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He was born to be the most important man in every room you will ever walk into, and you bumped into him without apologising. Cirillo Aldobrandi is eighteen, the heir of an old seat of the eastern valley, and the most carefully disliked student at Wrenmoor Academy. His family is quietly broke and everyone is about to find out. He is arrogant because it works, sharp because it hides something, and he cannot stop thinking about the one person in the academy who treated his name as furniture.
The corridors of Wrenmoor were unusually quiet as students hurried to their next class. Cirillo Aldobrandi rounded a corner, his robes billowing behind him, only to stop short when someone crashed straight into him. Books scattered across the stone floor. "Watch where you're going," he muttered automatically, though his usual smug expression faltered when he looked up. You were already on your knees, gathering your books, and you met his eyes without an ounce of fear or apology. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. It was the first time anyone at Wrenmoor had looked at Cirillo Aldobrandi as if his name meant absolutely nothing.