Contents

PROLOGUE

Quiet, calm night. The silver moon shimmers. A dark river sleeps under a stone bridge. Small islands of stars scattered across the dark canvas of the sky.

The young traveler dimly sensed a threat in the cool air. He got out of the carriage. Ahead lay a gloomy bridge. Torches blazed on either side, illuminating the road. Suddenly, in the silence, they heard quick, echoing steps. Heels pounded on the cobblestones of the bridge. An echo echoed them.

The stranger groped for the cleaver in his belt. The steps approached. The girl ran headlong across the torch-lined bridge. Her long, black hair fluttered behind her back. A grimace of fear froze on her gentle, white face.

“Please help me!” She shouted. “Help…”

Her voice broke. She rushed forward, tangled in her own skirts and stumbling. The traveler managed to notice on her hand a gold ring with an amethyst.

The girl looked around fearfully. She was afraid to look at the sky. She wanted to run on, but then a huge black shadow covered the moon. There was a wild roar. A winged shadow fell on the bridge and part of the river. An unexpected gust of wind stirred the fallen leaves along the shore.

The frightened, pale beauty froze halfway, like a statue. The silhouette of a huge golden dragon stood out high against the black sky. Scales gleamed on powerful wings, a tail wriggling behind a sparkling hump. The monster’s aquamarine eyes sparkled with anger and fury.

And suddenly the dragon rushed down. Its strong clawed paws wrapped around the girl’s waist. In the next moment, he was already hovering high in the sky with his burden. All that could be seen was the relentless, smoothly flapping wings, the pure gold of the torso and head, and a tiny cloud of the dragon’s prey’s scarlet dress.

The young traveler lowered his eyes sadly. The coachman, sitting silently on the box, seems to have become accustomed to such incidents. And the young man could not help thinking. He did not have time to use the weapon. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. How good she is — a dragon sacrifice. But this time the dragon was wrong. Fate haunts everyone.

RANDOMITY

A tent of green foliage swirled overhead. The earth around it was blooming and fragrant. Pansies and primrose covered the meadows. The golden sea of buttercups stretched deep into the forest. The rising sun dazzled the eyes and transformed the magical flora. It is dangerous to enter here, but for the daredevils there are no barriers and laws.

Rose looked over with an admiring glance at the elderberry bushes and lush crowns of trees. Wild raspberries sparkled with dew drops. A piece of blue sky peeked between the tops of the pines. Elves usually live in such forests, but not everyone is destined to see them.

Rosa slung the gun over her shoulder. She shot great. The king himself taught her. And if he allowed her to carry weapons, then he would allow her to hunt in the reserved forest at the same time. It was not for the princess to wander unaccompanied in unfamiliar places, to communicate with commoners, and even more so to wear men’s clothes. But Rose did not care that the courtiers and masters would condemn her. Now she was thinking about her father’s ban. No one should step over the line and enter the forest.

This was the only prohibition for violation of which there was no special punishment. But people kept it. After all, the elves who lived in the forest should have punished the violator. And this is more terrible than dungeons and casemates. Until Rose met not a single magical creature on her way. Maybe the people themselves invented all these legends.

Rose walked quickly along the narrow, uneven path. Her long black hair fell over the red velvet of her caftan. Tall, leather boots were much more comfortable than women’s shoes. Trousers and a sling with a dagger made her look like one of those idlers who drop out of military service and rush in search of adventure, but more often find their own death.

The deeper Rosa went into the forest, the hotter and more suffocating it became. Such a change is against the laws of nature, which means that other forces rule more often. Perhaps a magician settled here, who dictates his conditions to the weather. Anyone who knows how to conjure has the right to subjugate rain, hail, and lightning, what can we say about the heat.

Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the larynx was dry. The air became hot as in a pottery oven. And there is no brook or reservoir nearby. Rosa was about to turn off the path when she suddenly heard a broken cry. Someone desperately called for help.

Rose listened. The cry rang out again, now it was clear that it was coming from the thorny, bare bushes blocking one of the paths. What if this is just a joke of the invisible inhabitants of the forest? However, Rose, without hesitation, rushed there. The thorns scratched painfully. Rose skinned her hands, tore the sleeve of her caftan, and a red rag from it hung on a branch of a bush.

A strange picture opened before the girl’s eyes. At the top of the mountain there was a fierce struggle. The eagle attacked a helpless, crying child. The child screeched shrilly, but for some reason it seemed to Rose that his voice was not childish at all.

Shooting a bird from this distance is almost impossible, but Rosa was a well-aimed marksman. She had loaded the gun an hour ago, and she had no doubts about her abilities either. The girl concentrated, took aim and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out, an angry bird’s squeak spread across the skies. Rose missed. How can this be, with her dexterity. She pointed at the heart of the eagle, and instead only interrupted the wing.

Rose fired again. Now right on target. The eagle fell heavily down. Good game! But the princess was more worried about the child. Had she not been around, the predator would have ripped him apart.

Climbing the mountain, Rose ran to the rescued person, and she froze in place. It turned out to be not a child at all, but an ugly little troll.

At that very moment, a dark figure stepped onto the path. The tall gentleman’s white, beautiful hand carefully removed the red patch from the bush. A scrap of princess clothing is a valuable trophy. Especially if another cunning plan is brewing in an insidious head.

Meanwhile, the dumbfounded princess stood on the top of the mountain, rooted to the spot, and looked with surprise at the rescued. How could she take this brat for a child, because the skin of the troll is gray, earthy, and not at all pinkish, as is the case with human children. Instead of a child’s, a lace shirt on a shaggy little body hung, as if on a hanger, a fancy, silvery robe. Furious, sparkling eyes stared at Rose.

“Eagle!” suddenly croaked the troll, waving his hand in the direction where the dead bird was supposed to lie under the mountain.

At first, Rose did not understand what he was trying to explain to her. In addition, the troll uttered several phrases in a language that people did not understand.

In vain she only ruined the eagle, thought the princess, because everyone knows how harmful these trolls are. The most valorous knight would not have saved them for any price, but she fell for the bait, believed that she was doing a good deed.

“He’s alive,” the troll yelled, gesticulating hard at every word. He did not recover from fright, but did not forget how a huge bird of prey circled over his head.

“I swear I killed him,” Rose said, her tongue tangled with emotion. She looked down to be sure she was right, but another disappointment awaited her. There was no eagle at the foot of the mountain. True, the nettles were crumpled in that place, as if recently there was something large and heavy in it.

“Couldn’t he take and fly away with a hole in his heart and a bullet in the wing?” Rose looked inquiringly at the troll, who struggled to get to his feet and spat from the mud. The eagle gave him a good thrashing.

“I think I should thank you,” said the furry, hunched dwarf without much sign of joy. Trolls are said to have neither generosity nor thankfulness. Why did one of them suddenly decide to excel?

Rose never ceased to amaze him with his appearance and manner. Trolls look different. And this one is so weird. On another occasion, the girl would just laugh, but one must be careful when dealing with such creatures. Just expect a catch from them. Rose feared that the troll was about to throw a ball of hot sparks or lightning at her. But the undersized friend behaved with restraint. Straightening to his full height, he barely reached Rose’s knee.

“Come on!” He commanded and trotted down the mountain with such ease, as if stepping on a flat road. Rose barely kept up with him.

“You probably want to ask why I didn’t use a spell to slay the eagle?” the troll guessed Rosa’s thoughts.

The princess nodded.

“Alas,” replied the troll, “I have no right to conjure against vassals…”

“Whose vassals?” Rose asked immediately.

“You’d better not know about this,” the troll cut her off. “By the way, I’m really grateful to you. Do not think that I don’t value my life.”

His voice became kinder. Now they were walking through the poppy field. The forest was left behind, cliffs towered in front.

“Lucky for you,” the troll announced, stopping at the entrance to the gloomy cave. “If not for me, the forest dwellers would not have let you live.”

He spoke all the time in human language, but carefully selected each word, as if afraid to make a mistake. In addition, in his speech, Rose caught an accent that was not found in any of the languages she knew.

The troll entered the cave. The girl followed him unquestioningly, but kept her gun at the ready. What if it’s a trap?

It took a long time to wander in the dark before Rose found herself in the cave treasury. So the troll hadn’t deceived her.

“Choose what you want!” He suggested.

Rose looked around. Bars of gold, nuggets, colored stones lay all around. So this is where the trolls live. Rose touched a pile of silver coins, passed gold dust between her fingers.

The troll himself offered her to take whatever she wanted. Poor people dream of getting rich this way. But Rose was not one of the lovers of easy money. It is also dangerous to accept gifts from a dubious person.

“Thank you, but I wasn’t hiring you and you don’t have to pay me,” Rose said. However, a mischievous light appeared in her emerald eyes. She cannot admit to the owner of the cave that she is afraid to accept his gifts.

The troll was silent, dumbfounded by the honesty of a mere mortal. Even kings are waging wars over different precious glass. But so that a beautiful, human girl does not have any selfish thoughts? This news seemed incredible even to a magical creature.

“Wait!” shouted the troll, noticing that Rose backs away to the exit. “Take what you find at the cave entrance. Otherwise, the forest will not let you go.”

Rose remembered his words only when she got out of the semi-darkness into the sunlight. What can we talk about if there is nothing around, except for grass and a bush of wolf berries. The princess was about to walk past, when she suddenly saw that a wreath of blue forget-me-nots was hanging right on the bush. A charming little thing. The only pity is that by the end of the day the flowers will fade.

The girl took the wreath and put it on her head. Although it did not match Rosa’s attire, it was the perfect adornment for her long, silky hair.

Rose found her way back easily. The sun was at its zenith. The scent of flowers and herbs enveloped the forest. At times, Rose thought that someone was watching her. She felt the gaze on her back. Someone’s hot breath burned the back of her head. Someone’s hands reached out to grab her. But when she turned around, she saw only a deserted path and birds of paradise flying from branch to branch. The wreath will guard its mistress until the last forget-me-not fades in its wonderful weaving.

VIOLA SOUNDS

The drawbridge was lowered. Rose entered the castle unhindered. The courtyard was pleasantly animated. There were sentries on the walls, a falconer was in a hurry. The rosy maid got water from the well. The footmen whispered in the corners. Only the minstrel stood alone with his viola. He must be fired from his job, otherwise why should he be discouraged.

The plump herald ran up to Rosa and bowed to her, almost touching the ground with his forehead.

“Her Majesty is waiting for you in her apartment!” He announced solemnly. Why did the main sloth of the castle suddenly become so compassionate. He used to sleep all day in the attic, get out in the evening and continue nodding at the royal reception, and then go out for a mug of ale with the grooms. He was kept in the service only by the grace of the king. And today he got up before noon, fussed and worried. He seemed to have been replaced.

Rose went up to the Queen’s private quarters. Luxurious rooms occupied the entire second floor. The richness of the environment alone indicated that Queen Odile was loved by everyone, including the king himself, which is very rare in modern times.

The bedroom and boudoir were empty, and in a small closet someone was singing softly. There, in front of the window, sat the royal spinners in a circle. The spindles whirled rapidly, a thin thread slipping between skillful fingers. The spinning wheel was spinning. Rosa gazed at the women at work, but they didn’t even raise their heads to greet her. They obeyed only their mistress.

Rose walked on into the bright room. There was a chessboard on the table, ivory figures lying nearby — the game was not over. The queen loved this fun, but always played only with black pieces. Often she and the king spent their evenings on opposite sides of the table at chess. But in recent months, Rose’s father began to devote all his attention to politics.

Queen Odile stood at the very end of the room and looked at the colorful tapestry, where in a bright mixture of colors it was possible to make out only the stately silhouettes of unicorns and the orange plumage of firebirds. The drawings were so skillful that it seemed that they were about to come to life and sweet bird trills would fill the air.

Rose cleared her throat quietly to get attention.

Odile turned around and almost gasped. If she was faint of heart or prone to hysterics, at the sight of her daughter, she would faint. Even the kindest mother could anger that the princess does not follow court etiquette. This behavior is reprehensible.

Instead of making excuses, Rose just smiled. She stood in front of an elegant, graceful queen in hunting boots, a torn caftan, from under which the hem of a cambric shirt peeped out, and even with a wreath in her loose hair. By a happy coincidence, she left the gun outside the door.

During such audiences, the crowned mother restrainedly scolded her child for misdeeds, sometimes not neglecting the abuse. True, this did not lead to anything. Rose still behaved as she pleased. Let severity be the basis of any education, but the father will not allow her to be punished.

The princess expected her Majesty to burst out with the usual abuse, but she only quietly asked:

“Rose, what do you allow yourself?” At the same time, Odile’s eyes flashed fiercely, and a forced smile flew from his lips.

The Queen was extremely polite with everyone, but on occasion she liked to show her character. However, her beauty was worshiped like a deity. The bards praised an incomparable face in their songs. People took even the excessive pride of Odile for dignity. The only trait that Rosa inherited from her mother was beauty.

“I should have taught you how to spin and embroider so that you could at least do something,” Odile wanted to read a tirade about how a princess should behave, “modestly and at ease,” but Rose interrupted her.

“I know how to hold a weapon in my hands,” she said boldly, “to read books and talk to foreigners in their native language. Isn’t that enough?”

There was a long silence in the hall. One could even hear the hand of the clock beating a drum roll and echoing it in the empty, magical fireplace. The fire in it could flare up by itself and go out only after the order of the hostess.

“I’m afraid that a happy future doesn’t shine for you yet,” the queen said, and after a short pause, announced: “The war has begun!”

These words sounded gloomy and solemn. Rosa lowered her head at once. She knew that the kingdom was on the verge of ruin and the fighting would not lead to good. Last year, hail hit all crops. Several vassals rebelled against the king, for which they were severely punished. And when public executions of noble gentlemen begin in the country, the people consider it their duty to raise a rebellion. Of course, the neighbors are doing even worse, but this is not a reason to start a war. After all, you can lose.

“The northern neighbors have declared war on us,” Odile continued.

Rose laughed mirthlessly.

“Why, their kingdom is half the size of ours. It turns out that everything is not so bad.”

“You’re wrong! Their son led the order of knights — elves under circumstances which I will not expand on. If you were even a little more agreeable, the dispute could have been settled by marriage. But the prince does not need a bride who runs through the mountains with a gun and talks to the peasants. And now…”

She fell silent, unable to put her thoughts into words.

“What?” Rose asked impatiently.

“Everyone knows that you hang out with trolls!”

The news hit Rose like thunder.

“It’s not true,” she lied.

“What the hell are you wearing on your head?” Odile wanted to rip the wreath from her daughter’s head, but Rose drew back from her hand.

“I’m going to fight,” she said. “Only old-fashioned archers serve in the troops, and I know how to handle muskets and rifles. I will come in handy.”

Odile shook her head ruefully. Such a proposal was already beyond all limits of decency.

“No, my dear,” she said resolutely, “you are leaving today. Go to your orphaned cousin.”

“On her piece of land, which arrogant fools call vast possessions?” not without sarcasm asked Rose.

“But the battlefields are far from her chateau. It’s dangerous to stay at home. I decided to send you away in case of an enemy invasion.”

The queen rang the bell. The chamberlain appeared on the threshold and stared at the princess in amazement. Then he came to his senses, opened some kind of scroll and began to read out the names of the astrologers invited to the court. Their services were always resorted to before the outbreak of war.

Odile ordered the carriage to be pledged and ordered the most efficient servants to prepare the load. It seemed to Rose that she was being kicked out of her own house. There must be a more compelling reason behind such precautions than war. Terrible news is passed by word of mouth, but those who are particularly affected are often left in the dark.

It was getting dark. Rose went out into the castle courtyard, hoping to see the noisy crowd of servants again. It’s time to listen to their gossip. Commoners always speak bluntly. From them you can easily learn what you cannot get from the nobles under torture. Now Rose was interested in any rumors. If only none of the nobility came down here after her. In the presence of gentlemen, the servants are afraid to open their mouths to forbidden topics.

However, there was no one in the courtyard. The gray light still fell on the paving stones and jagged walls. How old is the royal castle? This question haunted Rose. Is there a more ancient and impregnable fortress in the world than this one?.. They say that there is, but everyone who sees it is doomed by the powerful owner of this citadel to a long and painful death.

A dull hiss broke away from Rose’s thoughts. An unbearable stench hit her nostrils. The princess could not understand what was the matter and where the servants had gone. By evening, everyone crowded around the well. And now there is no one around, only a cracked bucket is lying in the middle of the yard, as if it was left here on purpose.

Rose moved forward swiftly. Heat burst into her face, although there was no fire nearby. Then the heat gave way to cold. Rose wanted to get closer to the well, maybe the reason for all these oddities is hidden in it. The girl took two steps and froze in place. What she saw was incredible.

A thin, golden serpent with wings coiled around the well log. His slippery wet body coiled into rings so that the entire well was braided with sparkling ornaments. Two amethyst eyes stared at Rose. Fragile, golden wings fluttered behind the back. A shining halo surrounded the snake. Rose wondered if his skin was actually molded from gold. If so, it is worth a fortune, not counting the fact that behind the soul of the reptile itself, there are undoubtedly also witchcraft.

Now there was a breath of spring freshness from the well. Rose stared in fascination at the golden guest. The snake was graceful and beautiful, despite its unusual body length, it did not seem bulky or awkward. On the contrary, all movements were simple and sophisticated, like a gallant gentleman.

Smooth, as if doused with precious metal, the head jerked up. The narrow stripes of the jaws parted, revealing a red, forked sting. Cloudy saliva flowed from him, from which poisonous fumes emanated.

Rose, as if paralyzed, stood and waited, not knowing why. Glowing, purple eyes mesmerized from a distance. Smoke escaped from its oblong mouth. The girl involuntarily covered her nose with her hand. The stench that spread through the air was unbearable. Another minute, and the creature on the well would have breathed fire, but then a weak, human voice called out to her highness in the distance.

This voice sounded like deep, stringy sounds. Such is the song to the accompaniment of a viola in the mouth of a tired minstrel.

Sensing someone’s approach, the snake began to tumble, its slippery, sparkling body streamed like a ribbon along the frame of the well and disappeared into a round, stone hole.

Rose could not understand anything. In annoyance, she kicked the bucket lying nearby. It rolled away with a crash, leaving behind a puddle of dirty, green liquid, just like the one that poured from the snake’s sting. It’s good that the snake didn’t spit this poison in her face. In general, it is good that he retreated without burning half of the castle. But just what could this creature be afraid of?

The princess turned around. Not far from her stood the same sad minstrel whom she had noticed in the crowd during the day. He was thin and poor, like all free musicians. A pleasant, swarthy face was slightly weathered during endless wanderings. Short, brown hair was sunburned. The pale blue eyes contrasted sharply with the bright, oriental tan. The young man was about the same age as Rose, but a life full of worries gave his calm gaze senile or even magical wisdom.

A staid and silent boy, obedient to the fate of fate, seemed completely devoid of any human fussiness.

“Did you call me?” Rose asked.

“The carriage is ready, Your Highness,” he reported barely audibly.

Rose wanted to talk to him heart to heart, to ask about the reasons for his sadness and withdrawal. But she said nothing. Why etch other people’s wounds? She must go, otherwise the queen will get even more angry.

“Thank you,” Rose nodded. She looked with apprehension at the well and at that very moment the wreath, as if with an iron hoop, pulled her head down. Pain shot through her brain. You shouldn’t have taken the troll’s gift. There are only troubles from someone else’s generosity.

Rose plucked the wreath from her head. Almost all the flowers in it withered and withered. Quite recently, the petals were fresh and transparent, and now even the green leaves have curled up into dry lumps, as if someone had drunk moisture and strength from them.

“I’ll keep it as a keepsake,” the girl whispered. She felt that someone was invisibly nearby and hears her words. But the young minstrel interrupted these sensations mercilessly.

“You have to go,” he reminded her.

Rose sighed heavily. The hardships of travel await her. When the carriage starts to move, the mystery of the withered wreath and the winged serpent will be left behind along with the castle’s pointed turrets and the bizarre outlines of the fortress walls.

A small retinue was waiting at the castle bridge. Three guards, armed to the teeth, pranced on black horses next to a gilded carriage, tightly closed and curtained.

Groom opened the carriage door for Rose. The last crimson ray slid over the raised coat of arms and intricate carvings. In the next moment, the valley in front of the castle plunged into darkness, cold water flickered, filling a deep ditch.

A young footman ran up to the coachman. His worried face spoke for itself. Rose leaned out the window, wanting to know what had happened.

“Be careful,” the footman warned. He was instructed to report something important, to make a loud and pompous speech, but the frightened boy limited himself to just one phrase. The fatal words sounded quiet and scary.

“A dragon has appeared in the vicinity,” said the footman. The coachman silently crossed himself and checked to see if his sword was in place. Rose, watching this pantomime, immediately opened the carriage door.

“The Dragon?” She asked with undisguised curiosity.

The footman said nothing. He, like a toy, made a bow and rushed back to the castle, as if looking for cover.

The carriage started to move. The battlements and watchtowers were soon left behind. Rosa heard only the clatter of hooves and the rumbling of wheels. To the right of the road were dense, impenetrable forests, to the left lay wasteland. The borders are still far away. You will have to spend two days on the road, because the kingdom is huge, but if you look from behind the clouds, the world will seem miniature, the universe will appear as a tiny kingdom, and people are insignificant prey. And now the road runs like a thin belt between toy trees and flat saucers of rivers, and the luxurious carriage looks no bigger than a pea. Can the people galloping behind her see a huge, majestic shadow among the clots of clouds and night fog?

The wind sings in the heavens, the star rain scatters in the darkness, but does not reach the ground, but goes out in the air. Glittering sparks pour from the golden wings of the flying monster. The people have composed many fairy tales. From time immemorial, mankind has tried to explain the incomprehensible power of magic, but no one got to the bottom of the truth. Let the legends remain legends, and the truth is too terrible for anyone to know about it.

It’s time to forget about honor and valor. Knights of the noble blood also obeyed witchcraft. Magic has unlimited power. It’s time to remember the battle wounds, the oaths of the royal conclave, and the battle in the marble gallery. Time to remember betrayal, time to take revenge.

A FATEFULL BALL

Even in her sleep, Rose began to choke. Opening her eyes, she saw thick, gray smoke pouring into the carriage window. On the velvet sofas and walls, swirling, dense rings were already crawling. Her throat was tight like a stranglehold.

“Hey, coachman!” Rose shouted, but no one responded. The horses were racing at full speed, as if still hoping to overcome the dead zone. Outside the window, nothing was visible except a white, poisonous shroud. Something hissed and groaned on both sides of the road. No animal can make such terrible sounds, no fire can bring such a hellish haze behind it, which slowly spreads along the road, and strangles everyone in its fatal, implacable embrace.

The carriage rushed forward. The escorts barely kept up with it. Gold coats of arms and monograms served as the only beacon in the gray smoke. Suddenly the coachman pulled the reins sharply. The horses snored in fright and stopped.

The white veil faded and dissipated. The air smelled of burning, but breathing became easier. Rose opened the door and got out of the carriage.

If earlier wonderful landscapes were presented to the eye, then what she saw now could only be called primordial chaos. Before her lay the dry, bare ground. Not a blade of grass, not a puddle remained on the ground scorched by fire. To the left of the road was a line of smoking ruins. The wind stirred the ash heaps under the collapsed walls. Wooden buildings burned to the ground, only charred logs were still lying here and there.

Burnout was all around. A woman was sobbing in the ashes. Her loud lamentations were heard.

The guards, galloping after the carriage, exchanged glances among themselves, but were in no hurry to dismount and find out what had happened. Rose told the coachman to wait and walked over to the crying peasant woman. She kept sobbing and wiping her tears with the edge of a chintz handkerchief. She was wearing an old, homespun dress. Unkempt hair matted. The face was swollen and flushed with tears.

Rose didn’t know where to start the conversation. The woman hardly wanted to explain to anyone now. She did not even pay attention to the approaching princess.

“Tell us what happened here!” Rose asked with all courtesy. And since she accompanied the request with a coin, the woman could not refuse her.

“There was a village here yesterday,” she began to babble. “Now look…”

The peasant woman scanned the ruins with mad eyes and burst into tears again.

“Who caused such a disaster?” Rose found the strength to ask.

Instead of answering, the woman raised her tired, frightened eyes to the sky.

“It flew over the rooftops, spewing flames,” she whispered. “Its skin sparkled like the sun. One could go blind looking at it. No dragon can be so beautiful and cruel. I barely had time to hide in the ravine before it breathed fire, and our village burst out like a T-bar.”

Rose listened in fascination. She understood that the peasant woman had lost her mind from fear. In her words, one cannot distinguish truth from delusional fiction.

There was an unbearable burning smell all around. Embers hissed. Remains from the former buildings equaled the flooring of soot and ash. Usually, the enemy’s fiery arrows turn settlements into one huge funeral pyre, but Rose did not really believe in the fact that the flame was expelled from the mouth of the “heavenly ruler”. Of course, it’s not good to be such an atheist, because she personally watched the grandiose tricks of sorcerers who came to her father’s court. However, none of them was able to create a real disaster. All of them only created illusions, but did not harm anyone. It is possible that evil magicians also live somewhere, but they do not dare to act openly. Their territory is enough for them, they do not climb on someone else’s without need.

Rose thought about it and decided that the peasant woman was crazy.

“If at least one castle of the feudal lord survived here, then look for help there,” advised Rose.

“Yes, I need to go for cover. The fortress is not so easy to burn down,” the woman was delighted. “And you hurry to the shelter before it’s too late!”

She too harshly underlined the last words, as if warning the princess herself. Rose was not impressed. It was only on the way back to her carriage that she suddenly remembered the footman who had brought the terrible news and the golden snake. It is necessary to ask the retinue about this, but all accompanying persons are silent, like idols. Apparently, the guards received clear instructions from Odile not to enter into negotiations with the princess, whom they hide and take away in a closed carriage from some punishing, unknown force.

The small detachment set off again. The smoky shroud that enveloped the road and the stinking ashes were left behind. Soon the scorched forests and fields disappeared from view, replaced by the former fragrant nature.

The gentle voice of the lady-in-waiting was overflowing with nightingale trills. She was sitting on a bench by a flower bed and sang some kind of romance, accompanying herself on the harp.

Rosa noted to herself that Mara’s dwelling resembles a mirage. Its lands were small, but fertile. Their mistress was engaged in trade with overseas rulers and received considerable profit from this, but she did not keep troops with her. It’s amazing how the invaders have not yet turned their gaze to its tiny state. All of Mara’s entourage consisted of court ladies, young aristocrats and numerous guests who stayed with her for a year or two, and then were replaced by new guests.

It seems like a scandal broke out last year. Several distinguished guests disappeared without a trace. They were searched everywhere, but they were never found. Someone accused Mara of a villainous murder. Then this brave man died under strange circumstances, and her title, wealth and surviving friends became Mara’s protection from evil tongues.

The magnificent chateau was surrounded by a huge park. The gazebos were drowning in flowers. The gardeners were not visible. The main facade was decorated with intricate stucco molding. The atmosphere of joy and harmony was spoiled only by the windows hung with blackout curtains. It is unlikely that even a single ray of light could penetrate the heavy, mourning-colored material. Subsequently, the servants explained to Rose that their mistress does not like daylight.

Many of the guests were still rested. Rosa despised such laziness, but since her cousin preferred an idle lifestyle, then no one had the right to tell her. There was no one in the chambers draped in silk and multi-colored twill. Luxury accompanied a strange loneliness. It seemed that the inhabitants of the chateau hibernate all day and wake up closer to the night to get to a feast or carnival.

The young page accompanied Rose to a small bedchamber, claiming that all other rooms were already occupied. The girl with difficulty pushed back the heavy curtain and let the light into the room. Sunbeams immediately danced on the panels. A barely audible groan broke the silence, as if the rays of the day had burned someone who was invisibly present in the bedroom. Footsteps rang out, the traces of two small feet were imprinted on the fluffy carpet, and the door opened by itself.

Rose tried to shake off the obsession, but moans still came from the corridor. Obviously, the light caused unbearable pain to the invisible being. Has the cousin decided to put a spy on the princess? Not. The very guess seemed ridiculous to Rose. Mara knows nothing about witchcraft.

The bedroom became light and comfortable. The atmosphere of evil left her along with the invisible spy. There is hardly any room left for a secret passage or a sliding wall. The whole room was filled with furniture. There is an embroidery frame by the window. This item seemed completely useless to Rosa. She had no intention of doing needlework. The table with curved legs served as a decoration rather. Nobody thought of putting writing instruments on it. Nearby are a rosewood wardrobe and chest of drawers. In the corner stood a screen painted with pastoral scenes. A lilac canopy with silver trim hung over the colossal bed.

Rose brought about a third of her wardrobe with her. But even her clothes could not match the chic of this setting. Rose wanted to pull the comb out of her travel bag, but instead she found a wreath of forget-me-nots exuding a wonderful scent.

For a moment, the girl was numb with surprise. After all, last night she put a dried wreath with crumpled petals in this bag, and now the flowers are fresher. Dew drops were heavy on the tiny, blue cups. The troll’s gift regained its original appearance and gained new strength over a long night. Forget-me-nots needed neither food nor water, but at the same time they radiated tangible energy and created a protective barrier around their owner. By the will of the donor, they became a talisman.

Rose put the magic item on the table and went to the window. There was a great view of the park from here. The maids of honor played music in the oak alley. They will entertain guests with their flutes and harps in the evening. Water gurgled in the fountain. From a height, the shoots of petunias and gladioli appeared as a palette of bright colors. Peacocks walked across the grass, from time to time letting loose their colorful, patterned tails.

“Autumn is coming,” Rose whispered, addressing the void of air.

The girl pressed her face against the glass in an unconscious desire to get closer to the mother-of-pearl butterflies fluttering from flower to flower. Immersed in dreams, she closed her eyes and heard a terrible, disturbing whisper right above her ear.

“Don’t be afraid,” a quiet, heartfelt voice said, “the worst will come only in winter.

“What?” Rose perked up. She realized that she was no longer alone, that there was someone on the other side of the window. This someone is talking to her. The princess opened her eyes. Her lips parted in surprise, but she could not utter a word. Behind the glass hovered that flexible, coiled snake. Not even a snake, but a miniature dragon. His eyes sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow. The wings glittered, and behind them stretched in an instant the darkened celestial sphere. Rose waited for the intruder to say something else in her bewitching, melodious voice, but he was silent.

Rose pressed her hot forehead to the glass. She wanted to ask her mysterious acquaintance about something, but her tongue did not obey her. She reached out with her hand to the golden scales, and touched only the glass partition. Unreasonable tears choked the princess. She saw how white smoke envelops the sparkling silhouette and the serpent itself slowly escapes from sight, returning back to its magical world.

Outside the window was again a marvelous landscape. Butterflies filled the garden. Yellow lemongrass nestles on the window ledge. And the winged serpent was gone. Rose froze in place like a mannequin. An aching feeling of loneliness arose in her heart.

As soon as it began to get dark, the door to the room swung open noiselessly. At first it seemed to Rose that the figure that appeared on the threshold was surrounded by a black cloud and did not allow her feet in ridiculous, crimson shoes to touch the ground.

The vision vanished instantly. Mara strode into the room with a stubborn, arrogant gait. A dress embroidered with satin flowers and beads could not brighten up the pointed features of her face. On the contrary, artsy fashions added a repulsive arrogance to her shortcomings. The desire to stay on top in front of everyone has become a kind of mania for the mistress of this palace.

Mara shook a shock of red hair, the headband sparkled with the smallest emeralds, softening the bright redness of her hair.

Rose had to listen to enthusiastic greetings and compliments. Not a single word from Mara was sincere. The fire-haired cousin could boast of wealth, but not honesty. But she boldly poured out pleasantries. Her narrowed brown eyes wandered beside the sofa in the stone alcove and unpacked luggage.

“I’m glad you got here safe and sound,” Mara said, drawing out every word. Her chatter now resembled a chorus to some intriguing ballad.

“You know that several villages have been burned to the ground. And around the burnt earth a poisonous mist settled. The fauna wastes away at the behest of the dragon. Gnomes are hiding underground. The elves are more fortunate, they have holes. But the peasants are doomed to perish. Mara paused and gave her companion a sly smile.

“You have nothing to fear here, my dear,” she continued. “For those who are within the walls of my chateau, I guarantee complete safety.”

Mara walked over to the piled-up belongings in the corner and pushed open the lid of a massive wrought-iron chest. Rose did not even notice how it was brought in along with her own things. The heavy, copper-plated chest was completely unfamiliar to her.

“I want to give you a present,” Mara announced, and drew a sparkling ball gown from the copper void. The glitter emanating from the flowing matter dazzled the eyes. Rose ran her hand along the lush cascade of brocade skirts and immediately recoiled, as if she had skinned her fingers. A strange coincidence struck her. The dress was golden. After the peasant’s story, only the sight of gold could cause nausea and fear, and the reminder of a flying snake was identified with secret and magical darkness. What kind of inexorable fate could connect links in a chain of strange and exciting events?

Rose turned her gaze to her cousin. Now Mara looked like a pale moth. If it were not for the red plait of hair intertwined with a thread of pearls, then this arrogant lady would not be more beautiful than the deceased. Even in her heavy, smoky outfit, she looked splinter-thin. Long, tenacious hands gripped the gift like a deadly amulet. The garment was accompanied by a headdress in the same style.

“You should wear this to the ball tonight,” Mara said in a hushed voice. She handed Rose a dress and headed for the exit.

“At five to twelve we are waiting for you in the hall of mirrors,” she explained in an indisputable tone. Mara paused at the door. The light of the lamp fell on her face, outlined thin cheekbones. A deathly pale brow was covered with a rash of freckles, and her mouth curved into an avid, cruel grin. In the next moment, the cousin slipped out of the room like an ethereal ghost.

The door slammed shut behind her with such force that the hinges creaked and groaned. Each wall in this building resembled a living, mythical creature. Each window casement here had eyes that closely watched the newcomer. But as soon as one turned around and the walls turned to stone again, and the spirits living in them imperceptibly laughed at their accuser.

Rose stood in the middle of the room, clutching a gift, and shadows flickered and waltz around her. The gold brocade burned her fingers. The enchanted bedroom walls whispered among themselves.

Sharp beams of light danced across the polished table top. But the wreath was no longer on the table. Together with it, the otherworldly force disappeared, by order of the troll hiding in flowers and protecting the princess.