“I’mnotbeing coy.”
He lifted his brows.
“I wastryingto manipulate the pond.” I gestured toward it, exasperated.
“Ah, so you are a fan of my work.” Mischievous delight crossed his features.
I lifted my chin. “I’m not a fan of your work. I’m a fan of magic.”
“Which ismywork.”
“You didn’t exactly create the spell.”
“My water ladder demonstration? Actually, I did.”
My mouth filled with cotton. I was sorely tempted to smack the grin off his face.
He adjusted his spectacles. “There’s a reason the court expects me to become Grand Mage, Miss Lyranore. There’s also a reason I’m one of the youngest students ever accepted to the Mages’ University. Please respect that.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, I pressed my tongue against my teeth until it stung. The prince leaned back, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Well, how about we start there. You said yesterday you’re a textile mage, but that shouldn’t keep you from branching out into other elemental magics.” He studied me, and I was suddenly aware of my thin linen dress and robe, shimmering underneath the starlight. I pulled my robe tighter across my chest.
“Put your hands over the water and imagine making a splash with your mind.”
I did so, but my face flamed under the scrutiny of both PrinceThomas and Caleb. My muscles clenched, and my mind struggled to focus on the task at hand. Where magic had always come behind and held my hand when mending, this magic seemed to scurry from my grasp like a jumping frog, always too quick and slippery to catch.
When I opened my eyes, the water was as still as the moonlight cloaking us. A few restless toads croaked in the nearby reeds.
“It has to come from within,” Prince Thomas emphasized, his silhouette framed by moonlight.
“Where else is it going to come from?”
He let out a breath. “You have to think it through. What are you trying to achieve?”
“A neat trick.” My words fought against the undercurrent of anger and frustration that wound its way through my muscles, drawn taut as Prince Thomas continued his lecturing.
“That’s where you’re getting it wrong. You need to have moral grounding, a gut reaction that this is what you should be doing and why.” He shrugged off his overcoat and laid it aside, rubbing his hands together.
I narrowed my eyes. “So what was your moral reasoning when your demonstration made the nobles ooh and ahh over you?”
He stuttered. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“What’s different is that you want to appear intelligent and mysterious, so you put on these silly airs about magic use.” My nostrils flared. “I’ve never had to consult my moral reasoning to mend a sweater or sew on a button.”
He stared at me for a moment, then grabbed an armful of his thin linen sleeve. He yanked the fabric, a loud rip cutting the silence. I stared in shock as his bare skin peeked beneath the tear.
“Mend it.”
I stepped back, eyes wide. “Your Highness…”
“I want you to mend this. As you do so, think very carefully about what’s happening in your mind. Why are you motivated to do it?”
My breath quickened. “S-sure.” I stepped forward, barely resting my fingers upon the thin fabric left. My thumb brushed against his bare arm.
He inhaled sharply, and my gaze darted up. His eyes hinted at an emotion I’d never seen reflected in them before.
“Show me,” he whispered, and goosebumps shot up my arms.
