This feral boy, whoever he was, was making a habit of catching her off guard. Although… Jaya narrowed her eyes. He looked different this morning. Almost presentable. His hair was mostly neatly combed today. Dressed in his uniform, he appeared a lot more civilized and a lot less lupine, though his eyes were just as piercing. And he still exuded a self-possessed authority. A leather satchel sat on the table beside him, embossed with the monogram .

When realization finally hit, she gasped, the sound echoing in the near-empty room. This boy, the one who’d been so kind and brave in the library, was… “Grey Emerson?” Collecting herself quickly, she added in a more dignified tone, “Erm, I mean, Lord Northcliffe?”

Grey raised his eyebrows at whatever he heard in her tone. “Grey is fine.”

He spoke with a completely inappropriate brusque informality, as if he were an overworked government employee rather than the son of the Duke of Westborough. Jaya wrinkled her nose in distaste until she remembered her purpose at this school. No matter how furious she was at Grey Emerson and his family, she had to pretend he was the best thing she’d seen all day. Jaya forced a laugh, still going for throaty and flirty. So what if he’d seen the rehearsal? He’d probably enjoyed it.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell me who you were yesterday. My family is well acquainted with yours, naturally.” She couldn’t help it. Her voice sizzled with reproach.

Grey Emerson frowned. “Likewise.” He drummed his large fingers on the tabletop. “The legendary Raos. Creators of chaos and misfortune.”

“What?” Jaya said, all intentions to be flirty completely evaporated. “So you’ve told yourself a little fairy tale, have you, where the Raos are the villains?” She walked closer to him, even though her brain was throwing up bright red flags: STOP! DO NOT APPROACH! CAUTION! “And where does all the pillaging and plundering your people have done fit into your fairy tale? Please enlighten me.”

He just sat there all slouched, one of his long legs spread out in front of him like he were sitting in a hookah bar. Ugh. “That was a long time ago,” he said, his voice clipped and hard. “And yet somehow those of us who weren’t even alive then are still being held responsible. You’d think your people would let go of the acrimony.”