Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 177: Prince Perks

The snow didn't stop falling. Just got sneakier about it.

Thinner flakes. Slower drop. But colder. The kind of cold that snuck into your sleeves without permission and made you reevaluate every life choice that had led to this moment, including the one where you healed a stranger with divine magic and tried to pretend you hadn't.

Lindarion adjusted his scarf.

Ashwing walked in front now, tail swaying side to side with way too much confidence for someone who had eaten a pinecone earlier.

Ren walked beside him, silent for once. That was suspicious.

"Say it," Lindarion muttered.

Ren blinked innocently. "Say what?"

"You've been holding in a comment since we left that house. You're going to explode if you don't."

She grinned. "I was just thinking. For someone so emotionally constipated, you're surprisingly good with kids."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should take it as a diagnosis."

Meren jogged a few steps to catch up. "Did anyone else feel that?"

Lindarion raised an eyebrow. "Feel what?"

"That weird… warmth. Not emotional. Like actual air temperature shift. Right before the lady moved."

"Nope," Ren said, lying immediately.

"Maybe the house is haunted," Lindarion said helpfully.

"That explains nothing," Meren said.

"It explains everything if you stop asking questions."

Ashwing gave a tiny huff like he was agreeing. Or just irritated at the snow again. His wings puffed slightly and then folded tighter against his sides as if deciding flight was still a bad idea.

They passed a row of shops shuttered for the evening. The wooden signs creaked overhead, swaying in lazy rhythm with the wind. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, changed its mind, and stopped.

Lira waited at the corner.

Leaning against a post like she'd been there the whole time.

Ardan stood a few paces back, arms crossed, doing his usual impression of a gargoyle with deep moral disappointment.

"You took your time," Lira said.

Ren shrugged. "We got emotionally side-tracked."

"Small child. Sick mom. You know the deal," Lindarion added.

Lira's eyes slid over to him, not lingering, not questioning. Just… noting.

"Was she alright?" she asked.

"She is now."

That earned the smallest nod. Almost invisible. But he caught it.

They turned the final bend toward the inn.

Warm light spilled out through its small windows, distorted by frost and slightly warped glass. The kind of light that promised soup, dry clothes, and three hours of listening to Meren snore like a dying engine.

Ashwing trotted ahead and scratched once at the door like he owned the place. Then waited.

Polite.

Until it opened and he barreled in anyway.

"Still not trained," Ren observed.

"Neither are you," Meren muttered.

Lindarion stepped through last.

The warmth inside hit like a soft slap. Not aggressive. Just firm. Like the inn wanted to say, Welcome back, now sit down before you fall over.

He didn't argue.

Ashwing had already claimed a spot under the bench by the fire. Tail curled, eyes half-lidded. Professional napping mode.

Ren tossed her gloves onto the table. "I'm calling dibs on the first bowl of soup."

"There's no soup yet," Ardan pointed out.

"There will be. I have faith."

"You have delusion."

"Close enough."

Lindarion shrugged off his coat and dropped into the same corner seat as earlier. Same bench. Same creaky wood. Somehow, it felt more solid this time.

Lira sat across from him, silent as always. Watching the fire like it owed her something.

Meren slumped beside Ren and immediately started trying to steal one of her gloves as a pillow.

She slapped his hand away without looking.

Ardan stayed standing. Probably by choice. Probably so he could scan the room twelve more times in case a spoon rebelled and needed stabbing.

Lindarion leaned his arms on the table.

He wasn't tired.

Not really.

But the weight behind his ribs felt… used.

Not drained. Not gone. Just spent.

Like maybe doing the right thing took energy, even if it didn't cost anything obvious.

He looked over at Ashwing.

The dragon blinked up at him, then let out a single soft chirp and rested its head on its claws.

'Yeah. Same.'

The room stayed quiet.

Comfortably, this time.

Warm light, half-frozen boots steaming near the hearth, fire popping just enough to remind everyone it still existed.

Nobody said thank you.

Nobody needed to.

He didn't want one anyway.

A bowl hit the table in front of him with a satisfying thud. Then another. Then a third.

Meat, bread, something suspiciously stew-like. All way more than anyone else's plate.

Ren raised an eyebrow.

"Prince perks?"

Lindarion looked at the food.

Then at her.

Then deadpan. "Absolutely."

She smirked.

He didn't deny it.

And he didn't share.

Ashwing chirped.

'Fine. Maybe a bite.'

—

The last spoon hit the bottom of the bowl like a declaration of war against hunger.

Lindarion stared at the empty dish, full in the stomach but empty in the soul. Or maybe that was just the post-meal crash. Hard to tell when half your calories came from mystery meat and spicy regret.

Ren leaned back with her arms behind her head. "Well, if I die tomorrow, at least I'll die fed."

"You'll die dramatic," Meren said, licking gravy off his thumb.

"Same thing."

Across the table, Lira was still chewing. Slowly. Thoughtfully. Like she had decided each bite deserved a military-grade tactical analysis.

Her plate was nearly clean, except for a perfectly untouched chunk of bread she'd been ignoring like it insulted her lineage.

Ardan had finished first. Because of course he had. Probably inhaled the food in two silent minutes and was now sitting there like a monument to brooding.

Ashwing was under the table, purring softly. Or snoring. Possibly both. Curled into a perfect spiral of smug contentment, belly full and limbs twitching like he was chasing something heroic in his sleep. Maybe a chicken. Maybe existential purpose.

The warmth in the room was finally winning. Not the kind that burned. The kind that convinced your bones to stop pretending they were important.