He took a bite.

    Paused.

    Chewed slowly.

    ''...Okay. I would kill for this stew. I would die for this stew. I would probably write a love letter to this stew.''

    Ren looked over. "It good?"

    "Don''t talk to me," he said. "I''m in mourning for every meal that wasn''t this."

    She grinned and tossed him a piece of bread. He caught it without looking.

    Ashwing snored under the table.

    The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, wind whispered under the eaves, but not enough to matter.

    Meren dunked his bread into his stew and looked like he''d seen a vision.

    "This is actually perfect. Did we... earn this?"

    "No," Lindarion said. "But I''m taking it anyway."

    Lira didn''t speak, but her bowl was already empty. Which, for her, was basically a standing ovation.

    Ren pointed her spoon at Ardan. "You haven''t said anything."

    He looked up. "I ate."

    "Yeah, but did you enjoy it?"

    "I ate."

    "That''s a no."

    Lindarion leaned back in his chair. Not slouched, just... lowered. Just enough that he could rest his shoulders and pretend he wasn''t still running through every monster encounter and near-death situation of the past week like a trauma playlist on loop.

    ''...Quiet. Food. No one''s bleeding. This feels fake. I''m suspicious.''

    Still. He didn''t move.

    Didn''t complain.

    The bowl in front of him was empty before he even realized he''d finished.

    Ashwing raised his head, blinked once at the table, then rested his snout on Lindarion''s foot.

    ''He''s planning something. I can feel it.''

    The innkeeper came back with a pitcher of something warm that might have been cider or might have been liquid sunshine. No one asked.

    No one needed to.

    They drank. Ate. Sat.

    No plans.

    No next move.

    Just the dangerous, fleeting luxury of peace.

    Lindarion didn''t say anything.

    Didn''t need to.

    They''d earned this.

    —

    The bowl was empty. Again.

    Lindarion blinked down at it like it had betrayed him. Which, technically, it had... by not refilling itself.

    Ashwing made a hopeful little snort under the table.

    "You''re cut off," Lindarion muttered.

    Ashwing responded by licking his ankle.

    ''Great. Bribery by saliva.''

    Across the table, Ren had stacked her bowl, cup, and two extra plates like a proud hoarder. Meren was reclined with one hand dramatically over his stomach, making the kind of noise people usually made after duels or childbirth.

    Ardan sat exactly the same way he had at the beginning of the meal, except now he had crumbs on his sleeve. That counted as progress.

    Lira stood first.

    Because of course she did.

    Her cloak flowed behind her like it had its own personality and was mildly disappointed in the rest of them.

    "I''m going to check the perimeter," she said.

    Translation: I need to move before I start stabbing chairs for fun.

    Ren flopped sideways onto the bench. "I''ll patrol the inside of my eyelids."

    Ardan gave a noncommittal grunt. Probably agreement. Possibly the sound of digestion.

    Lindarion stood a little slower. His legs disagreed. His spine filed a protest. Ashwing followed, bumping into his shin like a sentient rock with baby eyes.

    "I''m heading to the warden," Lindarion said.

    Ren cracked one eye open. "You volunteering for more chores?"

    "Something like that."

    "You''re too noble. It''s disgusting."

    "Thank you," he said. "I work hard at it."

    She waved him off and resumed pretending to be dead.

    Lindarion wrapped his scarf loosely around his neck, ignoring the dried stew on one end that definitely hadn''t been his fault. He adjusted his coat. Adjusted Ashwing''s tail. Failed. The dragon just kept curling around his boots like clingy luggage.

    The inn door creaked open again. The cold hit him in the face like it missed him.

    ''Perfect. I missed you too, wind. Let''s never do this again.''

    The walk to the warden''s hall wasn''t long, but it had that special kind of post-meal guilt energy. Every step was a reminder that he could be horizontal instead. Preferably with snacks.

    Ashwing bounced beside him in that offbeat, too-proud rhythm that said I am small but important.

    ''...I''ve created a monster.''

    The central hall wasn''t locked. It never was. Which felt like a deeply rural decision but worked in their favor for now. Lindarion pushed the door open and stepped into the same cedar-scented air from before. It still smelled like bureaucracy and regrets.

    Raleth was at his desk. Again. Or maybe he never left.

    The man glanced up, quill poised, expression unreadable in that I''ve seen too much but am still paid too little way.

    "Prince Lindarion," he said.

    "Warden Raleth," Lindarion replied.

    Ashwing sneezed on the rug.

    Neither of them acknowledged it.

    "I wanted to follow up," Lindarion said, stepping inside. "About the Hollowcarver."

    Raleth''s eyes narrowed slightly. "You think it''s connected to something larger?"

    "I think things that try to eat my face usually don''t travel alone."

    Raleth sat back. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired you fix with sleep. The kind that came from being the only sensible person in a five-mile radius.

    "I''m inclined to agree."

    Ashwing curled in a half-circle near the door, eyes alert but lazy. Like a noble guard who''d already filed the report and just wanted his afternoon sunbeam.

    Lindarion stepped closer to the desk. His hands stayed at his sides. No magic. No flash.

    Just... him.

    "I''m not here long," he said. "Three days, maybe. But if you have anything else strange happening — people vanishing, monsters sighted, ambient curses — I want to know."

    Raleth raised one eyebrow. "You''re not obligated."

    "I know."

    He meant it.

    The title, the crown, the stupid bloodline. None of it mattered in moments like this. What mattered was that he could help.

    And that, despite everything, part of him still wanted to.

    Raleth studied him for a beat longer. Then nodded once.

    "There''s something you might want to see," he said.

    He pulled out a folded piece of parchment from a drawer, yellowed and faintly singed at one corner. He placed it gently on the desk and slid it forward.

    Lindarion picked it up.

    Ashwing tilted his head.

    The paper was soft with age. The ink faded. But the glyph on the front, a half-burned rune in old script, was unmistakable.

    Not just any rune.

    A sealing mark.

    Lindarion didn''t react.

    Outwardly.

    Inside?

    ''...Wonderful. Seals. Nothing says "light lunch conversation" like ancient forbidden magic.''

    He looked back up at Raleth. "Where did this come from?"

    "The mine. Before the Hollowcarver. One of the miners found it. Got sick three days later. He''s stable now. But the healer said his mana lines looked... frayed."

    Lindarion folded the parchment carefully.

    Then even more carefully slid it into the inner pocket of his coat.

    "I''ll take a look tonight."

    Raleth nodded.

    Lindarion turned to leave.

    Ashwing stood. Trotted after him like nothing had happened.

    Just as they reached the door, Raleth said, "Prince."

    Lindarion glanced back.

    "You don''t act much like one."

    Lindarion gave the smallest shrug. "Bad upbringing."

    Raleth didn''t smile. But his voice was softer when he said, "We''re glad you''re here."

    Lindarion didn''t say anything.

    Just stepped out into the cold again.

    Ashwing sneezed in solidarity.

    ''I should start charging for emotional support.''