Page 55 of Claws and Effect

FORTY-TWO

As Laykin embraced her mother, she caught the subtle scent of worry beneath the queen’s usual jasmine perfume. The queen held her fractionally longer than usual, her fingers pressing into Laykin’s back in a silent communication that spoke volumes. Something was wrong.

A gentle chime announced dinner, saving Laykin from having to decipher her mother’s unspoken message immediately. King Leoric offered his arm to his wife, leading the procession toward the adjoining dining room with practiced royal grace.

“Your father insisted on the Autumn Dining Room tonight,” her mother murmured as they walked. “Said the light would be most flattering for family photographs.”

Laykin nodded, understanding the subtext. The Autumn Dining Room had the highest security rating in the palace with controlled access points and enhanced monitoring capabilities disguised within its rustic décor. Her father was taking no chances tonight.

Dinner progressed with superficial pleasantries masking undercurrents of tension. The royal chef had outdone himself with a sumptuous spread of traditional Summit delicacies—aromatic venison steaks, roasted root vegetables with mountain herbs, and crusty bread still warm from the ovens. Under different circumstances, Laykin would have delighted in seeing Zyle sample these childhood favorites, but Marcello’s veiled hostility soured the experience.

“I understand your security forces have been substantially upgraded in recent years,” Marcello commented, swirling his wine. “One might wonder why a business leader needs such extensive protection.”

The implication—that Zyle prepared for conflict rather than peace—hung in the air. Laykin’s fingers tightened around her fork. Her uncle’s tone carried a hint of accusation that set her teeth on edge.

“The same reason any royal family does,” Zyle replied, his tone mild despite the challenge in his words. Under the table, his hand found Laykin’s, his thumb tracing a small circle against her palm. “In positions of influence, prudence is simply good governance.”

“Are you comparing a corporate empire to a royal lineage?” Marcello’s eyebrow arched in mock surprise. “How... ambitious.”

“My uncle means—” Laykin began, but Marcello continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“The Rubin Corporation has acquired three competing businesses in the last year alone. Some might call that aggressive expansion rather than prudent governance.”

Heat flared in Laykin’s chest. Her lioness snarled, offended on Zyle’s behalf. “Some might call it successful leadership,” she cut in, her voice sharper than intended. “The Rubin pride has created thousands of jobs and revitalized communities that were struggling after the drought. Their security measures protect employees as well as assets.”

Surprise flickered across Zyle’s face at her passionate defense, quickly replaced by a warm glance that sent a flutter through her stomach.

“Uncle, you’ve always said our palace security was inadequate,” she continued, holding Marcello’s gaze. “Perhaps we should take notes from the Rubins rather than criticizing their success.”

Marcello’s eyes narrowed at the rebuke. “There’s a difference between adequate protection and preparing for war, niece.”

“Who mentioned war?” King Leoric interrupted, his voice carrying the weight of authority that silenced the table instantly. “This treaty aims to ensure precisely the opposite.”

An awkward silence descended, broken only by the delicate clink of silverware against fine china. Laykin observed Marcello from beneath lowered lashes. His gaze kept returning to her father with an intensity that seemed oddly calculating.

Her lioness growled softly within her mind.Something’s wrong.

The remainder of the main course passed with careful conversation about neutral topics—the unusually warm weather, the upcoming winter festival preparations, the success of this year’s harvest. Zyle engaged her father in a discussion about sustainable forestry practices that genuinely seemed to interest both men. The tension eased marginally, though Laykin remained acutely aware of Marcello’s watchful presence.

When the last plates were cleared, King Leoric stood with practiced grace. “I believe tradition calls for brandy and cigars in the study. Mr. Rubin, would you care to join us? Laykin, your mother has been dying to show you the new orchid specimens in the conservatory.”

A traditional separation of men and women that, tonight, felt more like a strategic division for private conversations. Laykincaught the subtle glance exchanged between her parents—a silent communication developed over decades of partnership.

“Of course, Father.” She squeezed Zyle’s hand briefly under the table before rising. “Don’t let Uncle Marcello talk you into any of his investment schemes,” she added lightly, earning a chuckle from her father and a tight smile from her uncle.

FORTY-THREE

“He’s not what I expected,” Queen Juliette said softly, delicately pruning a rare violet orchid with silver shears.

The royal conservatory provided a welcome refuge from the dining room’s strained atmosphere. Humid air filled with the scent of rich soil and blooming flowers wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. Through the glass ceiling, stars twinkled in the clear night sky, creating an otherworldly atmosphere in this haven of green life. The men had retired for brandy, leaving Laykin alone with her mother among the exotic plants that had been the queen’s passion for decades.

“Zyle?” Laykin asked, trailing her fingers along the waxy leaf of a giant monstera plant. “What did you expect?”

“Someone colder. More... transactional.” Her mother set down the shears, turning to face her daughter fully. “When your sister ran away and you agreed to take her place, we thought you were sacrificing your happiness for duty.”

“I was,” Laykin acknowledged, then corrected herself. “At least, that’s what I believed at first.”

Her mother’s perceptive gaze saw too much. “And now?”

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