Felix.
He was not alone. Two guards stood half a pace behind him, discreet enough to pretend they did not matter and real enough to make the corridor feel immediately smaller.
Felix himself appeared composed in a way that only men built almost entirely of poison and restraint could. His white hair, straight and carefully arranged, fell past his shoulders with refined elegance. His face remained beautiful, albeit infuriatingly so, despite the fact that time had touched him more than a dominant omega should.
That had always bothered Liam.
Felix was over ninety, which for a dominant alpha or omega was not particularly old. Late young adult to middle-aged, if one wanted to be generous about it. He should have looked preserved by power, sharpened by it, and polished by the obscene advantages their kind enjoyed.
