Page 119 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

I look at Ann. “That seems to be the way of things, doesn’t it? Those who are under a tyrant’s rule are grateful to be freed of it. And of him.”

“It does seem so,” she says.

I look at Hamish. “Do you know any other tyrannical rulers who need deposing?”

He starts to step back but stops himself, and his eyes narrow. “I am no tyrant, girl, and if your mate there thinks he can overthrow me, he will find he has overreached.”

“Tyranny comes in so many forms,” I say. “An Alpha, like my father, who rules on whim and spite. An Alpha like Franklin Doyle, who rules with greed and lies. Or a once-great Alpha who, as he ages, tightens his grip for fear of losing it. Works his wolves harder, and hoards the rewards for a select few. Lets his Pack grow so large that young wolves see no future, no way to prove themselves. Has three capable sons and yet refuses to name an heir.”

“Three capable sons,” he repeats. “Three young and strong and competent sons. And yet you think you can challenge me on my doorstep, witch?” A short laugh. “That boy you sent back to the castle is bringing my lads right now along with my Pack.”

“Your Pack, yes. As for your sons … When did you last see them?”

He goes rigid. “If you hurt—”

“We wouldn’t. But the question remains. When did you see them?”

The enforcer clears his throat. “They left for the city this morning, sir.”

Hamish turns to him and blinks. “All three of them?”

“Yes,” I say. “No one thought that odd because they genuinely enjoy each other’s company. You thought to set them against one another, fighting to prove themselves to you. But you raised three excellent sons, and when men like that realize they’re being pitted against one another, it binds them together. Against their common foe.”

Hamish sputters. “You have a spy. That—that man who stayed. He told you my sons would be away.”

“Conveniently away? On the same day that you’d need to leave the castle for a meeting with your lawyer.”

“My sons would never betray me,” he spits. “They love me.”

“They actually do, which is why they aren’t here. They love you, but they also love their Pack, and so they’ve stepped aside. They won’t fight you. But they won’t oppose us, either.”

The gates swing open, and Caledonian werewolves run out, some in wolf form, others still human.

“Step down and let your sons take over,” I say to Hamish. “They wish to jointly rule until they can sort things out. They have decisions to make, and they would appreciate your help with that.”

“My help? My help?” Hamish sputters. “They stab me in the back and want my help? I was solving the problem of ascension. I had it all figured out.”

“Three Packs, three Alphas?” I ask. “Bishop kills Franklin Doyle, and then you call Bishop unfit to lead, and you take over the Albion and Cambrian Packs. Divvy them up. Maybe take the Hibernians next and rule all the British Packs? A true dynasty.”

“Who told you that?” He looks toward the castle. “My advisor? That traitor.”

“Your advisor told us nothing. We theorized that was your intention, and your reaction just confirmed it. Now, if you step down—”

“I will not bend to some whelp.”

I raise my voice so everyone can hear. “Hamish’s sons wish for their father to step down. They want to give you a better Pack. The Cambrians have already joined the Albion Pack. Your brothers and your cousins and your friends are with us, and they are choosing to stay with us. Your Alpha’s sons want an alliance. Two Packs, stronger together—”

“Never!” Hamish snarls.

I keep my voice raised. “That’s what your Alpha promised, though. If Bishop murdered Franklin Doyle, your Pack and ours would be allied again. Only Hamish never planned an alliance—”

“Shut your bitch mouth—”

“He lied to a fellow Alpha. Made promises he never intended to keep. His own sons have stepped aside, no longer able to watch him destroy the great Caledonian Pack.”

“If you don’t shut—”

A wolf howls behind me. One of the Cambrians. Another joins in, and then another. The former Caledonian wolves, calling to their Pack brothers. A wolf bursts through the gates and lopes toward us. Bishop doesn’t move, which tells me it’s Kenric. Another wolf runs with him, his cousin, I presume, followed by a handful of others.