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."
