Mave stormed through and stopped at the mess in the kitchen. She took in the sight of Michael, the opened wrapped biscuits, poorly ripped bags of candies, and cabinets looted like he was some bandit. It only took her a second to realize what he did.
Michael gulped and tried to drown out the voice in his head. Whatever advice Evelyn wanted to give, it was already too late. He ended up cleaning the mess as Mave steadily watched.
Just having to imagine a child being forced into her home and ending up trashing her kitchen while she was gone. Michael thought she was never going to like him.
Mave leaned against the doorway, folding her arms. "My father gave me those as a gift."
Michael cleaned up more wrappers on the ground and scrubbed the jam from the counters. That would probably explain why they were so neatly wrapped with ribbons and a heartfelt notecard. He wanted to be angry with Evelyn but he was carried away just the same.
"If you didn't figure it out already, I'm a noble. My family has been a long line of diplomats even before I was born."
Michael kept cleaning around, struggling to pay half of his attention to what Mave was saying to him.
"I wanted to be an adventurer," she continued. "They refused just as I did my heritage. My father is the only one that keeps me connected to my own bloodline. He's the reason why I live in this house, even if I have to share it with those idiots."
"I'm sorry—"
"Keep scrubbing."
Michael turned back and cleaned more sticky jam off the counters.
"Sometimes, I wonder if I made the right decision becoming an adventurer. My own brothers and sisters don't even talk to me. Do you know how that feels, boy, to be cast out of your own family?"
Michael shook his head.
"Of course you don't. But I'm not complaining. There was nothing but a competition from the very moment I learned to speak as an infant. Adventuring was my way to escape and I regret none of it."
He wringed the rag over a soapy bucket.
"So how about you, boy? I know your sob-story isn't the only reason why you're here. Why don't you cut the act and tell me what you're still doing in my house."
"I want to get stronger."
"Stronger for your girlfriend back home? You know how many people I meet with that same story? Is she even real—"
"She is real," Michael scrubbed harder. "I want to get stronger for her."
Mave didn't want to argue with him. Once he was done cleaning around the kitchen, she ordered him to do the same for the rest of the house. As much as Michael wanted to complain, he kept it to himself and shut his mouth. She was in charge of training him and she could change her mind any second the moment Michael decides to rebel against her.
Michael cleaned the house, polished their armor, took care of their dirty clothes, and even was forced to tidy around Stefan's room because she couldn't stand the sight. She wasn't there to watch him clean, she just knew he had to listen and do everything that she said. Because Michael promised earlier, he would literally do anything. He wanted to regret that.
Evelyn was placed on the living room table as he couldn't bear the sight of himself being used like a slave.
When the house felt like it had been remodeled, Mave finally thought that it was enough. Michael thought she didn't even sound surprised.
"That was your payment for stealing my treats," she said. "Now we train. Are you ready?"
He nodded, putting his feelings aside.
She dragged him by the shirt into the back of the house. Michael tried to remind her about his sword but she didn't care.
Mave opened the door and pushed him outside.
Michael tried to turn back. "But, my sword—"
She tossed him a wooden one. "I just gave you one."
He stared at the sword in front of him. His arms and legs were already tired from cleaning every corner of the house and she thought it would be the best idea to train immediately afterwards. Michael couldn't argue against her idea of training, maybe it was just the way how things worked. He picked up the sword and stood his ground.
She picked up another one nearby. The wooden swords were dulled around the edges and the handles felt worn down. It didn't have much grip but it didn't weigh as much either.
He wanted to avoid the look on her eyes as she paced around him. She didn't even tell him how to stand, how to hold the sword correctly, or even how to swing. Michael would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid. He didn't know how long she's been fighting with a sword but it was nowhere near what he thought. Mave looked just as old as Stefan, both probably in their young twenties but still had hardened years as an adventurer.
Mave didn't even hold back. She attacked with a flurry of swings, breaking away his pathetic guard and striking him all around his body. Michael couldn't track any of her movements. She moved quicker than his eye and hit harder. She was breaking his will.
Michael tried to counter attack, blindly swinging his sword in front just to be misdirected and thrusted right in his abdomen.
She swung under and swept his legs away. The side of his face slammed into the ground with no time to protect himself.
"In a real fight, you would have died." she said. "So, get up. I know you're not done."
Michael's head felt light, his thoughts scattered, and his body ached in pain. He reached back for his wooden sword and pushed to stand back up. He knew he would lose. Did he really think Mave would purposefully let him win just because of his love story? Nothing in this world would have come that easy. If he was willing to learn, he had to endure the pain of losing again and again.
"That's what I thought." she watched him wipe his tears. "Hurts, doesn't it?"
He gripped his sword and faced her, ready to fight again.
"Don't think I would go any easier because you cried."
***
For three days straight, Michael had been fighting her. Over and over, he would lose with more bruises around his body. The only time they would stop is when he started bleeding which was common at the end of their training.
Mave felt like a stone wall towering over him. He couldn't push it away no matter how much he tried. She was just that strong.
She wore a comfortable top and loose pants that allowed the stretch for her quick maneuvers. Her dark hair was tied short, away from her face, and she still looked fashionable while beating him up. But for Michael, he wore the same tattered clothes for three days that probably smelled of sweat and dirt. He looked too rough to even be compared to how she looked.
Michael learned that there were two sides in fighting. An attack and a defense. For the entire of their fights, Michael was always on the defense trying to fend off Mave's swings. And she swung hard, sparing no remorse for a child that had just begun swordplay.
But he was learning. Despite losing every time, he was slowly learning how to fight her. He had an unlimited amount of tries and he committed to be better with each attempt.
Beating Mave wasn't impossible but it was difficult to imagine. She was already taller than him with a longer reach which he already figured out the hard way. There was no point in charging in if he couldn't even handle his own measures of defense. He needed to crack through her attacks and turn the fight, probably catching her off her own guard.
It was easier said than done.
He slept outside and didn't want to come back inside the house. The more he thought about Evelyn, the more he wanted to stop. He thought the comfort would suppress his burning desire to fight. He knew what type of face she would make after watching him.
Mave brought him food so he wouldn't starve. He didn't look into a mirror so he had no idea what he could have looked like.