Chapter 48: Useless

Gwyneth was currently being smothered with kisses by Aslan. She tucked her chin into her chest, hiding a shy smile as she let the affection wash over her. At first, she thought she would be scared of being touched so suddenly. But after spending time with her fathers, she felt the change. She had learned to love the feeling of being cared for.

It felt a little embarrassing to want their attention so much, but she couldn't help it. Their hugs felt safe and steady, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Gwyneth looked at them with a mix of surprise and shyness. She couldn't believe they were so happy over such a simple, plain gift. For a long time, she had only watched other people be loved from afar. But now, she wasn't just watching anymore. She was the one being loved.

Whoever brought me to this world, thank you, Gwyneth whispered in her heart. She remained still, basking in their warmth like a plant finally reaching sunlight.

Just as the family of three continued their shameless display of affection, much to the Duchess’s growing jealousy, Gwyn suddenly smacked Aslan’s face just as he was about to plant another kiss on her cheek.

“I’m sorry, palangga. Daddy’s going to stop now,” Aslan chuckled, his voice rumbling with deep affection. He straightened up, his chest swelling with pride.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Since my daughter has successfully passed her gene inheritance, let us declare yesterday and today a special holiday!”

“Make it grand,” he announced to the room, his voice booming with authority. “Let the whole world know that our Gwyneth is officially of the Lion Clan lineage.”

He then turned to Lev. His green eyes, overflowing with contentment, met a pair of golden eyes that mirrored his joy.

“Tsk.” Duchess Catherine clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes at Aslan. “Why stop at two days? Why not a month? Are you that desperate for an excuse to brag? It’s unsightly to see a Marquess lose his wits over a gift.”

Aslan did not look offended. Instead, his grin widened, stretching across his face into a rogue’s smile that held none of the polished restraint of a noble. The lordly aura he usually wore was gone, replaced by the raw, smug energy of a father who knew he was winning.

“Oh, I’ll brag for a year if I feel like it,” Aslan replied, his eyes dancing with mischief as he pulled Gwyneth into a tighter, protective embrace. “I suppose I can’t expect a giftless, cubless old maid like you to understand the feeling.”

The Duchess’s mouth gaped open at the insult. Her nose flared as she pointed a trembling, furious finger at Aslan, who continued to taunt her with a triumphant beam.

“Take your cub, Lev,” the Duchess hissed through gritted teeth, her gaze fixed dangerously on Aslan. “I’m going to fix this husband of yours.”

Gwyneth, however, remained completely oblivious to the brewing storm. Her hand unintentionally smacked against her father’s face as a sharp, tingling heat shot through her spine. She was too focused on the strange sensations at the top of her ears, then at her back. It was a volatile mix of hot and cold that felt like something was crawling beneath her skin.

She squirmed uncomfortably in her father’s embrace, one arm reaching toward her ears while the other strained to reach her back. She became caught in a frantic tangle of movement, unsure which spot to scratch first in a desperate attempt to ease the growing agitation.

Lev’s eyes remained fixed on his husband and daughter as he held the wooden carving close, as if it were a sacred relic. He immediately noticed Gwyn’s distress. Assuming she was simply feeling crowded by Aslan’s overbearing affection, he reached out to take her, paying no mind to the heated banter still flying between Aslan and the Duchess.

However, as he reached out, his expression shifted to concern. The cub was not just restless. She was writhing in Aslan’s arms, her small hands clawing frantically at the space between her shoulder blades.

Aslan also noticed the movement and looked down, seeing his daughter’s pursed lips.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you hurt anywhere?” Lev asked first, worry evident in his tone.

“Itchy,” Gwyn replied, still trying to reach her back.

Aslan used his free hand to lightly rub her back, his expression hardening.

“She’s changing,” Duchess Catherine suddenly cut in, her tone calm. She had already noticed the small changes happening on the cub’s body, particularly her ears, which were growing longer and more pointed. She reached out to touch them, but Aslan pulled away.

Duchess Catherine merely scoffed at the man’s stinginess, redirecting her gaze to Lev, who was waiting for an answer.

She intentionally glanced at the sculpture still tightly secured on Lev’s lap before meeting the worried father’s eyes.

“Let me touch that first, and I’ll answer your question,” she said, inclining her chin toward the sculpture while crossing her arms.

Lev turned his attention back to Gwyneth, disregarding the Duchess’s request entirely. He carefully set the gift on the table, draping his coat over it to shield it from her greedy gaze. Stepping closer to Aslan, he gently unzipped the back of the child’s dress just enough to reveal the source of her distress.

The three adults froze.

Two perfectly symmetrical, vertical red lines had appeared along her shoulder blades, slightly swollen and pulsing with unnatural heat. The skin looked tight and strained, as if something hidden deep within her was pushing outward.

“Congratulations. Your cub will have a beast form,” Catherine remarked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Let us hope, for the child’s sake, it isn’t a lion.”

Her sharp gaze locked onto Aslan. “It would be a tragedy to see such a sweet creature contaminated by her father’s insufferable arrogance.”

Aslan and Lev, though still fraught with worry, breathed a collective sigh of relief. While they were logically prepared for the physical shifts that followed a gene inheritance, their hearts still tightened at the sight of Gwyneth in pain.

“Let’s go. We’ll have Dex find something to ease her discomfort,” Aslan commanded, already striding out of the dining hall with his daughter held close.

Lev followed immediately but paused midway. With a sharp, protective glance, he scooped up the wooden sculpture, tucking it securely under his arm as he hurried after Aslan.

Catherine was left standing in utter disbelief, fuming as she watched the three of them walk away, once again completely disregarding her presence.

----

As the family headed toward the infirmary, Marquess Maxxwell slipped into the forest deep behind the palace. He moved with urgency, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. Shifting into his leopard form would have been easier, but he dared not transform, preferring to keep both his movements and destination concealed.

Once he was certain he was far enough from the palace and beyond the reach of strict security, he opened his personal communicator. An old man appeared on the screen, frail and thin, as though a strong breeze might topple him over. Loose skin hung from his face and neck, a rare sight in this era of near-immortal shifters.

The old man looked solemn but waited for Maxxwell to speak first.

Marquess Maxxwell watched the image intently. Hakim Maxxwell, former patriarch of the Leopard Clan, a man whose shadow still loomed large over their lineage.

“It is confirmed,” Maxxwell said after a heavy pause. “The child is a pure human.”

“Good. Have you negotiated with the Lions?” Hakim asked, his voice dry as parchment.

Maxxwell’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing beneath his noble mask.

“The child has already been claimed. She is mated.”

An eerie, suffocating silence followed. Hakim’s eyes remained locked on his son, his face frozen in indifference, as though the news did not trouble him in the slightest.

“Useless,” Hakim uttered.

The transmission went black.

Marquess Maxxwell stood there for a long moment, staring at the darkened communicator. Finally, he lifted his gaze toward the palace, his expression unreadable.