Ascot
"I'll be by your side," Julius promised yesterday, but here was Maverick, alone at the Royal Ascot with no sign of him since he'd excused himself for the restroom.
Standing in the bustling spectator arena, Maverick felt exposed under the crowd's scrutinizing gaze. He tightened his grip on his walking stick, his unease growing.
"Has Julius reappeared yet?" Maverick asked, his voice low.
Henry leaned closer. "Not yet, my lord."
Annoyance flickered across Maverick's face. Because of his back wound, he couldn't wear the fitted coat he'd typically don; instead, Julius made him wear a waist-length cape that draped elegantly but drew every eye to him.
The onlookers whispered, glancing at him with interest and curiosity, only heightening his discomfort.
"General! It's been a while," came a voice from behind.
Maverick turned to see Tsar Nicholas approaching with Russell. Nicholas waved casually, while Russell's expression remained stoic.