A thought occurred to the young blonde, and her mental cogs began to churn. She was faced with an interesting opportunity, after all. How often did one meet one’s sibling’s fiancé, especially before one’s sibling?

If she wanted to, Alexandra could completely screw over Amelia’s life in one conversation. She could tell Niccoló, so young and clearly naïve, was eager to learn of his wife-to-be, and eagerness could be a fatal flaw in the harsh pureblood world.

The question now was if she would toy with him. She was the predator, a fierce feline, and he was her plaything, an insignificant mouse that just happened to be amusing. Her thoughts took her away from his words, something about a little brother, and they only released her just before he asked a question about Amelia. Well played, she thought it was, how he used his own sibling to mention Amelia without seeming too pushy.

“I’m not sure if she has formed an opinion on Houses,” calmly replied Alexandra. “Naturally she knows Lyra can be a fine House,”--because the elder Knight was in it, duh--“and as is Draco.” Complimenting Niccoló’s House was to balance out her self-complimenting. “There is good blood, at least in some amount, in each House, it seems, so no matter what, she ought to be able to find good company.”

All of the prowess she possessed in the art of indifference came into play as the younger student inquired about her own betrothal. Inside, she was raging. Curse words were being thrown, and a scowl desperately wanted to escape. However, she did not let it. Ladies neither scowled nor screamed in the presence of gentlemen.

“My betrothed,” she articulated with forced tranquility, “is Chino Espinoza. Perhaps you’ve heard of him or his family. He used to attend RMI until the school wrongly expelled his sister.” Honestly, Rosalina had possessed every right to do what she had done. This school was clearly out to get purebloods. Why else would she have to board with filth like Annalise Hier?

Silly Niccoló, the young thing he was, then apologized for possibly bothering her and went on suddenly about being curious and such. The poor boy was clearly nervous and awkward, not as gentlemanly underneath as he appeared. Of course, looks could be deceiving, and the second year knew that well.

“Mr. York,” smiled the blonde twelve year old, a tone of voice much more informal despite the title by which she addressed him, “curiosity is no crime!” At least, not at its early state. Later on, when curiosity turned to irresponsible action, it was punishable, but as long as he did not act upon curiosities that would not be beneficial to the Knights, he was fine. “I understand completely! Believe me,” added the Englishwoman, “once Amelia is presented with the opportunity--neigh, the fortune--to get to know you, I am sure she is going to absolutely adore you. Have no fear of otherwise.” Even if she didn’t, Amelia would still stay with him, still marry him. She was a pawn.

They were all pawns to Alexandra.