But the faces — the faces were what stole Liam’s breath and turned his blood to ice.
Because it was him. The same eyes, the same angular lines of his jaw, his unmistakable bearing, though the attire was of an ancient, hair bound in a warrior’s knot, a royal sash crossing his chest.
And beside him, draped in silks of silver and dusk blue, a woman, her eyes bright, her smile serene yet mischievous even in paint.
It was Elena.
Not a likeness, not a vague resemblance. It was exactly them.
The scroll trembled in Liam’s grasp. The world seemed to tilt sideways, the distant calls of the palace gardens muted by the rush of his own pulse.
Alisha’s voice broke through the hush, trembling slightly “Liam… that’s… that’s you and Elena…” but Liam could not here it as flashes of images started passing through his mind.
The flashes were too fast, too bright and too real.
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