Reincarnated as an Elf Prince
Chapter 209 - 209: Rest

Lindarion woke up warm.

Which was his first warning.

The second was the slow, steady rhythm of someone else breathing inches from his face.

He blinked once.

Then again.

There was a shoulder in front of him. Lira's.

He was lying against her side. No, not just against, pressed. Her arm was under his neck. His hand was half-curled against her chest, and her cloak had somehow wrapped around them both.

His brain froze.

Then very helpfully lit itself on fire.

'Okay. Not dead. Just…very compromised.'

He tried to move without making a sound.

Didn't work.

Lira shifted in her sleep, breath catching slightly, but she didn't wake. Her other arm twitched, barely brushing his ribs through the layers.

He stayed perfectly still.

'You are a prince. You are composed. You are not—'

Something shoved him.

Not hard. But deliberate.

Ashwing's snout bumped the small of his back, just enough to push him closer.

Lindarion barely managed not to choke.

'You little traitor.'

Ashwing huffed quietly behind him.

The warmth made more sense now. The dragon had curled half around their sleeping spot, heat radiating from his chest and underbelly like a living furnace. That explained the warmth.

Didn't explain the positioning.

Lindarion tried again to shift back. Ashwing gently pushed him forward again.

His forehead bumped Lira's collarbone.

He froze.

Her eyes opened.

Sharp. Focused. Immediately awake.

She didn't move.

Just blinked once.

Then said, flatly, "Comfortable?"

He cleared his throat. "Technically, yes. Contextually, no."

Her gaze didn't soften. But she didn't throw him off either.

She looked past him at Ashwing, then back to him.

"Did he do this?"

"He's smug about it, so probably."

Ashwing made a soft, guttural sound. Something between a purr and a yawn.

Lira didn't laugh.

But her shoulders shifted slightly. Like maybe she almost considered it.

She moved her arm just enough to let him roll off.

He sat up fast, cloak tangled, hair in his eyes.

She followed, slower. Calm.

Like sleeping wrapped around another person under a dragon wasn't even mildly unusual.

He ran a hand through his hair. Avoided looking at her directly.

Ashwing nosed at his side again. Less aggressive this time. Just amused.

Lindarion sighed.

"I hate how clever he thinks he is."

"He's not wrong," Lira said.

He looked up.

She was brushing frost off her sleeve.

Her tone was even, but there was something in the way she didn't meet his eyes either.

He coughed once, stood, and stretched his arms behind his back. "We should get moving."

"We should."

Ashwing flopped onto his side again, wings tucked, clearly content.

Lindarion kicked at a root gently. "After he gets up."

"Or we ride him sleeping."

"Tempting."

They didn't look at each other again for the next minute.

But neither of them said it was a mistake.

—

Lindarion smelled them before he heard them.

Woodsmoke. Damp wool. Old leather left too long in a campfire's shadow. The kind of scent that clung to travelers who hadn't washed in days but were too careful to burn clean.

He paused mid-step.

Boots, maybe four of them. Moving carefully over half-frozen soil.

Lira noticed too. She slid a hand near her cloak's edge. No flash of steel yet. Just a shift in posture. Ready, but not loud.

Ashwing lifted his head from the water. He didn't growl. Didn't rise. Just turned slightly, pupils narrowing, nostrils pulling the air apart in silence.

The steps drew closer. Through the tree line.

Three figures broke through, two adults and a girl. The older man came first. Sun-leathered skin, dark gray cloak, thick beard with more dirt than symmetry.

His eyes were brown, narrowed, lined deep. The kind of man who'd been poor longer than most wars lasted.

Beside him, the younger one looked no older than twenty. Freckled face, cracked lips, green eyes that darted like something used to checking for danger before speaking.

His coat had been patched three times, twice on the sleeves, once across the back with thread that didn't match.

The girl was maybe ten. Pale blonde hair, tangled and tied with a fraying ribbon. Her eyes were wide. Bright blue. Almost too bright for someone who'd clearly seen too much already.

They stopped when they saw the fire.

They froze when they saw the dragon.

No words at first.

Just eyes locked on Ashwing.

Then the older man swore under his breath. Not fear. Not reverence. Just confusion laced with a heavy edge of disbelief.

Lindarion stepped forward calmly. His coat still smelled faintly of smoke from last night's fire. The cold had burned the edge of his sleeves. He looked at the strangers and kept his voice level.

"You're lost," he said.

The older man blinked. Once. Then twice. His voice, when it came, was low and rough. "That's a dragon."

"Yes."

"They don't exist."

Ashwing shifted, just enough to roll one shoulder. Steam hissed off the wet scale. His golden eyes blinked slowly, focused but not aggressive.

"They do now," Lindarion said.

The younger man's voice cracked when he spoke. "That real?"

"No," Lindarion deadpanned. "It's an elaborate sculpture. Breathing is a new feature."

The girl stepped forward once. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, but not in anger. Her face was flushed from cold, cheeks wind-bitten, but she stared with something close to awe.

The older man reached out, caught her by the shoulder. "Stay back."

Lira hadn't moved. She stood near the fire, hood lowered now, face unreadable. Her breath fogged as she studied the strangers one by one.

"What do you want?" she asked.

The man's grip tightened on the girl's shoulder. "Nothing. Saw smoke. Thought maybe bandits, or a shelter. We don't pick fights."

"You don't pick smart camps either," Lindarion said, nodding toward the broken ruins. "There are easier ways to get robbed."

"No better roads west," the man said. "We're not heading for trouble."

"Too late," Lira said flatly.

The girl whispered something. The younger man leaned in to hear her.

The older one looked at Lindarion again. "You army?"

"No."

"Knights?"

"No banners. No names," Lira answered. "You can move on."

He studied her for a beat. His gaze flicked again toward Ashwing, still unmoving. Then he gave a short nod. "Didn't mean offense."

"You didn't take any, either," Lindarion said.

They started to turn.

The girl lingered another second.

Ashwing's eyes met hers.

He didn't blink.

Neither did she.

Then she smiled.

And turned to follow.

The woods swallowed them fast, footsteps fading into underbrush and frost. The scent of smoke and worn leather trailed after like a question that hadn't been asked yet.

Lindarion sat back by the fire and exhaled.

"They didn't scream," he said.

"They didn't know what they were seeing," Lira replied.

"That's worse."

She didn't argue.

Ashwing lowered his head again. Eyes closing. Tail curling tighter.

The forest went quiet.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.