Max didn't answer Damian's question right away. Instead, he flicked his thumb across the tablet, the screen shifting until a profile filled it. He turned it smoothly, sliding it across the polished desk until it stopped just short of Damian's hand.

The image stared up at them: a man standing tall, long blond hair catching the light like silk, light violet eyes sharp under the clean lines of a uniform. He looked no older than thirty-five, the kind of figure carved for portraits and parades rather than history's ledgers. The resemblance to Damian's own kind of ageless dominance was unmistakable.

"Felix Canmore," Max said flatly, green eyes flicking to his half-brother's face. "Seventy-two in truth, dominant omega. Crowned Grand Prince of Wrohan less than a year after Goliath's fall. Married, but his husband died in a border skirmish two years ago. Two sons: Cain, forty-two, dominant alpha. Ray, thirty, alpha. Both highly visible, both cultivated for succession."

Christian leaned back in his chair, silver eyes glinting with restless amusement. "And adored. Wrohan parades them like gods descended. And because Felix tied himself directly to George's throne, the people follow without question. A loyal prince, a grieving widower, a father raising heirs. He's a myth that people of Wrohan believe in."

Max snorted, unimpressed. "A carefully crafted myth. Their economy's stable, and their army is modernized but deliberately capped, nothing to draw suspicion. He's made himself useful and respectable. Harder to touch."

Damian's golden eyes lingered on the screen, the lamplight catching in their molten depths. His voice, when it came, was low, deliberate. "The Empire we have today was even larger than this. Grand beyond measure. But after Goliath's poisoning, when the warlord became nothing but a husk for nobles to puppeteer, they hollowed it. Carved it apart with treaties and sales. Sold the land piece by piece until what had been an Empire fractured into kingdoms." His gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade. "Donin. Atara. Wrohan. Others. All scraps taken when the throne was weakest."

Christian's smirk thinned, his silver eyes sharp. "And Wrohan was clever enough to keep their identity intact."

Damian hummed, his thumb brushing over the engraved seal he turned slowly in his palm. "They have no border with us. Not with the Empire, not with our allies. Isolated. Safe. Every gesture Felix makes is one of restraint, carefully polished to keep us at a distance without provoking us. He's survived seventy years because he knows how to play the game."

He leaned back slightly, golden gaze still fixed on the image on the tablet. The man's violet eyes seemed to stare back, unyielding even across decades.

The silence stretched, heavy with old history and the cold weight of decisions waiting to be carved into permanence.

The wards stirred before anyone spoke again, the faint ripple of recognition sliding through the air. Damian's golden eyes cut to the door at once, sharp, before softening just slightly when Edward stepped through, composed as ever, with Arik half a step behind him.

"Forgive the intrusion," Edward said, his tone polite but carrying the faintest edge that always meant Arik had argued his way past. "The prince insisted on seeing his uncles. He finished his lectures early for the privilege."

"I did!" Arik announced before Damian could reply, his curls bouncing as he darted into the room with far too much energy for the somber air. His golden eyes were bright and mischievous, a perfect mirror of his father's at their most dangerous, except now, they belonged to a boy eager for mischief. "I finished all of them, so Edward couldn't stop me."

Christian grinned, pushing himself up straighter in his chair, silver eyes alight. "Finished or cleverly skipped the dull ones?"

Arik wrinkled his nose. "Finished. I'm not you, uncle Cris."

Max barked a laugh at that, low and sharp, while Christian threw a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Cruel," he declared, though his grin said he was pleased. "You wound me, Arik."

"I'm just honest," Arik replied, striding past him toward the desk with all the confidence of someone who thought lectures finished meant authority earned.

Damian's hand lifted, halting him before he could climb up onto the chair uninvited. With a patience few in the Empire would believe of him, he reached forward, caught the boy by the waist, and pulled him smoothly onto his lap.

"You," Damian said, his golden eyes narrowing just slightly, "finished early because you were eager. Not because Edward approved it. Correct?"

Arik squirmed, but his grin never dimmed, his gold eyes glinting in the light. "Maybe."

Damian's brow arched, but his hand settled firm at his son's side, grounding him in place. The boy leaned against him with unbothered confidence, curls brushing Damian's jaw as he peered across the desk.

And then he saw it.

The tablet lay where Max had left it, Felix Canmore's profile still bright across the screen: blond hair, violet eyes, and a face untouched by time.

Arik tilted his head, reaching for the tablet, but Damian caught his wrist before he would fall on the desk. "Who's that?"

Christian's smirk sharpened, waiting. Max glanced at Damian, green eyes watchful.

Damian didn't answer immediately. His thumb brushed over the boy's curls, his gaze steady on the frozen image. For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy with choices far older than Arik's six years.

"A man from Wrohan," Damian said finally, his voice low, every word chosen so that it won't trigger anything too early. "Their prince. Important to his people, though not to you."

Arik frowned, unconvinced. "He looks like he thinks he's important to everyone."

That earned a sharp laugh from Max and a muffled one from Christian.

Damian's golden eyes didn't leave the screen. "Perhaps he believes that. But belief doesn't make truth. Remember that, Arik."

The boy studied the image a moment longer, nose wrinkling. Then, with all the ruthless finality of a child, he declared, "He looks boring."

Christian laughed outright. Max smirked. Damian only hummed, pressing his son a fraction closer against him, his eyes still locked on Felix Canmore's violet stare.