The "Royal Florida Academy" was far more than just an educational institution. Since its founding two centuries ago, it had maintained a reputation as a place open only to a select elite. Admission depended not only on academic excellence but also on social standing, family heritage, and the position a student held in their own country. It was like an invisible bridge connecting ruling families, diplomats, prominent figures, and the intellectual elite. Its student body might have been smaller than other universities, but its value… was unparalleled.
Within its walls, the languages of the world converged, intellectual schools collided, and intricate networks of relationships spanning decades were forged. Every corridor had its story, and every stone carried a history touching politics, arts, and philosophy. Entering the academy was not merely an honor; it was a responsibility that generations of students bore like an invisible badge upon their chests.
On the first morning, the quiet palace where Prince Murad lived began to stir slowly. Heavy curtains were drawn back gently, allowing a golden streak of sunlight to spill across the room. Murad woke before Alyana could, lying on his back while the birds' songs in the palace gardens tried to calm the tension gnawing at him from within.
It was not fear that unsettled him… but the strange sensation of transitioning from a life he fully controlled into a space where control felt impossible.
He donned his meticulously prepared academic attire: simple, elegant, free of royal insignias. Today, he wished to be a student… not a prince.
A light knock echoed, and Alyana entered with measured steps:
"Your Highness… the car is ready."
Murad smiled faintly, remembering his mother's warnings, and nodded. He left his wing accompanied by only two guards, under a special arrangement with the university to maintain a "natural academic atmosphere."
As he descended the palace stairs, Murad felt the air was different here: less formal, less oppressive… yet still charged with something he could not define.
The royal car reached the university gate within minutes. There were no crowds, no celebrations, no media lenses. That alone brought him a sense of relief.
When the car door opened, Prince Murad stepped out as if the very light had paused to behold him before spilling around him. He moved with quiet, light steps, yet every gesture carried a soft, effortless confidence that did not need to be forced… it simply existed.
Murad possessed a beauty that defied easy explanation. It was not a single feature, but the harmony between them all. His deep amber eyes shimmered almost like candlelight reflecting on glass—warm, still, and penetrating in a way that made anyone meeting his gaze feel truly seen, almost understood without words.
His lips were naturally full, subtly drawing attention, a gentle rosy hue as if life itself flowed lovingly through them. When he smiled, it was a blend of innocence and dignity, enough to stir something deep in those around him, every slight curve a quiet tremor to the heart.
His chestnut hair fell lightly across his forehead, glossy strands moving with the air as if knowing exactly where to rest, completing the extraordinary balance of his features.
His body, though never flaunted, carried an inherent, quiet allure: broad shoulders under the neatly arranged collar, posture straight yet relaxed, suggesting fitness without ostentation. There was something in the way he stood that implied upbringing in horsemanship, archery, and royal protocol—the shaping of both body and character.
Even his scent was distinct: a soft blend of sandalwood, sea breeze, and a hint of citrus. Not heavy or overwhelming, but reminiscent of a bright morning in an ancient palace overlooking the sea. A fragrance that made passersby pause unconsciously, drawn to turn for another glimpse.
Yet Murad did not act as if aware of his effect. He walked simply, with a slight bow of his head, as if the beauty he carried was ordinary… part of life. Perhaps for this reason, it seemed all the more enchanting.
At the entrance of the main building, University Director Professor Adrian von Hartmann awaited. A man in his late fifties, tall, with calm features masking a sharp intelligence that noticed details before they needed to be spoken. His presence seemed an extension of the institution's own dignity.
But the moment Prince Murad stepped across the threshold… the atmosphere shifted.
His arrival was not merely that of a young royal, but of a presence that drew attention from afar before fully revealing itself. Seconds after stepping out of the car, whispers began to ripple through the hallways:
"Who is this young man?… Is he really the prince?… He's even more beautiful than rumored!"
Professor Adrian approached with measured steps, extending his hand in a poised, courteous smile:
"Welcome to the Royal Academy, Your Highness. We are honored to have you among our elite students."
Murad responded with a slight, dignified bow:
"The honor is mine, Professor. I hope to live up to your expectations."
As the director gestured him inside, the hum of university life reached him: lectures had just begun, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridors, discreet whispers conveyed the news with intense curiosity.
Even before entering the main corridor, his reputation had preceded him. Within minutes, the story of the new prince spread as quickly as high-society secrets:
"Prince Murad… unbelievably handsome."
"His eyes? They say they're like honey!"
"They say he's taller than the official portraits show…"
The director guided him through a brief tour, while eyes—even those pretending to be busy—watched him discreetly:
Department of International Relations, sleek glass walls, modern design.
Political Science Building, majestic with classic pillars.
The Royal Library, blending modern technology with classical charm.
Students' glances intersected covertly throughout the tour, following his presence that seemed larger than the space itself.
He was not merely a prince…
Nor merely a new student…
He was beauty in motion, calm, balanced, and captivating.
Finally, they reached the first lecture hall.
He walked to a middle-row seat, avoiding the front to minimize attention, yet fully aware all eyes were upon him. The murmurs among students had begun:
"Have you seen him?"
"He looks like he stepped out of a painting…"
"His eyes… I can't look away."
Before settling fully, a young man approached slowly, with a friendly smile tinged with mild embarrassment. Murad recognized a familiar face from years ago, during a diplomatic meeting between his father and the young man's father. The young man said softly:
"I believe we met before… at the royal palace, right?"
Murad returned a small smile:
"Yes, I think you were there. Glad to see you here."
This was Elias Andreas, son of a prominent diplomat. Their brief exchange stirred a familiar feeling in Murad's heart: comfort, and the sense that life here was not entirely alien.
At the faculty council's request, two figures entered the hall to welcome the new students: Prince John Florid, a second-year student, and Aiden Harlow, the famous singer in his third year.
John was tall and slender, his golden blond hair falling lightly across his forehead, catching the light like a streak of sunlight. His deep blue eyes radiated royal poise and quiet charm. His naturally curved lips adorned a gentle smile that blended innocence and allure, enough to awaken hidden feelings in anyone who looked at him. The moment his gaze met Prince Murad's, Murad felt an unprecedented disorientation; a strange, unsettling sensation.
Beside him, Aiden Harlow entered, carrying a confident, bold presence. His gaze swept directly across the students, and his daring, magnetic smile captivated anyone who saw him. When his eyes locked with Murad's, he could not look away; instant admiration for the new prince stirred curiosity and intense interest. Every movement, every detail of his presence made Murad feel a mixture of awe and confusion.
Together, they stepped toward the students, their auras illuminating the room. John's gentle poise and Aiden's bold magnetism created a brilliance that filled the hall. Once their welcoming duties were done, they withdrew, and the professor began the lecture. Murad sat, trying to focus, but everything around him seemed to dissolve into a haze of thoughts and emotions. He could not ignore the silent attention he felt in John's eyes.
"Why do I feel this shock… this ridiculous shock I felt two years ago?" Murad wondered silently, his heart racing unnaturally.
"Why am I not attracted to girls as expected? And why does my heart turn toward this boy?"