Reincarnated as a Princess's Pet: With Trash Stats, but SSS-Rank Skill

Several hours passed before they reached the castle.

The carriage came to a stop with one last rattle, and the moment they stepped down, exhaustion hit them full force. The smell of smoke still clung to their clothes, soot marked their faces, and the fabric was torn and burned through in more than one place.

Gawain was taken immediately to one of the side chambers. Dorian was already waiting for him.

"Sit," the healer said bluntly. "And don’t look at me like that. If you stay standing, you’ll pass out."

Gawain grumbled something unintelligible, but obeyed.

Meanwhile, Max walked into the main hall alongside Elanor and Moonlight.

The contrast was obvious from afar.

Clean carpets. White columns. Warm torchlight perfectly aligned—and them... they looked like they’d walked straight out of a fire. Literally.

The king was waiting for them, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

Max swallowed.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I’m very sorry about what happened during the walk—"

"Hm."

The king didn’t even look at him.

He had stepped down from the throne and approached them, leaning forward slightly, openly—almost childishly—curious as he examined Moonlight.

"And you...?" he asked, moving a bit closer. "Where did this little dragonling come from?"

Moon blinked.

She wrinkled her nose.

"Achoo!"

A small burst of flame shot out.

Straight at the king’s beard.

Max had no idea where to hide.

"YOUR MAJESTY!" he shouted, panicking. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—!"

He lunged forward and, without thinking, started slapping at the king’s beard with his shirt, trying to put out the fire.

"Moon, no—! I’m sorry, it was an accident, she can’t control—!"

Then the king... laughed. A loud, genuine laugh.

And, to Max’s horror, he opened his mouth and swallowed the fire, inhaling it as if it were warm air. His beard remained intact.

"Ah," he said, satisfied. "Still young fire."

Max froze.

The king straightened and, before anyone could react, lifted Moonlight into his arms.

"Moon—!" Max started, but his voice failed him.

The king held her carefully, resting her against his chest.

"Hello," he said gently. "Are you dangerous, or just mischievous?"

Moon stared at him. She narrowed her eyes and started to struggle.

"Grrr..."

"Father," Elanor said, crossing her arms. "Put her down. She clearly doesn’t like it."

"Huh?" he replied, surprised. "But she’s adorable."

Moon tried to wriggle free even harder.

The king sighed and lowered her, handing her back to Max.

"Fine, fine," he conceded. "Strong personality. As it should be."

Max held her carefully, his heart still racing.

"She..." he clarified, clearing his throat. "She hatched from an egg I obtained on a mission a few days ago."

The king raised an eyebrow, interested.

"Oh? Is that so?"

He looked at Moon once more.

"Then she’s welcome in the castle," he said without hesitation. "As long as she remains under your care."

Max blinked.

"You don’t... want to know what happened today?" he asked cautiously.

The king waved it off.

"I know you’re alive," he replied. "And I know my daughter is safe."

He smiled.

"That’s all that matters tonight."

He turned away and began to walk off.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me," he added over his shoulder, "I need a royal bath before dinner."

Elanor laughed softly.

Max stood there a few seconds longer, looking at Moonlight, who let out a small yawn.

***

Hours later, the dining hall was filled with light and calm murmurs.

Everyone had enjoyed a hot bath and clean clothes. The soot and smoke smell were gone, replaced by soft fabrics and steaming dishes covering the long table.

Gawain was seated as if nothing had happened.

Eating. A lot.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Max asked, glancing at him.

Gawain looked up for barely a second, a chunk of meat in his mouth.

"Better than ever," he replied before chewing again. "That royal healer is a miracle."

Dorian, seated not far away, sighed.

"If you keep that up, I’ll be treating you again tomorrow... for indigestion."

Around the table sat a few maids, Dorian, and several of Elanor’s suitors, all speaking quietly, still shaken by rumors of the fire.

Frida, seated near Max, spoke to him, slightly flushed.

"Ah... Max," she said, avoiding his gaze. "Your gift is ready."

He raised an eyebrow.

"My gift?"

She nodded.

"You can come by for it tomorrow, whenever you like."

He smiled, curious.

"And what is it?"

Frida lowered her eyes, a small smile forming.

"A surprise."

"Ooooh," Abby chimed in from across the table, resting her cheek on her hand. "That sounded suspiciously romantic."

Frida turned bright red instantly.

"It’s not like that!"

Sophie clicked her tongue.

"Abby, stop teasing," she scolded. "Then you wonder why Frida doesn’t spend time with us."

Frida hunched her shoulders slightly, embarrassed, and focused on her plate.

Moonlight, on the other hand, had no time for conversation. She was eating like the world was about to end. Bite after bite, no pause, no breathing.

"Moon," Elanor said gently. "Slow down."

The little dragonling didn’t even look at her.

Elanor sighed, picked up her utensils, and began feeding her patiently.

Moon accepted immediately.

Max watched the scene and smiled.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "And sorry about this... it seems all the action and the trip made her hungry. Or maybe this is just normal for dragonlings."

The king, seated at the head of the table, chuckled.

"It’s completely normal."

He took a sip from his goblet.

"Dragons eat a lot. A lot. They’re rarely satisfied with what’s on a table like this."

Max looked up, intrigued.

"And how do you know so much about dragons, Your Majesty?"

Elanor answered before he could, smiling proudly.

"My father spent the first thirty years of his life among dragons."

Max blinked.

"Thirty...?"

"That’s right," the king said, amused. "That’s why I can swallow fire like it’s fine wine."

He raised his cup.

And drank it in one go.

Elanor shook her head, laughing.

Moon chewed happily.

A brief silence settled over the table.

Taniel was the one who broke it. He set his utensils aside carefully and looked toward the head of the table.

"Your Majesty," he said respectfully. "I wished to ask something."

The king looked up, attentive.

"Go ahead, Lord Taniel."

Taniel took a deep breath.

"When... will the princess have to make her decision?" he asked with measured calm. "I must return to my lands in a few days, and I would like to organize my departure accordingly."

The murmuring around the table died down.

Max felt a small knot form in his stomach.

The king rested his elbows calmly on the table.

"The agreed date remains the same," he replied. "In two days."

Taniel nodded.

"I understand."

"If you need to return to your domain earlier, you are free to do so," the king continued. "You will receive an official letter informing you whether you were chosen by the princess... or not."

Taniel stood just enough to bow his head.

"Thank you for the clarity, Your Majesty."

He sat back down.

Max lowered his gaze to his plate.

He felt the pressure in his chest—heavy, uncomfortable.

He looked around the table. The suitors. Their practiced smiles. Their measured postures. Their rehearsed conversations. The thought of Elanor having to marry one of them twisted something inside him.

They didn’t fit. Any of them.

Not even Gawain—who he grudgingly admitted he didn’t dislike as much anymore—but who still had, at best, the brain of a pigeon.

He frowned.

’No. Definitely, none of them are good enough for her.’

Max tightened his grip on his fork.

Moon kept eating, oblivious to everything.

Elanor smiled, calm.

And the invisible clock began to tick.