Page 4 of Claws and Effect

“Tonight you just have to smile, make small talk with the elders, and not punch your uncle Marcello when he inevitably says something offensive,” Seren reminded her, adjusting the fall of the burgundy gown.

“It’s fine,” Laykin interrupted. “Maybe Zyle will be... tolerable. Maybe he won’t look like he eats small children for breakfast.”

“Now there’s the positive attitude we’re looking for,” Seren said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “He’s probably hoping for the same thing, you know. ‘Gosh, I hope this lioness princess isn’t completely hideous.’“

Laykin laughed, grateful for Seren’s ability to lighten even the most oppressive moments. “When you put it that way, maybe we’re perfect for each other. Two people bound by duty, hoping the other isn’t completely awful.”

“A romance for the ages,” Seren deadpanned, securing a simple gold pendant around Laykin’s neck. “Songs will be written. Poetry composed.”

“Shut up,” Laykin grinned, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Seren stepped back to admire her work. “There. Now you look like a princess who could command armies—or at least survive a gala full of nosy elders.”

A soft chime from Laykin’s phone indicated another message—her father this time.

The council is assembling. Your presence is requested in the grand hall.

Reality crashed back. Laykin drew a steadying breath. “It’s time.”

Seren squeezed her hand. “Remember—shoulders back, chin up, and if all else fails, imagine the elders in ridiculous underwear.”

“Seren!”

“What? It’s impossible to be intimidated by someone once you’ve pictured them in lion-print boxers.”

Laykin shook her head, trying and failing to suppress her smile. “You’re terrible.”

“That’s why you love me,” Seren replied cheerfully, ushering her toward the door. “Now, go dazzle the old guard with your princess charm. I’ll be right behind you, taking detailed mental notes on who looks most likely to cause trouble.”

The grand corridor stretched before them, its walls adorned with portraits of Barclay ancestors—generations of proud, regal faces that seemed to watch with solemn eyes. Pride members bowed respectfully as Laykin passed, murmuring greetings and good wishes.

“Princess Laykin, you look radiant,” called an elderly lioness shifter.

“The Goddess smiles upon this union,” added another.

“We’re proud of you, Princess,” said a young mother, her cubs staring at Laykin with wide-eyed admiration.

Laykin acknowledged each comment with a gracious nod and smile, the mask of royal composure firmly in place. These people believed in her, trusted her to protect their interests. Their approval warmed her even as the reason for it filled her with dread.

The grand hall gleamed with soft golden lighting, centuries-old chandeliers casting a warm glow over the assembledpride members. Elders in traditional robes clustered in small groups while business leaders and younger members mingled near the refreshment tables. The air buzzed with anticipation—tomorrow’s engagement ceremony was the first alliance of its magnitude in generations.

Laykin moved through the crowd with practiced ease, greeting each group with the perfect balance of warmth and dignity her position required. The weight of the Rubin bracelet on her wrist served as a constant reminder of what was to come.

“Princess Laykin,” Elder Griffith appeared at her side, more formal than usual in his ceremonial robes. “The council is pleased with your punctuality. Your attire is suitable, and I see you’re wearing the Rubin gift. Your mother will be pleased.”

“Thank you, Elder Griffith,” Laykin replied, her voice measured and controlled. “Have our guests arrived yet?”

“The advance delegation is here—advisors and lesser family members only. The Rubins themselves will arrive tomorrow.” His gaze lingered on her bracelet. “The tiger pride seems determined to make a good impression.”

Before Laykin could respond, a sharp voice cut through their conversation.

“Griffith, surely you can’t be serious about this arrangement.”

Laykin turned to see her uncle Marcello approaching, his lean frame rigid with disapproval. Though he shared the Barclay family’s golden-brown coloring, his features were sharper, his eyes colder.

“Marcello,” Elder Griffith nodded stiffly. “This is hardly the time?—”

“When better to discuss the future of our pride?” Marcello interrupted, barely acknowledging Laykin with a cursory glance. “A female heir binding our bloodline to tigers? It’sunprecedented. Pride leadership has always been strongest under a proper alpha lion.”

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