Page 56 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)
FIFTY-FIVE
L aykin considered the question honestly. “No,” she admitted after a moment. “I would have dismissed it as superstition. I would have insisted on making a match based on strategic benefit to the pride.”
“You would have sacrificed your own happiness for duty,” her mother concluded. “As you’ve always done.”
The truth of that statement settled heavily between them. Laykin had always viewed personal fulfillment as secondary to her responsibilities. The idea that happiness could align with duty had seemed an impossible luxury, not a birthright.
“I can’t believe how much thought you put into this,” she said finally, torn between lingering irritation at being managed and grudging appreciation for their insight into her character.
“We love you,” her father said simply. “We wanted you to have what we found—a mate who is both a political ally and a true partner of the heart.”
Tears pricked unexpectedly at Laykin’s eyes as she thought of Zyle—his fierce protectiveness, his careful attention to her needs, the vulnerability he showed only to her. He had become essential to her existence with a speed and completeness that defied explanation.
Perhaps, she realized, because the connection had been there all along, waiting to be rediscovered.
“I wouldn’t have found this without your interference,” she acknowledged, the admission loosening something tight in her chest. “I thought happiness was out of reach for someone in my position.”
Her mother drew her into a gentle embrace. “No duty is worth the sacrifice of joy, my darling. We’ve always known that.”
King Leoric joined the embrace, his strong arms encircling them both. For a moment, Laykin allowed herself to be simply a daughter loved by her parents, not a princess with the weight of a pride on her shoulders.
When they separated, her father cleared his throat, emotion making his voice rougher than usual. “Does he make you happy?”
The question was so simple, yet it cut through all political considerations to the heart of what mattered. Laykin didn’t need to consider her answer.
“Yes,” she said softly. “More than I thought possible.”
Relief and satisfaction passed between her parents in another silent exchange. Queen Juliette brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s face, a gesture unchanged since Laykin’s childhood.
“Then our greatest duty as parents has been fulfilled.”
A discreet knock on the door frame interrupted the moment. Zyle stood there, his expression carefully neutral though his eyes lingered on the traces of tears on Laykin’s cheeks.
“The car is ready whenever you are,” he said, his gaze questioning without demanding explanation.
King Leoric rose, extending his hand to the man who had saved both his daughter and his pride. “Take care of her,” he said, the simple request laden with meaning.
Zyle clasped the offered hand, his grip firm. “With my life,” he promised, the words emerging as more vow than pleasantry.
The good-bye that followed was brief—all understood that this was not a true separation but merely a transition. As royalty and now official pride representatives, Laykin and Zyle would be required at the palace frequently in the coming weeks to oversee the contract implementation.
As they walked toward the waiting vehicle, Zyle’s hand settled on the small of her back, the touch both protective and reassuring.
“Everything all right?” he asked quietly once they were beyond earshot of her parents.
“I’ll tell you when we get home,” Laykin promised, still processing the revelation herself.
The drive passed in comfortable silence, Zyle respecting her need for reflection without pressing for details. The mountain roads wound upward, each turn taking them closer to the sanctuary of his estate—their home now, she reminded herself.
Security waved them through the gates, the sprawling compound appearing through the trees ahead.
When the car stopped at the main entrance, Zyle circled to her door before she could open it herself. The small courtesy might have irritated her once as unnecessary coddling, but now she recognized it for what it was—not a statement about her capability, but an expression of his care.
“I can walk, you know,” she pointed out as he extended his hand to help her from the vehicle.
His response was to sweep her into his arms in a single fluid movement, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all.
“Zyle!” Laykin protested, though without much conviction as her arms automatically circled his neck.
“Doctor’s orders,” he reminded her, carrying her effortlessly up the steps. “No exertion for another twenty-four hours.”
“Pretty sure walking doesn’t count as exertion.”
His low chuckle vibrated against her side. “Why take chances?”
The staff had prepared for their arrival—fresh flowers filled vases throughout the entrance hall, and the scent of something delicious wafted from the direction of the kitchen. Zyle ignored these welcome-home touches, carrying Laykin directly upstairs toward their bedroom suite.