Page 2 of Claws and Effect

“Will be signed after they mate,” Gerri said confidently. “Once their inner beasts recognize each other, everything else will fall into place naturally.”

Frances reached for an invitation, running her thumb over the embossed lettering. “‘Cordially invited to the engagement party celebrating the future union between the Rubin and Barclay Prides.’ It doesn’t specify which Barclay daughter.”

“Precisely,” Gerri said with a wink. “A small but significant omission.”

“To our children,” Juliette raised her teacup, a rare mischievous glint in her usually proper eyes. “May they forgive us for being so obvious.”

“To fated mates,” Frances added, “and sons too busy to read the fine print.”

“To matchmaking,” Gerri concluded, standing and dropping the invitations into her embroidered bag. “And to the look on their faces when fate finally gets its way.”

As Gerri stepped into the cool night air, the moonlight caught her smile—the satisfied expression of a woman who had been moving chess pieces for decades and had yet to lose a match. Behind her, the soft laughter of two mothers floated through the open window, a soundtrack to the beginning of her favorite kind of story: one where love won, even when it needed a little help getting started.

ONE

Sunlight spilled through gossamer curtains, painting golden stripes across Laykin Barclay’s silk sheets. The familiar melody of an ancestral pride song drifted up from the courtyard below. Laykin buried her face deeper into her pillow as if the Egyptian cotton could shield her from the reality awaiting her.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The royal family crest flashed on the screen—her mother. Again.

Laykin groaned and swiped to read the message.

Don’t forget—final fittings at 10. Engagement ball gown AND tonight’s gala attire. The Rubins expect perfection.

“Because nothing says ‘welcome to the family’ like crushing my ribcage two days in a row,” Laykin muttered, pushing herself up.

She padded to the bay window overlooking the Summit Pride’s ancestral grounds. Manicured gardens blended into natural savannah and ancient stone structures rose among modern security installations. In the courtyard, two young lionesses practiced a ceremonial dance, their movements fluid and precise.

Laykin ran her fingers along the ornate invitation on her desk—tomorrow’s engagement ceremony with Zyle Rubin, heir to the Rubin tiger fortune and her future mate. The thick parchment featured intertwined lion and tiger silhouettes embossed in gold.

A sharp knock broke her reverie.

“Unless you’re bringing coffee and a one-way ticket to Tahiti, go away,” Laykin called out.

The door swung open anyway. Seren Brooks sauntered in carrying a steaming mug in one hand and two garment bags in the other. Her dark curls bounced with each step, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No Tahiti, but I did convince the kitchen to add an extra shot of espresso.” Seren handed over the mug with a flourish. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Laykin inhaled the rich aroma. “Sleep requires the absence of existential dread.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Seren hung the garment bags on the wardrobe door. “Tonight is just the welcome gala. The actual engagement spectacle isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Oh, is that all?” Laykin arched an eyebrow. “Just a room full of elders scrutinizing my every move tonight, followed by being presented to a complete stranger as his future mate tomorrow. You’re right, totally overreacting.”

Seren flopped onto the velvet bench at the foot of Laykin’s bed. “In the animal kingdom, most species don’t make nearly this much fuss about mating. Why can’t we just sniff butts and call it a day like normal animals?”

Coffee sprayed from Laykin’s mouth. “Please suggest that at the next pride council meeting. I’d pay good money to see Elder Griffith’s face.”

“I’ll add it to the agenda.” Seren grinned, standing to unzip the first garment bag. “Speaking of traditions that should be abolished, let’s start with tomorrow’s torture device.”

The gown that emerged made Laykin pause mid-sip. Unlike the stuffy formal attire she’d expected, this dress was... stunning. Deep emerald green—her favorite color—with delicate gold embroidery that would highlight her hazel eyes. The cut was modern yet elegant with clean lines that would emphasize her curves without restricting movement.

“That’s... not what I expected,” Laykin admitted, approaching the garment.

“Your mother said it was originally commissioned for Caroline, but...” Seren trailed off, carefully watching Laykin’s reaction.

The mention of her sister’s name hung between them. Caroline had vanished three weeks ago, leaving Laykin to step into her role as treaty bride.

“But it looks exactly like something I would choose,” Laykin finished, running her fingers over the silk. “Not Caroline’s style at all.”

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