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Let the laurel here be golden in her honor.»

      The fairy fell asleep, and the crown of the tree covered her with leaves as if she never existed. The other fairies whispered together.

      «She is a poor princess!»

      Is this any way to honor a winner? Graymore was hiding behind the laurel tree and eavesdropping on them. Did they know she was watching them? The fairies flew past her in a slew of glittering figures. One even whipped her on the shoulder with a wing and didn’t notice. Graymore looked in their wake and groaned. The laurel beneath her hands turned golden. The fairy had fulfilled her promise.

      Flames in dreams

      Graymore was thrashing about on the king’s bed. She dreamed of a dragon. They were either fighting or making love with him. Suddenly, instead of a dragon, there was a young man. Handsome as an elf, but his breath was fiery.

      «Your blood is fiery,» said Graymore, «but you are not a dragon. How could that be?»

      He kissed her, breathing fire on her lips. She was to burn. That was the end of the dream.

      She was to burn with love in the literal sense, not in the poetic sense. It was a fiery romance!

      Graymore could have indulged in dreams of the hero of her dreams all day, but business was urgent. She must pack for the road. If she did not defeat the dragon on the southern border, no one would.

      The squires looked at the princess with reverence, as if she were a heroine.

      «You are not coming with me,» Graymore informed them.

      There was an answering gasp and a gasp of amazement.

      «You can’t really go to the dragon’s lair alone, can you?»

      «Of course I can!» Graymore was picking out the weapons she would take with her.

      She had correctly calculated that if there was only one dragon, she wouldn’t need any helpers. She would be doubly unhappy if she were mistaken and the dragon had flocks of winged helpers in the bushes. Then she’d be walking into a trap. Graymore weighed the pros and cons, and decided that a dragon could have no helpers. She’d swallowed up all the dragons in her area long ago. So she had nothing to fear. No one will come to the dragon’s rescue.

      «Won’t you even take us with you?» The squires lamented. They were all young and pretty. Everyone liked the princess, without exception.

      «I will not need you or any of my knights to fight the dragon. I ride alone,» Graymore repeated in a peremptory tone.

      «Do you need someone to help you hunt a dragon? How could you not take us with you?» The prettiest, most daring of the squires insisted.

      «I am bewitched by the dragon’s fire, but you are not,» Graymore replied. «I can’t risk you all on a whim. A dragon would burn you in a single breath.»

      The squires grimaced. Everyone knew that dragon fire does not burn an enchanted princess. But about the fire that rages within her when a dragon approaches, Graymore preferred not to tell anyone. Outwardly she remained invulnerable, her body unburned by dragon fire, but her soul burned.

      The memory of her dream lover made her soul burn. Graymore struggled to concentrate on her choice of weapons. She would need an axe, a chain, throwing daggers, a mace, darts, a spare quiver of arrows, and, of course, a huge, sturdy bag to put the severed dragon’s head in. Graymore had no doubt that she would overpower and kill the beast.

      «Don’t be so sure of yourself,» the laurel fairy whispered as she flew past the window of the royal castle.

      «Did she really tell me that?» Graymore frowned.

      «You are jealous!» One of the squires scolded the fairy and immediately cried out. He’d accidentally bitten his tongue. Swearing at fairies was dangerous.

      Graymore was not angry at the fairy. After all the laurel trees in the avenue had turned gold, fairies could be forgiven for idle chatter. Let them snicker. Everyone knows fairies are sharp-tongued and love to banter with mortals.

      «I wish I could catch a fairy and ask her for a fortune!» Graymore sighed wistfully. «It’s a pity fairies aren’t dragons, you can’t catch them.»

      «You can beat a dragon,» the elder squire announced with aplomb.

      Graymore patted him on the top of his head.

      «I know you’re a fan. One day I’ll teach you how to hunt dragons.»

      The squire flushed to his ears.

      «If there are dragons left when I return from the Southern Woods. I’m probably overconfident, but I think I’m going to catch the last one.»

      «Maybe after the dragons you’ll hunt griffins, basilisks or Naga? I hear there’s a whole nest of Nagas in the next kingdom.»

      «Nagas, Gryphons, and Basilisks have done nothing to annoy me, but the dragons seem to have declared war on me. Why would they do that?»

      «It is because you’re the Chosen One,» the squire suggested.

      «I think there’s a deeper reason,» Graymore said, choosing her weapon. «I’ll need a little more provisions, but I don’t want to overload the horse. The saddlebags are already full of crafty dragon-catching implements. I must eat the wild apples that grow along the road. The forests of Livellin are full of wild apples and plums. And I can drink pure spring water.»

      Graymore ordered the squires to sharpen their swords, and she herself went down to the cellars where the captive dragons were kept.

      «Will you explain to me why you are hunting me? Has your dragon tribe declared war on me or on my realm? What do you want with me? Why do I disturb you so much?»

      The dragons only wheezed and snarled in response. They must not know human speech. And their gleaming eyes said they understood. Their eyes are wise, but embittered. The skeleton adviser could translate for her, but he would never insinuate himself into the vaults. He is forbidden to leave the tower. If they put him in a horse-drawn carriage and drag him down to the cellar, he’d probably crumble to dust on the way. Life after death is a risky business. A dead wizard is haunted by various conventions and restrictions.

      Graymore stared at the captive dragons for a moment. Her ringed fingers slid over the thick bars of the bars. Usually jewels attract dragons. Graymore was laden with it, but the dragons looked at her with disdain. One even spit fire in her direction. Not surprising, since she was the one who had captured them. If it hadn’t been for her, they’d be free in the sky, not locked up in a dungeon.

      The fire spit did not burn Graymore. Dragon fire could not harm her.

      «You are so beautiful and so vicious!» rebuked the princess.

      The many-colored dragon eyes gazed at her from the darkness like a cluster of jewels. It was as if the dungeon held not dragons but sapphires and rubies and emeralds, as if they were alive inside them. Dragon scales shimmered in every hue of the rainbow.

      «How could such beautiful creatures be so vicious and cruel?» Graymore thought aloud and turned to leave. She would get nothing from the silent dragons.

      «How can you be so vicious and cruel to cage dragons?» A hoarse voice asked.

      Graymore turned around. The voice was definitely not that of a dragon. None of the dragons in the dungeon had spoken to her. So who spoke? Graymore took a torch from a bracket on the wall and looked around. There was no one in the dungeons but the dragons. The guards on duty outside didn’t count. None of them had the audacity to address the would-be queen.

      «The Invisible One speaks to me!» Graymore sighed and pushed the torch back into its bracket. Ripples rippled across the smoked wall, as if it were not a wall but the surface of a lake. The soot folded into letters, and the letters into an inscription:

      «I am

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