Lucian Arctis, the second prince, set down his teacup with a quiet clink and sighed deeply. His voice held a calm blend of concern and formality.
"Aslan… will you ever learn proper etiquette?"
Aslan didn't respond.
Before the silence could stretch, King Valen's voice cut through the room—deep, composed, and unexpectedly gentle.
"It's alright."
But Aslan wasn't paying attention. His mind was elsewhere.
So... I've been reincarnated. I died in the old world, fighting a monster no one else could even scratch. Now I'm here—in a land of magic, in the mighty Eslan Empire. And I'm the third prince. Aslan Arctis.
Aslan… it means lion. Strength. Royalty. Bravery. One who lives life on his own terms. A name that speaks of power and destiny. And my father… he gave it to me himself.
He glanced up, eyes quietly locking onto the man at the head of the table.
But why me? I'm the third son. Two princes already came before me. So why give me a name fit for a crown prince? Why did Father choose that name? I still don't understand.
His gaze lingered on the imposing figure seated at the head of the table:
Emperor Valen Arctis.
One of the three strongest beings in the known world. A man not like other kings.
Yes, he's strict. Cold, even. But he's not heartless. He just doesn't show it. He believes in justice. Deeply. He cares... more than he lets on. With me… he's especially kind.
And seated beside him—my mother:
Empress Seraphine Nyros.
Crown candidate of the Nyros Empire. Former captain of the strongest knight order. And a beauty unmatched—graceful, proud, and impossible to ignore. She gave up her claim to the throne... to marry my father.
And Lucian… my second brother. Kind. Shy. Brilliant with politics and empire affairs.
And me?
I'm the trash of the empire.
A slight smirk touched Aslan's lips as he finally turned his attention back to Lucian.
"Etiquette?" he echoed, voice smooth and dripping with amused defiance.
"That's for people who need permission to be noticed. I don't."