Reincarnated as an Elf Prince
Chapter 247 - 247: Worthy Entrance (1)

Ashwing uncoiled from his wrist and dropped onto the floor.

"You waited too long," the dragon said.

"I wanted to see if he'd crack."

"He didn't."

"No. But he's afraid now. That's enough."

Ashwing walked ahead, tail flicking behind him as he passed under the edge of the armory rack. "You're going to need help."

Lindarion didn't answer.

He moved to the long stone table at the back of the chamber, pulled out the scroll tube from inside his coat, and uncapped it.

The map unfurled across the surface, held flat by four metal corners already set in place.

This was the real thing.

Six marks.

Three sealed.

Two already disturbed.

And one—

"Still dormant," Ashwing said, reading from the side. "But marked for activation. Four days."

Lindarion pressed his fingers against the edge of the parchment. The handwriting was clean. Coded. But not subtle enough to evade someone trained to break old war cyphers.

"Caldris, Veldoria, Sylvarion… they've spread it under noble lands."

"Safe. Guarded. Invisible."

"Funded."

Ashwing didn't comment.

Lindarion reached into the drawer beneath the table and pulled out a second map—his own. Marked with known glyph fragments. Pulse readings. Disaster sites.

They overlapped in three places.

Not accident. Not chance.

They were building a ring. A perimeter. And the center…

His eyes narrowed.

"Vaeloria."

Ashwing climbed onto the table, claws ticking softly against the stone. "You think it's another containment."

"No," Lindarion said. "I think they're trying to open something."

He stared at the map for a long time. Then folded the Duke's copy and slid it into a burn compartment.

He didn't need it anymore.

Everything was already burned into memory.

Ashwing turned his head slightly. "You going to sleep?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

Lindarion crossed the room and sat back against the far wall, eyes still tracking the marks in his mind.

He had time.

But not much.

Four days.

Then the next one opens.

—

The teleportation thread unraveled just outside the inner curtain of the Castle, threading through a faint weakness in the southern ward line.

Lindarion stepped out beneath a balcony shadow, tucked into the edge of a sandstone parapet where the city's nobles rarely bothered to look.

The air here smelled like polished steel, old wine, and the constant churn of smoke from the forges below the capital terraces. The walls were wide, patrolled but not carefully. After years of peace, guards were bored. Sloppy.

'Good.'

Ashwing kept low in his coat, silent.

Lindarion adjusted his collar, tugged the hood just low enough to blur his face without drawing suspicion.

Not total concealment. Just enough to blend. The trick was in walking like you belonged, neither too fast nor too slow.

He made it past two corridors before the pressure shifted.

Polite footsteps behind him. Light, clipped. A practiced gait.

Then a voice.

"You're not local."

Lindarion didn't stop walking, but his fingers tensed slightly in his gloves.

"You walk like someone looking for a door no one told you existed," the voice continued. "Or perhaps someone who forgot how many guards we keep on the third level."

Lindarion turned.

The man standing across the marble hall was dressed in a fine black coat with steel-gray lining, fastened at the neck by a clasp of the Valerian crest. Tall, dark-haired, eyes sharp, not cruel, just always weighing.

Edric Kane.

It had been years, but Lindarion remembered every tick of his face.

They'd met once. Briefly. During the Valerian Ball. Edric had smiled too much, bowed too slowly. He'd hated Lindarion's presence from the moment the introduction was made.

And now, Edric didn't recognize him.

Not yet.

But his posture shifted with suspicion.

"I don't believe we've met," Edric said, smiling as he stepped closer. "Though you wear your silence like someone who wants to be noticed."

Lindarion kept his tone quiet, measured. "I'm here to deliver a message."

"For the crown?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"Solrendel."

That did something.

Edric's smile dipped for the first time. Not far. Just enough.

"And you thought sneaking past the front gate was the best way to do that?"

"I was told time mattered more than formality."

"And who told you that?"

Lindarion didn't answer.

Ashwing's voice curled faintly in his head. "He's watching your boots. He thinks you're nobility."

"Let me guess," Edric said. "You're one of Eldrin's quiet hands. A court shadow. What message is so urgent the usual channels were too slow?"

Lindarion kept his expression neutral. "One that can't be spoken to anyone except the king."

Edric raised a brow. "And yet you're speaking to me."

"I didn't ask to."

That got a twitch from the corner of Edric's mouth.

"I don't like being challenged by strangers in my own hall."

"You don't seem to like elves much either."

That froze him.

Edric's tone dropped just slightly. "I like guests who remember their place."

"Then you must hate the people who outrank you."

They stared at each other for a moment.

The air stretched between them like drawn wire.

Then Edric stepped back. "I'll see if His Majesty is receiving visitors. I suggest you wait in the antechamber. Politely."

Lindarion nodded once.

Not deferent.

Not friendly.

Just enough to let the man turn without cause.

Ashwing murmured, "He's going to dig."

"I know."

"Think he'll remember your face?"

"Eventually."

—

The antechamber was quiet.

Too clean. Too quiet.

The chairs were unused. The decorative banners too stiff. A waiting room built for appearances, not comfort. Lindarion didn't sit.

He stood near the window, eyes tracing the carved filigree across the glass. Useless detail. Wasteful. Exactly what he expected from human court architecture.

He didn't wait long.

Edric returned after five minutes, still smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes this time.

"The king is indisposed," he said. "Private council. Delicate timing."

Lindarion didn't answer.

"I was told," Edric continued, "to thank you for your diligence and to inform you that the court will accept your message through formal petition tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Lindarion said flatly.

"Correct."

Ashwing shifted under his collar.

"You should walk away," he whispered in Lindarion's thoughts. "But I know you won't."