Swan and Dragon. Dragon Empire. Natalie Yacobson

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