The orb was taken from George and returned to its ceremonial stand. The officiant stepped forward, followed by two attendants carrying a wide silver basin filled with clear water.
The hall fell quiet again.
The symbolic bathing was the next part of the rite. It was not intended to cleanse the child of anything, but to mark his formal passage into the responsibilities of his house and realm.
Harry moved first.
He dipped a clean cloth into the basin and gently wiped George's face. The boy blinked as the cool water touched his cheeks but remained still. Harry then passed the cloth over his small hands, taking care to cleanse each palm and finger.
Annabella took the cloth from him and repeated the gesture, wiping away the remaining water from George's face and hands. Her touch was gentler, and George's eyes briefly met hers.
She gave him a reassuring smile.
The attending guests softened at the sight of such a loving display.
When the attendants removed the basin, Harry was presented with the heir's sword.
It was a grand ceremonial weapon, fashioned to suit an adult, and its craftsmanship was unmistakable. The hilt bore the Winstor crest, and the blade had been polished until it reflected the light of the hall.
Harry bowed before his kneeling son.
"May you learn to wield strength with wisdom," he said, handing him the sword.
George watched him intently.
Next came the heir's ring. Harry took the small band and placed it on the little finger of George's right hand. The metal settled into place, its stone catching the light.
The boy looked down at it, turning his hand slightly to admire it.
For a moment, father and son stood facing one another. Harry's expression was difficult to read, but George seemed pleased. He had received his father's attention throughout the rite, and that alone appeared to mean something to him.
Then the officiant turned towards Annabella.
The final part of the rite remained.
The naming.
It was the mother's privilege and responsibility to speak the child's name before the assembled realm. No father, council, or officiant could do it in her place.
An attendant approached carrying the heir's cloak.
Harry accepted it.
He looked towards Annabella and handed it to her with a smile that seemed almost convincing.
Almost.
She understood the reason for it.
A son whose power surpassed his own, a child whose connection to the orb was so complete that the symbol of Lucreus's authority had answered him without hesitation, was not merely a source of pride. He was a political fact.
Harry was the interim Lord of Light. He had assumed the position after Charles fell ill, but his authority had never been universally accepted. His succession had been contested from the beginning, and many knew how much Alyster's interference, aided by Annabella's counsel, had helped him secure the position.
Now George stood before the realm with a display of power that could change the future of his house.
The succession traditions of the Mages' Realm were ancient and applied equally to Life and Death Mages. Rule passed from father to child, and when a ruling child died, a new succession process opened among the different clans. It was an opportunity for another bloodline to rise, provided it could put forward a worthy contender.
Lucreus had once been ruled by George, before his son Charles succeeded him. With Charles's reign approaching its end, the next succession would open an opportunity for the Winstors and Westors to claim the position.
But Harry had a problem.
George was more powerful than his father. Under their traditions, that made him the only viable Winstor contender for the coming succession. Harry's position as interim Lord of Light did not give him an independent claim to compete against his son. The opportunity belonged to George and any worthy Westor's heir.
And if George won, the ruling line would continue through him. His first child, whether male or female, would succeed him when his own reign ended.
Harry had spent years securing his political standing, yet the future of his house was now dependent on a child who had already surpassed him.
George was not simply his heir.
He was the only Winstor who could realistically claim the next reign, and Harry's own ambitions would have to make room for him.
For the first time, Annabella understood the full political value of what George had displayed before them.
And the danger.
Harry had never truly connected with the child. He had been distant, impatient, and often disappointing, but he had never, as far as Annabella knew, deliberately sought to harm him.
Now, she was no longer certain that would remain true.
She took the cloak from Harry.
For a moment, her fingers rested against its embroidered edge. Then she turned towards George.
He looked up at her, his eyes bright. There was a hint of moisture gathering along his lower lashes, though he was trying very hard to hold himself together.
Annabella drew a slow breath.
She smiled at him.
"My beautiful boy," she began, her voice carrying through the hall, "today you receive the name by which you will be known before your family, your house, and your realm."
She lifted the cloak and settled it around his shoulders.
"You will now be known as George Raegar Winstor. Heir to George, heir to Charles, and now heir to Harry Winstor."
Harry's fingers tightened at his sides.
Raegar.
The name struck him harder than he expected. Annabella had chosen a name that could not help but remind her of the lover she had lost. Reagan. A name carrying a memory Harry could neither erase nor compete with.
His smile remained in place, but something in his face hardened.
Annabella noticed.
A small, knowing smile touched the corner of her mouth.
"May George, reborn as Raegar, carry the name of my father's father, Raegar De la Croix, with grace," she continued, "and never bring shame upon him. He hails from Lucreus, but he is also a son of Ambroseus, my realm. May he honour both."
The hall erupted in applause.
Voices rose in acclaim, welcoming the newly named heir and celebrating the strength of the future Lord of Lucreus.
"George Raegar Winstor!"
"Long live the heir!"
Annabella stepped back.
George stood very still for a moment, taking in the noise and the attention. Then he moved towards his parents.
Harry placed a hand on the back of his neck, drawing him gently into position between them. To the watching crowd, it was an affectionate gesture from a proud father.
Annabella looked at Harry.
He looked back.
Their smiles remained fixed for the benefit of the court, but their eyes met with something far less welcoming. There was no affection in that exchange, only the quiet recognition that they had both understood what had just happened.
Harry's hand remained on the back of his son's neck.
Annabella's fingers rested lightly on George's shoulder.
She had done more than name her son. As the head of House Ambroseus, she had invoked her clan's ancestry and publicly affirmed George's place within it. She had placed the allegiance of her own house behind him, strengthening his position ahead of the coming succession.
And she had done so in front of the entire court, beneath the banners of the Winstors, with a blessing that could not easily be dismissed or withdrawn.
Harry had secured the present.
Annabella had just helped secure George's future.
They stood together beneath the banners, smiling for the assembled realm.
And between them stood the boy upon whom the future of their house—and Harry's political demise—now depended.
Once the guests had been ushered into the reception hall, Annabella and Harry remained practically inseparable.
They were the very picture of marital unity.
Moving from one group of guests to another, they exchanged pleasantries, entertained questions, and spoke with members of the council. Some seemed genuinely pleased with the day's events. Others were considerably less enthusiastic, their reservations barely concealed beneath diplomatic smiles.
Neither Annabella nor Harry appeared troubled by the difference.
They handled each encounter with remarkable skill. Harry was charming when he needed to be, while Annabella knew precisely when to intervene, when to offer a reassuring word, and when to let her husband speak. Anyone watching them might have believed they had spent the entire morning in perfect agreement.
Across the hall, Callen and Gabrielle observed them.
"What do you think they're up to?" Gabrielle asked.
Callen barely seemed to hear her. His eyes remained fixed on George, who was moving among the younger members of the court, presenting his respects to his peers and attempting to engage them in conversation.
"They're probably trying to convince the council not to interfere with their arrangement with the Death Mages."
Gabrielle nudged him.
"Well, little do they know we're already a couple of steps ahead of them."
Callen gave a distracted nod.
Gabrielle followed his gaze towards the child. She watched for a moment before turning back to him.
"And why, exactly, are you so obsessed with that boy?"
Callen finally looked at her.
"I'm not obsessed."
"You haven't been yourself since the naming ceremony. Don't tell me it's because of the name they gave him."
His brow furrowed.
"How would that have anything to do with me?"
Gabrielle gave him a look.
"I hope you do understand that he cannot possibly be yours."
Callen chuckled.
"He was born when I'd already been out of the picture for a year. He cannot possibly be mine."
"Then what is it?"
His attention returned to George.
"His power. His signature."
He watched the boy greet another young noble, then turn to listen attentively as the other spoke.
"I don't understand how it could change so quickly. When I first encountered him, his signature was entirely different. Now..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"It's almost as though I'm looking at a different person."
Gabrielle's expression shifted. A faint trace of jealousy crept into her voice.
"We could always make one of our own. Keep the game even."
Callen turned to her, then glanced around the hall.
"Now is hardly the time to be thinking about that. The operation has already started."
Gabrielle took his hand.
"It will work. We planned it thoroughly."
Callen squeezed her fingers, though his attention remained elsewhere.
At the High Priestess's tower, the situation had descended into chaos.
The amulets had worked.
The group had made it through the tower's defences, but their success had come at a price. Alarms rang through the corridors as guards scrambled to contain the intruders. Spells tore through the air, illuminating the stone walls with violent flashes of light.
The High Priestess was fighting for her life.
She had put up a formidable resistance, refusing to surrender even as the attackers pressed closer. But they had not come merely to capture her. They were hunting for the Umbrali Orb.
And she knew what would happen if it fell into their hands.
She fought until she had little strength left to give. Eventually, she was forced to make a choice.
Her life or the orb.
She left it behind.
Her portals had been disabled, and the injuries she had sustained made teleportation impossible. With the tower no longer safe, she found another way out.
A horse.
She grabbed one from the stables, hauled herself into the saddle, and rode away before her pursuers could close in.
Behind her, the tower remained engulfed in spells, fire, and the sounds of battle.
Back at the reception, Reagan was finding it increasingly difficult to remain composed.
She had spent the better part of the afternoon pretending to be interested in conversations while her thoughts remained fixed on the operation. Every passing moment brought another possibility, another thing that could go wrong.
Eventually, she excused herself and stepped out onto one of the balconies.
She wasn't alone.
Annabella was already there, holding a glass of wine. Lyz stood beside her, the two women engaged in a quiet conversation.
Callen entered a moment later.
Lyz turned at the sound of his approach.
"Lord Redington."
Callen stopped when he noticed the company.
"Oh. My apologies, Your Grace. Captain. I didn't realise you had company. I'll leave you to it."
"There's no need."
Annabella took a leisurely sip of her wine.
"Captain Campbell was just about to leave, and I wouldn't mind the company of another bad adult."
She giggled.
Lyz looked at her.
One eyebrow rose slightly, but she quickly composed herself. She bowed.
"Your Grace."
Then she left without so much as a farewell to Callen.
Annabella watched her go before rolling her eyes.
"Forgive Captain Campbell. She can be quite rude."
Callen glanced towards the door through which Lyz had disappeared.
"She seems more like a jealous lover."
Annabella turned her head slowly, giving him a sideways look.
"You have some nerve making such a claim."
She took another sip.
"My son was right. You must be a bad apple."
Callen smirked as he approached the balcony railing, resting his forearms against its stone edge.
"Bad apples are good apples for worms, Your Grace."
Annabella laughed.
It was a lovely sound, unguarded and almost vulnerable. For a moment, the polished woman who had spent the afternoon navigating the council seemed to disappear.
Callen watched her.
Then, as though remembering something, he tilted his head.
"Although, I have to say I am curious about something."
"Oh? Pray tell"
"Raegar. It's a rather dull name for such an extraordinary little boy."
Annabella looked at him over the rim of her glass.
"Is it?"
"I would have expected something more poignant. Something with a little more character. You're a clever woman, Your Grace. Surely you could have come up with something better."
She smiled and took another sip.
For a moment, she said nothing.
"Raegar was my grandfather."
Callen's expression changed.
"My father's father. Raegar De la Croix. He was a keen politician and an extraordinary economist. He did great for the realm."
Callen frowned.
"I beg to differ."
"He was a horrible man. He squeezed the life out of the Sagans living on his lands."
Annabella gave a small shrug, looking almost amused by his indignation.
"Nobody is perfect."
Callen chuckled.
"How eloquent."
She rolled her eyes.
"It is also a name that reminds me of someone I was very close to at school."
Callen swallowed.
"A friend?"
There was a brief pause before he continued.
"They must have been rather dear to you, Your Grace. An extraordinary person, if they managed to secure such a permanent place in your heart."
Annabella's gaze drifted beyond the balcony.
"She had a terrible character."
Callen turned towards her.
"Did she?"
"She was a brawler. Always picking fights. An absolute nightmare to talk to because she was pig-headed and stubborn. She was a bit of a drunk, too. A brute, really."
Callen pulled a face.
"Wow. So many wonderful qualities."
Annabella laughed.
"She had."
"She sounds like..."
He hesitated, briefly considering his words.
"Forgive me for the language, Your Grace, but she sounds like a huge asshole."
Annabella giggled again, but the laughter gradually faded.
She hugged herself, looking away as though the memories had suddenly become more vivid.
"She was also very loyal. Clingy, but in the good way. Quite forgiving. Supportive, attentive to a fault. She had incredibly hilarious jokes, and she rather quick-witted. She was very affectionate, and she was very..."
She stopped.
Her lower lip caught briefly between her teeth. She lifted her glass and took a small sip of wine.
Callen was watching her now.
There was something different in his expression. The teasing had given way to a quieter interest, something almost tender. He seemed to be studying her face.
For a moment, he looked as though he might kiss her if he could.
He cleared his throat as he asked then.
"And she was...?"
His voice had softened. His lips remained slightly parted, and the smile on his face lingered a little longer than it should have.
Annabella turned to face him.
She hadn't expected the question to affect her quite so much. Nor had she expected to become suddenly conscious of how close he was standing.
Perhaps it was the wine.
A faint blush crept into her cheeks.
Callen noticed immediately.
His smile widened.
"The suspense is killing me, Your Grace. Don't leave me hanging. Release the tension."
Annabella arched an eyebrow, seemingly preparing a sharp response. But she reconsidered.
Instead, she lowered her glass.
"She was someone I could trust wholeheartedly."
Her smile faded.
"And I lost her because I betrayed her."
Something in Callen's expression changed.
The flirtation seemed to leave him all at once. He straightened, looking at her more carefully.
"I see."
He glanced towards the reception hall.
"Perhaps we should go back. I wouldn't want to put you in an improper situation. You have more important guests to attend to."
Annabella studied him for a moment before giving a small chuckle.
"I only have eyes for one guest at the moment."
Callen looked back at her.
She smiled.
"You. You are hiding something and I will find out what exactly."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Annabella turned towards the door, and Callen fell into step beside her.