Harry waited in the corridor outside the great hall, his hands clasped behind his back. The long cape of House Winstor fell from his shoulders in heavy folds, its crest embroidered in gold.
The door at the far end of the corridor opened.
Annabella stepped through, and Harry's attention shifted entirely to her.
For a moment, his smile faltered.
She wore a gown of white silk threaded with gold, fitted at the bodice and falling in elegant lines to the floor. A crimson cape rested across her shoulders, its lining edged in gold and embroidered with the de la Croix sigil, a vivid slash of purple against the white. Her hair, white as fresh snow, had been gathered high and secured with delicate gold pins that glittered beneath the light. A few loose strands curled at her nape.
Harry's smile faltered. For a moment, it was a different expression entirely. His gaze moved over her slowly, from the gold pins in her hair to the line of her throat, down the fitted bodice to the curve of her waist and the silk clinging to her hips, and back up. He didn't bother to hide it. His tongue touched his lower lip. His hands, clasped behind his back, tightened until the knuckles whitened.
"As lovely as ever," he said, and his voice had thickened. "Lovelier."
Annabella stopped before him and bowed her head, perfectly correct, perfectly cold. "I greet Your Grace."
Around them, the attendants and maids watched with barely concealed admiration. To their eyes, she was a young bride still deeply in love with her husband, a woman whose composure concealed the excitement of standing beside the man she had chosen. A few exchanged shy smiles
Lyz came striding down the corridor, the guests' arrival schedule in her hand.
"Your Graces, the first carriages have—"
She stopped mid-word.
Annabella was beautiful in her everyday official attire. In this, she was devastating. If any woman had earned the title "the Sun of House Winstor", it was this one.
Lyz's breath caught so sharply that she nearly choked on it. For one long second, she only stared, and raw desire crossed her face before she smothered it.
She bowed, deeper than she needed to, and finished the report. "The first carriages have arrived. Guests are being seated."
Harry nodded. "Dismissed."
Lyz held her bow for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then she straightened and left, her jaw set.
Harry watched her disappear before turning back to Annabella. The corridor remained full of attendants, and the watching eyes offered him precisely the opportunity he wanted.
He took Annabella by the waist and drew her against him.
To anyone watching, it was an affectionate embrace between husband and wife. But there was nothing tender about the way he held her. It was pure greed.
One hand spread across the small of her back and pressed her to him until he could feel her firm breasts. The other slid into her hair and tilted her head, baring her throat. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled, long and unsteady, and a low sound escaped him.
"You have no idea," he muttered against her skin, "how miserable I am. I am the luckiest man alive bcz I have such a beautiful wife. but the unluckiest because she hates me and denies me over and over again."
His hand dropped lower and gripped her hip, then slid to the curve of her ass and squeezed. He drew her flush against him, and the evidence of his arousal pressed hard against her stomach. He ground against her once, slowly, and his breath hitched.
The maids and attendants turned away, suddenly finding the corridor's decorations fascinating. They had no business witnessing what appeared to be such an intimate exchange between their rulers.
Annabella went still in his arms.
Her face was hidden against his shoulder. To anyone watching, she might have appeared shy, overcome by her husband's affection. Only the tension in her fingers betrayed her.
Her voice came out barely above a breath, pitched only for him.
"Enjoy this while it lasts," she said, so quietly it was almost a breath. Her voice was ice. "Soon enough I won't have to play along."
Harry laughed against her throat, hot and breathless. His lips travelled up the line of her neck to the hollow beneath her ear, and his teeth grazed the skin there. "I'll enjoy every second of it." he whispered, pressing her harder against him.
Annabella closed her eyes. For one brief moment, something cold and murderous moved behind her lashes. Then the trumpets sounded from inside the hall.
He released her reluctantly.
Annabella stepped back, smoothed the front of her gown, and adjusted her cape. The warmth drained from her expression as she composed herself. Then she placed her hand on his arm.
The hall had been transformed. Banners from the vaulted ceiling.
A little after, the doors opened again for the Sagan delegation. They were not allowed to enter at the same time as the other mages. They could only enter last.
Gabrielle and Callen entered. The whispers began at once, rippling outward. Why would the interim Lord of Light and Lady Annabella have invited the Sagans to a naming ceremony? Heads turned. Eyes narrowed. The two of them kept walking, calm and unhurried, and took their places among the guests.
Some assumed it was a political gesture, perhaps an attempt to secure the support of Sagans.
Others wondered what agreement might have brought the two parties into the same room.
Gabrielle bent her head toward Callen. "Are you ready to see Harry and face him?"
Callen's teeth ground together. "It's going to take everything I have not to kill him where he stands."
Her fingers closed around his hand. "Soon."
Rows of guests rose as one when the doors opened, and a hush rolled across them as Harry and Annabella walked the length of the aisle.
They were the perfect picture. The guests' eyes followed them. For the people watching they were every inch the radiant leaders of the realm.
At the head of the hall, Harry and Annabella then stood.
Callen's vision swam.
He had known what he would see. He had prepared for it. But nothing had prepared him for this, for her standing there with a man's arm beneath her hand and her face as lovely as a blooming flower in winter.
The room tilted. He bit down hard on his lip to hold himself in place and tasted blood. Heat prickled behind his eyes. His hand tightened on Gabrielle's until her knuckles went white, and she did not pull away.
There was nothing she could say that would make the sight easier.
At the head of the hall, Harry and Annabella took their places. Harry acknowledged the assembled guests, waiting until the last of the greetings had faded before speaking.
"Ladies and gentlemen, honoured members of the great houses, and esteemed members of the High Council. Thank you for joining us on this important day."
His voice carried easily through the hall.
"Today, we gather not only to welcome a new member into our house, but to recognise the responsibilities and heritage that will one day pass into his hands. It is a privilege to share this occasion with you."
He turned slightly towards the council members.
"I now ask the members of the council to come forward and bring with them the future Lord Winstor."
One by one, the council members entered through the side doors.
And between them, walking at the centre, was George.
He wore white.
There was no crest on his clothing, no elaborate house colours, no indication of the position he was about to inherit. The simplicity of his attire made him stand out among the richly dressed adults surrounding him.
He was the image of his mother.
The same delicate features, the same elegance in the way he carried himself, the same careful attention to his surroundings. Even at his age, he had a certain natural poise.
But there was something else, too.
A little wildness in the way he moved. An alertness that made his eyes travel across the hall, taking in faces and details with an almost restless curiosity. It was subtle, but Harry noticed it always and grew to dislike it very much.
George reached the centre of the hall and stopped between the council members. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he looked towards his parents.
Annabella's expression softened.
Harry stepped forward.
The room quieted further.
The naming rite began with the recognition of the child's lineage and the presentation of the binding charm.
But before the formal words could continue, Harry raised the orb.
A golden light stirred around him.
It began as a faint shimmer, then gathered into a distinct presence. His Light signature spread through the hall. The air seemed to grow warmer beneath its pressure.
Harry looked directly at his son.
"Who stands before me?"
George drew a deep breath.
For a heartbeat, he looked very small beneath the attention of the assembled houses. Then he lifted his chin.
He extended his hand towards the orb and released his own Light signature calling it to him.
The response was immediate.
A brilliant pulse of power moved through the hall. It was not as vast as Harry's, nor did it possess the depth of an experienced mage, but its strength was astonishing for a child so young.
Then the orb trembled.
Then it rose from Harry's hand.
A collective gasp swept through the hall as the artefact floated before George. Light, pale and shifting like the Northern Lights, gathered around the boy. It curled through the air in luminous strands, illuminating his face and spilling across the floor.
Several council members exchanged startled glances.
A murmur travelled through the audience.
Someone near the front drew in a sharp breath.
Even Harry seemed momentarily taken aback. He had known the boy was strong, but he had never imagined that connecting with the orb would awaken power thought lost to the Lucreus.
The power gathering around George was not merely strong. His signature was remarkably pure, expansive, and all-encompassing. The orb responded to him as though it had been waiting for his touch.
Then, as suddenly as it had risen, the orb descended.
It settled into George's outstretched hand.
Annabella watched without moving. The pride that had softened her expression was giving way to something else. Her eyes remained fixed on the boy, and a faint tension appeared around her mouth.
Callen, however, had gone completely still.
Something had stirred inside him when George released his power.
He felt it deep more aggressively as the orb landed on George's hand.
A ping.
He felt it deeper and deeper within his own signature, like a distant note struck in perfect harmony with something his existence.
Uncomfortably familiar.
Callen's fingers tightened on his chest.
She turned towards him.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the boy standing between the council members.
The child's Light signature had faded, but the sensation had not.
For one impossible moment, It felt as if it were an extension of... it was hard to tell. The child was not what he seemed to be.