids happened to them once or twice a year. But to Livellin, dragons were drawn like a magnet. What do they all want here?
«They want you!» A small voice inside Graymore’s mind prompted.
Probably some joking spirit spoke to her. Graymore brushed the voice aside.
She could also have been summoned in this way by a court wizard. Though the Council of Magicians had long since been banished, and there was still one powerful wizard in the castle, Gryamore would not consult him now. He would appear before him, and in a mentor-like tone he would begin to instruct her in the right thing to do. All his advice took the form of orders.
Once she was officially crowned queen, Graymore would not let anyone else tell her what to do. She would change the rules at Livellin’s court as she saw fit, too. There will be no more days of stupor after defeating a dragon.
She proved at the ball that it is possible to break a condition and still not be caught by captive dragons. She wasn’t being guided by any of them right now.
«You’re so sure of that?» The cryptic voices sounded as if they were coming from the cellar, but dragons can’t talk.
Graymore knocked the goblet of wine to the floor. She must not drink another drop of spirits! It’s time to switch to milk and fruit nectar. Milk and fruit nectar would never get you drunk. The wine poured out red on the marble floor, a reminder of blood.
A dragon’s face was in the pool. Graymore flinched, glancing toward the window. There was no dragon hovering outside. She shuddered as if a dragon had gotten cocky enough to peek through the window and reflect in the spilled wine.
Those dragons! They drew Graymore to themselves like a magnet.
The blood of dragons drew her from a distance. And now she felt a dragon at her side. Well, not exactly near. It was somewhere on the edge of the kingdom. Graymore’s secret vision immediately