Page 53 of Claws and Effect

FORTY

The urgent ping of her mother’s distinctive ringtone cut through the steady murmur of voices in the strategy room. Laykin’s words died on her lips, security plans forgotten as her stomach twisted into a familiar knot. Her gaze met Zyle’s across the table.

“The Queen Mother calls,” she said.

Zyle leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest. While his posture appeared relaxed, those dark eyes missed nothing.

Laykin grabbed her phone, inhaling deeply before answering. “Mother, we were just discussing the council?—”

“Darling, that’s precisely why I’m calling.” Her mother’s crisp tone sliced through Laykin’s greeting. “Your father and I need to speak with both of you before the general assembly. Not to mention we haven’t seen you in what feels like forever. Your father is having withdrawal and keeps asking me when he’s going to see his little princess. That means you and Zyle are to come to the castle. Tonight. Dinner at seven.”

“Tonight?” Laykin’s gaze darted to the security plans scattered across the table. “We’re in the middle of?—”

“No excuses, darling.” The command wrapped in silk stopped her short. “This discussion requires privacy and proper attention. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

The call ended with a decisive click. Of course, her mother hung up before she could object. Queen Juliette never asked—she orchestrated.

“Problem?” Zyle asked, his voice a calm anchor amid her swirling thoughts.

Laykin set her phone down with exaggerated care. “How do you feel about meeting the parents? Officially, I mean. Not as treaty negotiators but as...” She trailed off, the right word eluding her.

“As your mate?”

A silver ring appeared around his irises—his tiger responding to the term even as his human side maintained control. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact—sent a contradictory shiver of warmth and panic through her chest.

“Yes. That.” She straightened the papers before her, needing something to do with her hands. “My parents want dinner tonight. At the palace.”

“I’ll move my appointments.” He didn’t hesitate, reaching for his phone to text his assistant.

Her heart squeezed at his simple acceptance. No complaints. No negotiation. Just immediate adjustment to accommodate her family obligation.

“I should warn you—family dinners at the palace aren’t exactly relaxing affairs.”

“I negotiated a four-billion-dollar acquisition over an eighteen-course meal while the CEO across from me tried to poison my champagne.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I think I can handle dinner with your parents.”

Her lioness purred in appreciation. The man never backed down from a challenge.

“The assassination attempt might be preferable,” she muttered, earning a rare chuckle that warmed her more than it should have.

They spent the next two hours reviewing security protocols and finalizing details for tomorrow’s council meeting, the impending dinner with her family a constant hum of anxiety at the back of her mind. When the time came to leave, Laykin found herself studying Zyle’s profile as he stood in the doorway, issuing final instructions to Holden.

In the black suit he’d changed into, he cut an imposing figure—all sharp lines and controlled power. Yet she’d seen the gentleness in those hands, felt the tenderness in his touch. The dichotomy of the man fascinated her more each day.

“Ready?” he asked, catching her stare.

She nodded, squaring her shoulders like she was heading into battle rather than a family dinner. In some ways, perhaps she was.

FORTY-ONE

The sleek company SUV cut through mountain roads leading to Summit Palace. Laykin gazed out the window, watching familiar landmarks slip past—the ancient oak that marked the border of pride lands, the crystalline waterfall that had been her childhood swimming spot, the rocky outcrop where she’d first practiced her shifting.

Each sight triggered memories that grew sharper as they approached her childhood home. The security team maintained a discreet distance in the car behind them, giving them an illusion of privacy that allowed conversation to flow freely.

“My father will scrutinize every word you say,” she explained, absently touching her emerald earrings—on of which Zyle had returned to her during their first meeting. “He appears formal and intimidating, but underneath he has a surprisingly dry sense of humor.”

“And your mother?”

“She’ll serve ten different desserts because she can’t remember which one is your favorite, all while extracting your entire life story without you realizing you’re being interrogated.” The image of her tiger shifter facing her mother’s subtle tactics brought an unexpected smile to her lips.

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