Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 175: Proper Food

The inn smelled like old firewood, fried something, and indecision.

Lindarion made it to the common room half a step behind Ashwing, who burst through the swinging door like a noble conqueror who had just woken from a nap and remembered food was a thing.

The dragon didn't walk. He pranced. Tail high, wings slightly out, claws tapping like he had a soundtrack only he could hear.

Lindarion followed, scarf half-twisted, boots slightly uneven, and dignity bleeding out of his posture one step at a time.

Ren was already seated at the nearest table, trying to balance a buttered roll on Meren's head.

Meren looked dead inside.

"Is this breakfast," Lindarion said flatly.

"It's performance art," Ren replied.

"You should be arrested."

Ashwing made a noise that sounded like approval.

Lira and Ardan sat at a corner table. Quiet. Not together, but coordinated in that way people get when they've seen things explode and no longer expect nice things to happen in public.

A server walked over. Early twenties, wide eyes, apron slightly singed at the hem like maybe this place had a casual dragon policy.

He stared at Lindarion for a second longer than normal. Then his eyes dropped to Ashwing, who had taken up residence beside the table and was sniffing the leg of every chair like he was choosing a throne.

"You're the prince, right?" the server asked.

Lindarion blinked. "What gave it away?"

"The posture. And the dragon. And the rumors. And also the part where Raleth told everyone."

"Right. Forgot about the village-wide alert."

The server smiled nervously. "We've got a meal prepped for you. Special request from the kitchen. Complimentary, of course." ƒгeewёbnovel.com

Lindarion tilted his head. "Why do I feel like you're about to wheel out a turkey the size of my self-esteem?"

The server just nodded, already turning to leave. "Be right back, Your Highness."

Ren leaned back in her chair. "Look at you. Getting the royal treatment."

"I haven't earned it."

"You survived frostbite, bandits, a magical cave, and a dragon adoption. I think that counts."

"I did not adopt him."

Ashwing lifted his head and sneezed into Lindarion's boot.

Meren wiped butter off his forehead. "He's your child now. You can't fight it."

The server returned two minutes later.

Not with a plate.

With a tray.

It had everything. Steamed vegetables, spiced meat, baked roots, something that looked like roasted apples but might've been a trick.

Three kinds of bread. Two kinds of cheese. A very suspicious pie. And a full bowl of something that might've been dragon-friendly stew.

Lindarion stared at it.

Ashwing sat up straight.

The server set it down with reverence. "From the Hearthrun kitchen. An apology for the stares. And the attempted pitchforking."

Ren whistled. "Better get used to it, Your Highness."

"I'm eating now," Lindarion said. "I can't hear anything over the sound of royal entitlement."

Ashwing hopped onto the bench beside him like he'd done it every day of his life. He stuck his nose into the bowl of stew. No hesitation. Immediate slurp.

Meren reached for a piece of bread.

Lindarion slapped his hand away with a fork.

"Royal food," he said.

"You're terrible."

"I've earned it."

He took a bite of the spiced meat.

Chewed.

Closed his eyes.

Let the heat soak into the cold parts of his chest that hadn't warmed in days.

It wasn't a feast. Not really.

But it tasted like survival.

And that was enough.

He opened one eye.

Ren had already stolen a roll. Lira hadn't touched her plate yet. Ardan drank something dark from a mug that probably counted as a war crime.

Ashwing licked the stew bowl clean.

And Lindarion, the official prince, reluctant adventurer, emotional cryptid, took another bite.

No storms. No monsters. No maps.

Just food.

—

The food didn't stop tasting good.

Lindarion kept chewing, mostly to give his brain something to focus on that wasn't the swirl of politics, prophecy, or dragon adoption forms.

The spiced meat was tender. The bread warm enough to still steam when torn. One of the cheeses might have been illegal.

He didn't care.

Ashwing had claimed the corner of the table with both front claws and one wing.

His bowl of stew was empty, his tongue was working on the leftover broth like it had personally offended him, and his tail had started to tap the bench in contentment. Like a metronome. For chaos.

Ren had three rolls on her plate and a fourth in her sleeve.

"Don't judge me," she said, mid-bite. "This is self-care."

"I'm not judging," Lindarion said. "I'm admiring your hoarding instincts."

"I learned from watching you."

"I'm elegant. You're a food gremlin."

"Semantics."

Meren was attempting to butter something with the wrong side of a knife. His face had that distant expression that usually meant he was either deeply moved by the flavor or imagining death by pastry.

Lira, as usual, was eating like she might have to draw her blade between bites. Methodical. Quiet. Focused.

She hadn't looked up once.

Which, coming from her, was the closest thing to joy.

Ardan hadn't touched the food. He nursed his mug like it was a grudge.

Lindarion glanced at it. "You know, you're allowed to eat."

"I don't need to."

"That's a lie."

Ardan said nothing.

Ashwing sneezed again.

Meren flinched. "That's the third time. I'm developing trauma."

"He's just expressing himself," Ren said, patting Ashwing's back like a proud aunt.

"I can feel my soul leaving my body every time he does it."

Ashwing gave a low chirp. Almost smug.

Lindarion took another bite of something vaguely pie-shaped. It was warm, spiced, slightly sweet. No idea what was in it.

Probably magic. Or whatever counted as seasonal fruit in a village that looked like it snowed twelve months a year.

He leaned back slightly, fork in hand.

"This," he said, "is the highlight of the last two weeks."

"That's sad," Meren muttered, still chewing.

"That's honest," Lindarion replied.

The warmth from the food had finally reached his limbs. The stiffness in his shoulders had started to fade. The fatigue behind his eyes didn't leave, but it stopped knocking.

And no one had died in over twenty-four hours.

Which, statistically, was progress.

Lira set her utensils down. Wiped her hands. Looked up.

"After this, we stock up. Rest for like three days. Then we leave."

Ren groaned. "We just got here."

"Exactly."

Ardan nodded once.

Meren let his face drop into his plate with a muffled sigh.

Ashwing licked his ear.

Meren screamed.

Lindarion smirked into his cup.

For the first time in a long while, everything felt manageable. Not simple. Never that. But grounded. Like maybe, just maybe, they weren't completely screwed.

He took one more piece of bread.

He didn't have to say it.

They all felt it.

Warm food.

Good boots.

A roof overhead.

And a dragon under the table.

It didn't get better than that.