Breakfast in the royal dining hall was quiet—too quiet for Aslan's taste. Silver cutlery clinked against fine porcelain, and the soft morning light poured in through the tall arched windows.
Emperor Valen finally broke the silence, his deep voice surprisingly soft.
"Aslan… in fifteen days, you'll turn fifteen. You'll be attending the Academy soon. Have you thought about what you want to become?"
He glanced up from his cup, eyes calm, but clearly curious.
"Do you wish to be a swordsman like your elder brother? Or perhaps follow Lucian's path into politics and statecraft?"
Aslan lowered his fork slowly.
"Father, I haven't really thought about it yet," he said honestly. "All I know is—I want to live life on my own terms. Not chained to expectations."
There was a pause. Then:
"May I make a request?" he added, tone more careful now. "When I go to the Academy… could I not go as a prince?"
Valen raised an eyebrow.
"You want to attend the Academy… as a commoner?"
"Maybe," Aslan said with a small shrug. "Just for once, I want people to treat me based on who I am—not who I was born as."
The Emperor sighed, setting his cup down.
"…Fine. Do as you wish."
Then he added, more formally, "Regarding your birthday banquet—who would you like to invite? All the noble houses are eager to meet you. You've never debuted at a social event before."
Aslan leaned back in his chair and smirked.
"You already know my answer, Father. I'll invite people I'm close to. Why call strangers to my party?"
Valen arched a brow. "There will be others your age attending."
Aslan's grin widened. "Ah yes—teenagers who only exist to show off their noble status. Real charmers."
The Emperor rubbed his temples like he was already regretting saying yes.
"…You still have to enroll," he muttered.
"Yes, Father."
Aslan stood, stretched with the dramatic flair of a cat who owned the palace, and strolled out of the room like a wind that didn't care where it blew.
After the doors shut, Empress Seraphine turned to Valen, her brows pinched with concern.
"I'm worried about him," she said softly. "He's been getting injured since he was a baby. What will happen when he's out in the real world… at the Academy?"
Valen stared at his reflection in his tea, quiet for a long moment.
"…You know why I named him Aslan, don't you?"
She nodded. "I do."
Then a pause.
"…Still, did we really have to name our wildest child after a lion?" she sighed. "You couldn't name him 'Calm Breeze' or 'Royal Obedience'?"
Valen chuckled under his breath. "Wouldn't have suited him."
Later that afternoon, palace staff were in chaos again.
A maid burst into the Emperor's study, breathless.
"Your Majesty! Prince Aslan has escaped again!"
Valen didn't even flinch. He calmly turned a page of his report.
"How this time?"
"We—we found a ladder tied to a griffon, Your Majesty! He flew off the west tower!"
The Emperor exhaled slowly. "…He's improving. Last time it was a broomstick and a note that said: 'Do not follow unless you can fly.'"
By sunset, Lucian opened his wardrobe, searching for a fresh coat… only to find Aslan curled up between folded cloaks.
Lucian blinked. "Why are you in my closet?"
Aslan, unbothered, peeked out from under a velvet sleeve. "Avoiding nobles. They never check the second-born's wardrobe. Too bland."
Lucian stared. "That's offensive."
Aslan yawned. "So is velvet embroidery with fifteen house symbols."
Lucian sighed, shutting the door halfway. "At least take your boots off. You're getting mud on the diplomacy capes."