Liam's breath stopped.
The body had been arranged in exactly the same pose as the portrait.
One arm rested along the throne, the hand hanging with relaxed authority near the carved edge, while the other lay across his lap. Heavy black robes fell in carefully constructed folds around his legs, draped with muted gold fabric over the arms of the seat, and the high collar was covered in intricate golden embroidery that spread across the chest in elaborate curling designs.
Even the jewelry was familiar.
The same formal severity.
The same imperial presentation.
But the man wearing it was no longer the beautiful emperor preserved in Felix's painting.
Goliath had died old.
His body showed every year of it.
