Page 104 of Sanctuary with Kings

"Your father didn't wait."

"No. No, he found a growing pack who'd settled into open territory south of us and set the challenge immediately." I twisted, and Conall arched an eyebrow down at me, answering my question before I had to ask. "Oh, he won. He won that challenge, took that pack. And the next one, a year later. And another, just a couple years after that."

"Oh."

"Mm. Yes. Oh. By the time I was old enough to remember pieces of this, we were the largest clan in Ireland. My father called himself the King of the Red Wolves. He planned to take the entire country. My mother called me the little red prince. It was aterrible, idiotic idea. But they encouraged each other. When someone warned my father of the risks of growing too quickly, my mother insisted that they didn't have enough faith in her mate. They were blind to each other's flaws, obsessed with each other's victories. And…and in truth, there was no pack or clan in Ireland that would've been strong enough to win my father's challenge."

Conall's gaze went distant, and I licked my lips. "None but his own," I said softly.

Conall's lips twitched. "Ahh, clever girl," he whispered, grazing a kiss over my forehead. "Yes. It was quite a mutiny. My father did have supporters, of course, other wolves that wanted the power and prestige of being an entire nation united. But that's not a natural state for werewolves. There are too many of us whoknowwe could lead, if not under another's thumb. And a challenge amongst werewolves is not a simple act of one fight. It'swar.

"The only thing the werewolves of Ireland were united in was battle. We lost…an enormous number of our kind. Hundreds of wolves slaughtered against one another. Packs dissolved into chaos, families split apart. All to defy my father."

It was as if I could see the carnage firsthand, watching Conall's expression shift, his brow furrow, the reflection of screams in his eyes.

"Your parents were killed."

Conall swallowed. "My mother first. Obviously. What better way to destroy my father than tear apart his life and soul and the sun he orbited around?" His face was blank, eyes blinking, just the vaguest hint of tears in the open horror of his gaze. He smiled, and it was haunted. "She was ferocious in her own right—she would've become the leader after her father, if not for my grandfather. I bet it was the same number of wolves I faced today that she faced on her own."

He'd been there—that slack faced recollection of his worst memories said as much.

"My father lasted…two weeks, maybe less, after she was gone," Conall said numbly.

"Did they… Conall, did they come for you?"

He blinked and stirred, drawing in a sudden deep breath and glancing down at me. "Not like you might think. There was fighting for a number of weeks after my father's death, but it was small battles, the cleanup and rearranging of the survivors. I was kept at first by a pack of loyalists to my father…and then kidnapped by the opposition. They weren't cruel to me—I was still a child—but I think they feared me being raised to follow in my father's footsteps. In the end, I was given a choice. I could join one of the packs that killed my parents, where they could keep an eye on me, keep me leashed…"

"Or," I prompted.

"Or I could choose exile," Conall said flatly. "For the sake of the peace negotiation, no pack could offer me shelter. I would be utterly alone and left to survive on my wits."

It would've been considered a death sentence for a child. Even a werewolf.

"You chose exile," I said.

Conall smiled at me and nodded. "I did."

"Conall, you were just achild."

"I was. And quite a feral little beast I became too. Kept to my werewolf form more than human. It was easier to hunt that way, and predators didn't like my scent. Oh, don't fret for me now,mo chroí. I survived," Conall said, and then tightened the hand I held beneath the blanket. He winced and glared ahead of us before adding, "Some might even say I thrived."

"The packs that exiled you, you mean."

He hummed and nodded. "I didn't seek them out. When I was first exiled, I kept myself well out of any pack's way. But eventually I was more beast than man, and the lines of the territories didn't mean anything to me. It was winter and I was hunting, following the migration of a collection of deer, and I ran into one of the packs that had belonged to my father's clan and turned against him. I recognized two of the werewolves, who were there when my mother…"

My breath hitched and Conall stirred, rousing himself from the old memories.

"I'm sure they saw me and…and thought I'd come for vengeance, but really I was just frightened. I didn't mean to challenge them, exactly, but I needed the food and I wanted them to retreat."

"You won," I said.

Conall blinked and sighed. "I suppose so, yes. So the story goes. I'm not really sure how, if I'm honest. I wasn't thinking clearly. But the leader of the pack was with the hunt that day and I…I broke his arms. They assumed I was there to challenge them, and so they declared me the winner."

"You would've been the new leader," I said.

He huffed. "And if I'd accepted, I would've been dead within a week, I'm sure. Poisoned or slaughtered when I finally succumbed to sleep. But the words did clear my head, just a little. I remembered who they were, and who I was, and why I'd been so frightened of them. I rejected their pack, told them I wanted nothing of traitors. I took the hunt I needed to survive and I left, determined to keep away from other werewolves once more."

I chewed on my lip. The castle was close now, but I wanted the rest of the story. I stirred against Conall and he laughed softly at me, sensing my impatience.

---