The inn employee visibly flinched, instinctively retreating behind the young nobleman who had followed him. His voice dropped low, laced with unease.
"My lord demands this room… Please leave at once."
Maverick didn't move, nor did he respond immediately. His presence alone, calm yet razor-sharp, was enough to silence the man. The tension in the air crackled.
The young gentleman—dressed in sleek black attire with polished boots and an arrogance carved into every movement—clicked his tongue in irritation.
He stepped into the room with an entitled stride, brushing past the timid employee who quickly vanished without protest.
His eyes scanned the space, and then stopped—narrowing with disdain. Julius still sat on the edge of the bed, close to Maverick, their closeness unmistakable.
The noble let out a dry snort, then spat venom through a sneer.
"What's this?" he said. "The both of you… Are you lovers? That's revolting."
