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“Interesting,” he answered, and for the first time, she heard humour in his voice. His silver eyes and puffy mouth crinkled at the edges with it. “I am beginning to understand.”

She would never know what he meant, since he never elaborated, and before long, he halted in front of two large doors at the bottom of the path. They were made of steel and stone, taller than Rurik himself.

I would never be able to open such doors.She doubted even her magic could open them, yet he opened them with ease by pushing on them with nothing more than his two front paws.

The room she was taken to was carved like a cave alcove. There were no brick stones on the ground, but one side was covered in fur rugs and pillows that were crafted for something of their size.

More fire pits lined the walls, and between them were more tapestries. They were generalised histories of their kind, of Dragons. The story of her origins, of Faerydae and his human female – who eventually birthed the first Witch – caught her eye. She stared at it for a long while.

“Rurik, my dear boy,” a blue female Dragon greeted from her position on the pillows.

She looked old, her scales withered and wrinkled on her body rather than tight. She must have been resting her tired bones and muscles.

“Nayana,” he sneered before his eyes moved over the three other aged Dragons lazing about with her.

Valerie watched as the bright blue one got to her feet before the others followed.

Rurik leaned his head down to her.

“The blue one is Nayana the Loathsome. The golden one is Aneirin the Great.” Valerie watched them approach as he introduced them to her. “The pink one is Kelherian the ClawStriker and the grey one is Eridile. He has no title. You are lucky Fionnlagh has been dead for quite some time; he was stubborn as an Elder.”

“Why have you brought us a Witch, Rurik?” Nayana asked him, raising her brow.

Her silver eyes roamed over Valerie with curiosity.

“One who smells of indecent actions with a Dragon,” Eridile added, giving a huffing sneeze through his nose.

“I thought you would be faithful to your Witch mate.” Nayana shook her head. “Do you wish for a harem of them now that you have gotten a taste? Should we start calling you the WitchLayerinstead of WitchSlayer?”

“What the fuck? I would never betray Amalia!” he roared, stamping one of his paws forward. His claws dug into the ground to show just how offended he was at such a statement. “If you four are too old to realise she has the scent of another, then you are all hopeless and useless as our Elders.”

“Why is it you have brought her here?” Aneirin asked. She got the feeling he wished to interject before it got out of hand.

Rurik huffed loudly and turned his head up and away dismissively. “She wished for a trial with the Elders, and I graciously thought to comply.”

I did not ask for a trial with them.She didn’t dare correct him, though.

“And why would you do anything for another, a Witch no less?”

He rolled his eyes as he brought them back to the Elders.

“My reasons are my own.” He waved his paw towards her while stepping back. “You will be interested in speaking with her.”

Now that she was to be spoken with directly, Valerie dropped to her knees and arched her body over the ground.

“She got to the ground like a frog,” Eridile commented, and she could hear the confusion in it.

“She is bowing to us like the humans used to,” Aneirin frowned. “I have never known a Witch to do this.”

“Why are you bowing like a frog?” Nayana asked with quick blinks.

Valerie suddenly sat upright on her knees, surprised to feel the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. She never realised bowing like that was so strange. It was only then she realised both Geryon and Rurik had seemed puzzled when she bowed to them as well.

“It is the easiest way to show my respect to those greater than me,” she answered calmly, despite her hands jittering with nervousness. “I apologise. I did not realise it was odd.”

They whispered among themselves for a moment.

“Who are you?” Aneirin asked while tilting his head at her. She thought the golden one was the most thoughtful, since he usually spoke deliberately and with much intonation.