Maven is not Cal, no matter how much his father might want him to be. He isn’t a soldier, he won’t be a king, but he’s braver. And he’s willing to do what’s right.
“Thank you, Maven,” I whisper, barely audible over the horrible music. He doesn’t have to ask what I’m talking about.
“You don’t ever have to thank me.” His voice is strangely deep, almost breaking as his eyes darken. “Not for anything.”
This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, my nose inches away from his neck. I can feel his heart beat beneath my hands, hammering in time with my own. Maven is his mother’s son, Julian said once. He couldn’t be more wrong.