Annabella crossed the portal shortly after the afternoon bells.
The Winstor official residence was already being prepared for the ceremony. Servants moved through the halls carrying linens, polished silver, and arrangements of white flowers. In the reception room, a pair of attendants were arguing quietly over the placement of the ceremonial banners.
Annabella settled the matter in less than a minute.
"The Lucreus Flag belongs beside the Winstor Crest, not above it. The naming rite honours the child and the line he inherits. It is not an occasion to start a stiff with the Westors...particularly that now the period of transition is up on us"
The attendants bowed and moved the banners.
She spent the next hour checking the seating arrangements, confirming the order in which the guests would arrive, and reviewing the ceremonial objects and regalia. There were questions about the officiant, the procession, and the timing of the blessing. Annabella answered each one patiently, even when she had to repeat herself.
By the time Harry arrived, she was standing beside a long table, inspecting the silver basin that would be used during the rite.
He entered without announcement, carrying a small wooden case.
"You've been busy."
Annabella glanced over her shoulder.
"Someone has to be."
He smiled at the familiar sharpness, then placed the case on the table.
"I brought the binding orb George will inherit during the ceremony."
She opened the case and inspected it. The runes around the edge worked so finely that they were almost invisible.
"This is beautiful indeed."
"I was high time I passed it to my heir anyways."
"He will be delighted. He has always been curious about it."
Harry watched her close the case.
"I remember the first time he held it. The orb shone like I have never seen before."
"The child is gifted."
The words were simple, but he heard the accusation beneath them.
"I intend to make sure he knows I believe it."
"I hope you do."
He took a step closer.
"Annabella, I am not entirely without feeling for my own son."
She looked at him steadily.
"I have never said that you are."
"Yet you look at me as though I have failed him in every possible way."
"Harry... what do you want! I have nothing else to give you. Money... Power... that is all i can give"
He lowered his gaze briefly, accepting the point without agreeing to it.
"I would give all of it up of it meant being with you for real"
" That would never happen. Give up already."
Harry's mouth tightened.
"I can't do that."
He glanced towards the windows, where the late-afternoon light had begun to turn gold.
"I wish you would make this easier for me."
Annabella returned to the ceremonial basin.
"I wish you would stop pretending that there is any way you would deserve what you are asking of me."
He stood there for another moment, then reached for her hand.
She allowed him to lift it, though her expression remained unchanged. He kissed her knuckles slowly, his eyes fixed on hers as if he were waiting for her to stop him from leaving.
" Pretending you say...I hope tomorrow you will play your part well then?" he asked.
"For the ceremony? Of course."
She gently withdrew her hand.
"I have arrangements to finish."
Harry's fingers closed on empty air.
He looked as though he might argue, but instead he bowed his head.
"Then I won't keep you."
"Thank you for bringing the orb."
He lingered for a heartbeat, searching her face for some sign that she wanted him to remain.
Annabella turned to instruct a servant.
Harry left without another word.
On the other side of the realm, Reagan had charged every usable amulet and assigned the final teams.
By dusk, the command tent had emptied enough for her to spread the maps across the central table without anyone asking her to move aside. She reviewed everything.
She checked the signals twice.
The first time, she found a discrepancy in the timing between the diversion and the advance team. The second time, she found that one of the supply units had been assigned to two separate routes.
Neither mistake was catastrophic. Both could have become so if no one had caught them.
She corrected the assignments and called Jules back in.
"Have the captains received the revised orders?"
"They have."
"Every one of them?"
"Every one."
"And the amulets?"
"Distributed. The reserve is secured."
Reagan nodded, but she did not dismiss him.
"What happens if the eastern passage is compromised?"
Jules thought for a moment.
"The advance team withdraws to the lower ridge. The second unit holds the western route until the diversion is called off."
"And if the signal doesn't reach them?"
"They follow the fallback marker."
"Which marker?"
Jules pointed to the map.
Reagan examined it, then moved the marker two inches to the north.
"That ground is exposed. Put it here instead."
Jules made the change.
"You've checked this plan six times."
"Seven."
"Does the seventh check usually make the difference?"
"No." Reagan looked at him. "But sometimes the seventh check finds what the sixth one missed."
He gave her a tired smile.
"Try to get some rest tonight."
"I will."
Jules glanced at the map, clearly unconvinced.
Reagan gathered the remaining amulets and placed them in a locked case. She would review the plan again before dawn, once the scouts returned with their final report. Until then, there was nothing more she could do without simply repeating the same work.
She told herself that as she left the command tent.
She repeated it while she washed the ink from her fingers.
And she was still repeating it when she finally lay down beside Gabrielle.
The nightmare came in fragments.
A corridor filled with smoke.
The sharp crack of stone splitting beneath a spell.
George Winstor shouting her name from somewhere she could not reach.
Reagan ran, but the corridor stretched endlessly before her. Every door she opened led to another passage. Every turn brought her back to the same place, where the walls trembled and the air tasted of ash.
Then she saw him.
He laid on the floor, soaked through with blood.
She reached for him.
Harry's hand closed around her wrist.
Reagan woke with a sharp, strangled breath.
For a moment, she did not know where she was. The room was dark, the fire reduced to a bed of embers, and the sounds of the camp had faded into the distant murmur of night.
Gabrielle slept beside her, one hand resting near Reagan's pillow.
Reagan stared at the ceiling, her heart beating too quickly.
Then she carefully moved the blankets aside.
She did not want to wake Gabrielle. She needed to see the plan again, to remind herself that the routes were real, the soldiers accounted for, the risks measured.
She dressed quietly and crossed the room.
The maps had been brought into the adjoining workroom, where they covered a long table beneath a single lamp. Reagan stood over them, her arms folded, her brows drawn together as she retraced the route into the High Priestess's castle.
The nightmare had left her with the sensation that she had forgotten something.
She examined the eastern passage.
Then the western tower.
Then the position of the reserve unit.
Nothing was missing.
She moved a marker, reconsidered it, and moved it back.
"You know," Gabrielle murmured behind her, "most people wake from nightmares and go back to bed."
Reagan turned.
Gabrielle stood in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep and her expression still heavy with it. She had wrapped a robe around herself, but hadn't bothered to tie it properly.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't." Gabrielle came closer. "I woke up and discovered you had abandoned me for a collection of maps."
"They're more obedient than you."
Reagan's mouth twitched, but the smile disappeared as she looked back at the table.
Gabrielle noticed.
She stepped behind Reagan and slipped her arms around her waist, drawing her gently back against her. Her cheek rested near Reagan's shoulder.
For a moment, Reagan remained rigid.
Then Gabrielle pressed a kiss to the bare skin above her shoulder.
"Come back to bed."
"I need to check the—"
"You have checked it."
That earned a small laugh.
Gabrielle kissed her shoulder again, slower this time.
"You have done everything you can tonight."
Reagan lowered her head. Her hands, which had been gripping the edge of the table, gradually relaxed.
"I had that dream again."
"I guessed so."
There was no demand for an explanation, no insistence that Reagan describe what she had seen. Gabrielle simply held her, giving her time to settle back into herself.
Reagan turned within her embrace.
The frown had eased from her face, though something troubled still lingered in her eyes. Gabrielle brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead.
"Whatever happens tomorrow, you won't face it alone."
Reagan studied her for a moment.
Then she smiled.
It was a small smile at first, almost reluctant. Gabrielle answered it with one of her own, and Reagan reached for her waist, pulling her closer.
"You shouldn't be teasing me like that," Reagan murmured.
"I kinda miss you...you have been rather neglectful."
"How can I make it up to you."
" I have got two or three ideas"
Reagan laughed softly and kissed her.
Gabrielle's arms tightened around her, and the kiss deepened. For the first time that night, Reagan stopped thinking about the castle, the wards, and the countless ways the plan could go wrong.
She then pushed Reagan against the edge of the table, getting her to sit.
"Let me," Gabrielle said. "You don't have to do anything."
Reagan's mouth opened, and Gabrielle laid two fingers against it. "Not tonight. Tonight you only have to be here."
She untied the last of her robe and let it fall. Reagan looked, and the look was warm and appreciative, but it stopped short of the hunger Gabrielle had learned not to expect
She stepped between Reagan's knees and began unbuttoning her shirt, one button at a time, and pressed her lips to each patch of skin she uncovered. Reagan's breath deepened.
"That," Reagan managed, "was not on any schedule."
"I'm told I'm full of surprises." Gabrielle murmured.
Gabrielle knelt. She unlaced Reagan's trousers, drew them down, and kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, taking her time, ignoring the more pressing part that needed the touch. Above her, Reagan's head tipped back. She closed her eyes, Then Gabrielle lowered her mouth, and Reagan's breath caught.
It was slow and patient, tongue coaxing instead of demanding which drew a soft exhale from Reagan.
"Gabrielle." Quiet. Unsteady.
Gabrielle hummed in answer, and Reagan's hips lifted once before she stilled them.
"You don't have to hold back," Gabrielle whispered against her.
One of Reagan's hands came to the back of her head, pulling her hair, as the pleasure climbed in her slowly. She came with a long, shuddering breath.
Gabrielle rose and kissed her gently. "There."
After a while, Reagan got aroused again.
Gabrielle climbed onto the table and into her lap, knees on either side of her hips, heedless of the maps. She guided Reagan's hands to her waist and held them there. Then she lowered herself onto her slowly, until they were joined and Gabrielle's forehead rested against hers.
"Oh," Gabrielle breathed. "Good."
She began to move, rolling her hips in long, unhurried strokes. The table creaked, and a silver marker slid across the parchment and tipped over the edge. Reagan's hands stayed careful on her hips, steadying her but never steering. When Gabrielle's breath quickened, Reagan's thumbs began to stroke small circles over her skin, and she kissed Gabrielle's collarbone, her shoulder, the line of her throat with a softness. Her pace picked up, rocking harder, and Reagan's breath hitched.
Gabrielle gasped into her mouth, her nails digging into Reagan's shoulders.
"Reagan—right there—don't stop."
Reagan murmured. "I've got you."
Gabrielle came with her head thrown back, a cry catching in her throat, hips stuttering against Reagan's lap. Reagan held her through it, one arm braced around her back, and followed a moment later, burying her face in Gabrielle's shoulder with a muffled sound.
For a long while they stayed like that, breathing in time, the lamp guttering beside them.
"Somebody was in a mood," Reagan said into her skin. It was soft and sincere, and it was not the thing Gabrielle had hoped to hear someday. She smiled anyway, running her fingers through Reagan's hair.
"Well... Someone has been starving me."
"I wish I could—" Reagan stopped.
"I know." Gabrielle kissed her temple. "I thought taking all the precautions you take would make it easier for you."
Reagan gave a small, helpless laugh and tucked her face against Gabrielle's neck.
"You say that as though you do mind them."
"Oh, I mind them terribly." Gabrielle stroked her sweat-damp back. "I'm simply trying to be understanding."
"How noble of you."
"I thought so."
Reagan smiled against her skin. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Gabrielle's fingers slowed in her hair.
"Though, now that we're almost at the end of the road…" She hesitated, her voice quieter when she continued. "I do find myself thinking about motherhood."
Reagan went still.
It was barely noticeable, just a pause in the movement of her hand against Gabrielle's waist. Then she nodded, her eyes closing again.
This time, it wasn't exhaustion that made her shut them.
It was fear.
By dawn, the residence was already stirring.
Servants carried the final ceremonial garments through the halls. A messenger brought word that the Archmage, spiritual guide of all mages, was on his way.
Annabella stood before a mirror while an attendant fastened the last clasp at her shoulder.
She inspected the result, adjusted a fold of fabric, and dismissed the attendant with an absent word of thanks.
Across the realm, Reagan was awake before the first signal from the scouts.
She stood over the map one final time, her face composed, her orders ready, the amulets secured for the men who would carry them into the High Priestess's fortress.
Neither woman felt at peace
And as the naming ceremony day began, the paths they had spent so long preparing to walk were finally drawing close to the moment when only one of them would survive this debacle.