Free Knights Magi (Book 4) by Terry Mancour

didn’t know who she was, either.  That didn’t deter him.
    “I’m Tyndal,” he said, making her look up again.  “Sir Tyndal of Sevendor.  Knight Mage of the Realm,” he added, with a bit of relish.
    “I’m Estasia,” she said, and went back to her book without further comment.
    Tyndal wasn’t about to be rebuffed.  “Hello, Estasia. So what do you want to specialize in when you graduate?” he asked, taking a seat next to her on the bench.
    “ Silence spells,” she said, sourly, looking at him pointedly.
    “I’m partial to love spells, myself.”
    She looked him up and down.  “No doubt you’d need to be.”
    “Hey!” he objected.  “What do you mean by that? ”
    “I mean that it is my intention to become a professional mage in my own right,” she answered, matter-of-factly, “and that does not include becoming the doting wife and brood mare of some puffed-up magelord.”
    “Hey!  I’m not puffed-up!” He flexed his bicep.  “That’s all solid!” he teased, knocking on it with his other hand like it was made of wood. 
    “And I’m not going to be your wife.  So we’ve reached an understanding.”  She bent back to her book.
    Despite her objection, Tyndal could tell that she wasn’t entirely un-interested . . . otherwise she would not have insulted him.  Quite the contrary.  The opposite of attraction isn’t disgust, Lady Pentandra had told him one time, it is disinterest.   And the way she kept cutting her eyes toward him indicated that she was, at least at some level, intrigued by him.
    It wasn’t rejection.  It was riposte.
    He considered what to do while he stared at those pretty eyes darting across the page.  He could have pressed the issue and forced her to make a decision on the matter – and if she had been a peasant girl, he might have considered doing just that.  Plenty of village girls developed round heels and generous natures with just a hint of potential in a man. 
    But an educated woman pursuing her own career was a different type of girl altogether, and called for a different approach, he reasoned.  Lady Pentandra had been coaching him in such things, mind-to-mind, as a kind of unofficial project of hers.  They were lessons he did not discuss with anyone, but the wisdom she’d led him to regarding affairs of the heart had been invaluable.
    “Just as well,” he said.  “I would prefer a far, far friendlier woman to be my bride.  And I would have to carefully consider the value of pursuing a mere sporting relationship,” He dismissed.  Lady Pentandra had been clear about that: beautiful women get told they are beautiful all the time.  They only take notice of a man if he voices a flaw in their beauty.  As soon as a woman feels a man has rejected her, Pentandra had repeatedly told him, she finds him more attractive.  It seemed counterintuitive to Tyndal, but – once again – Pentandra’s instruction bore fruit.
    She looked up sharply.  “Oh, really? ” she asked, her nostrils flaring a bit.  “And why is that?   Am I so ugly to your sight, Sir?”
    “You are, without a doubt,” he said, slowly and solemnly, “possibly the third or fourth prettiest girl I’ve seen today,” he said, sincerely.  He considered a moment.  “ Fourth ,” he said, decisively. 
    She gave him a startled and not terribly charitable look.
    “But pretty face is no assurance of a warm disposition, and in affairs of the heart I prize such a thing beyond mere transitory comeliness.  Well, I’ll let you get back to your studies, then,” he said with an exaggerated yawn. 
    “I would be happy if you would!” Estasia said, her eyes flashing angrily at him.
    “You know,” he added, “if you smiled once in a while then folks might get the idea that you were friendly.”  With that he got up and jaunted off.  She had her lips pursed out hard in a pout.
    “I don’t want to be friendly!” she insisted.
    “I didn’t say you were, ” he shot back.