Maeve raised her eyebrows.
Mal continued. “I think you aren’t good at it, and that’s why you don’t like it.”
Maeve couldn’t help but laugh at the accuracy in which Mal had just called her out.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he smirked.
“You’re not wrong,” relented Maeve.
“Your sister, Ariana, she was very good. I take it you never beat her at home?”
Maeve laughed again. “She loves to torture me come dueling time.”
Mal ran his fingers through his hair and relaxed back in his chair. “That is very interesting.”
“Can we go back to studying, please?” Maeve pulled her book towards her. Mal whisked it away.
“You grew up dueling and you’ve never won? Not once?”
“Why is this so important to you?”
“Because you’re a better Witch than your sister, in every regard imaginable. I cannot fathom how someone so good at charms and spell casting wouldn’t be an amazing fighter.”
Maeve’s cheeks flushed hot. Malachite had bestowed her many compliments in the past, but they were always laced with some degree of mocking. He spoke genuinely now. Mal’s stare was intense as Maeve regained her composure.
Mal’s voice quieted. “I suppose I’m curious how that came to be. Surely your father has tried to teach you?”
Maeve smiled softly, “many times.”
Mal’s head cocked to the side. “And?”
“And,” said Maeve, becoming annoyed, “something doesn’t click.”
“Hmm,” said Mal. “How old were you when you started dueling?”
“Oh, for as long as I can remember.”
“Arianna is, what, two years your senior?”
Maeve nodded.
“Still, that’s enough for her to have quite the leg up on you as children. And if the cycle never broke. . . ”
Maeve remained silent. Mal studied her response.
“You don’t speak of your mother,” said Mal, matter of factly.
Maeve’s face hardened.
“There it is,” whispered Mal.
Maeve smiled the soft smile she was best at, the smile she presented day in and day out as the face of the Sinclair name was on her shoulders. She learned this smile at a young age, when she learned all the etiquette expected from a Pureblooded Magical child.
“My sister has always held my mother’s favor,” said Maeve, kindly.
“But you hold your father’s.”
“That doesn’t win duels. There’s no power in favor.”
