How deftly she avoided the subject! It brought a small smile to his lips. Mystique was always the consummate liar, but at least he could console himself with the fact that he had a knack for knowing when she lied to him. It wasn't as if he was unfeeling, entirely unhurt by her deception. On the contrary, he felt a great many unpleasant things and held several opinions on the subject- all of which he must keep to himself if he wished to keep his greatest ally. He knew full well he'd never been her keeper and, only sometimes, could he count himself her sole lover. He was used to it, just as he was used to her cool charade. It was a game they'd always played, for as long as he'd known her. Sometimes she'd disappointed him, and he her, and they both told one another lies but their tolerance was borne of a mutual respect. Very few creatures alive could boast the boon of actually possessing Magnus' true esteem and Raven Darkholme was perhaps the only one he might fully entrust with his life.
Afterall, he told himself, it wasn't as if she'd outright betrayed him- she'd never stopped feeding him valuable information and always appeared when he needed her most. Even now he could delude himself with the notion that perhaps she was playing the long game with Stark, to get the job done well. Her methods had always been a mystery to him, but the point was she had never completely failed him. Things she put her mind to always had a way of working out and so he would keep silent his knowledge of her affairs and trust to her loyalty, a course of action that had worked splendidly for over six decades.
"It's delightful," he answered and turned his indulgent smile on her. "All the wisdom of my old age and none of the mortality. This must be how you feel all the time, my dear."