Page 54 of Claws and Effect

“Your uncle will be there as well?”

Her smile vanished. “Uncle Marcello has spent his entire life in second position, which has made him...” She searched for a diplomatic phrase, finding none.

“Resentful?” Zyle supplied.

“Bitter,” she confirmed. “He criticizes every royal decision on principle. If my father declared the sky blue, Marcello would argue it’s actually azure and demand a council vote on the matter.”

“Opposition for opposition’s sake?”

“Exactly.”

Laykin caught herself fidgeting with her earrings again and forced her hands into her lap. Her mother would notice such a nervous tell immediately.

“What are you not telling me?” Zyle asked, his voice quiet but direct.

She turned toward him, surprised. “What makes you think I’m hiding something?”

He nodded toward her hands. “You touch those earrings when you’re anxious. Your shoulders tense, and your breathing changes.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. How long had he been cataloging her mannerisms? And what else had he noticed?

“It’s nothing concrete,” she admitted. “My mother mentioned Marcello has been different lately at council meetings. More focused in his objections. Less like his usual scattershot complaints and more... strategic.”

Zyle’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Connected to the attacks, perhaps?”

“I can’t believe he’d go that far. He’s difficult, but he’s still family.”

The palace gates loomed ahead, ancient stone sentinels guarding the entrance to her childhood home. Her lioness pacedbeneath her skin, sensing danger ahead. Or perhaps merely objecting to the idea of sharing Zyle with her family.

As they passed beneath the imposing archway, palace staff materialized to welcome them. Footmen in royal livery opened their doors while the head of household staff, Morris—who had served the family since before Laykin was born—bowed formally.

“Welcome home, Princess Laykin. Mr. Rubin, we are honored by your presence.” His eyes twinkled with the familiarity of someone who had watched her grow from a toddling cub to royalty. “Their Majesties await you in the great hall.”

Zyle offered his arm, the gesture both protective and respectful. Laykin slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, drawing strength from his solid presence as they followed Morris through the winding corridors of her home.

“Last chance to feign sudden illness,” she whispered.

His lips twitched. “And deprive your uncle of the pleasure of my company? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The great hall stretched before them, centuries of royal history displayed in the tapestries and ancestral portraits lining the walls. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the scene, illuminating the polished oak table where her parents waited.

King Leoric sat regal and straight-backed, Queen Juliette elegant in deep blue silk. To Laykin’s surprise, Uncle Marcello occupied the chair at her father’s right hand—not his usual lesser place.

“The prodigal daughter returns,” Marcello announced, rising from his seat. His smile didn’t reach his eyes as they flicked dismissively over Zyle. “And with her... arrangement intact.”

Arrangement. The deliberately chosen word scraped against her skin like sandpaper. Laykin opened her mouth to retort, but Zyle stepped forward with perfect diplomatic poise.

“Your Majesties.” He bowed his head with precisely calibrated respect—not subservient, but acknowledging their position. “Thank you for your invitation.”

From behind his back, he produced an ornately wrapped bottle, presenting it to King Leoric with both hands. “A token of appreciation from the Rubin pride.”

Her father’s eyebrows rose as he accepted the gift, his expression shifting to genuine surprise as he examined the label. “Highland Summit Reserve? The’92 vintage?” He looked up sharply. “This vineyard was destroyed during the territorial disputes.”

“Not entirely,” Zyle replied smoothly. “My father secured several cases during the last peace talks. He believed they should be returned when the time was right.”

From the corner of her eye, Laykin noticed Marcello’s fixed smile slipping momentarily, a flash of genuine anger quickly masked. The reaction seemed disproportionate for simple jealousy over a wine bottle.

“A thoughtful gesture,” Queen Juliette said warmly, extending her hand to Laykin. “Come, darling. Let’s not stand on ceremony all night.”

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