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“Exactly.”
Rhene sighed. “The problem is that we don’t know what we don’t know, if that makes sense. We’ve been trying to piece things together, but it’s hard to figure out what’s missing.”
“Yup, sounds familiar.”
“If I may make a suggestion?” Gregor took a step forward.
Fergal rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, sit down with us. I don’t know why you insist on hovering like some servant when I’ve told you repeatedly I want you to have a seat at the table.”
A muscle in Gregor’s jaw ticked. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And stop calling me that.”
Rhene pressed his lips together to prevent himself from laughing.
“As you wish, Fergal.” Gregor’s eyes were spewing fire, and he looked like he wanted to put Fergal over his knee and spank that attitude right out of him, but the man kept his composure. Kudos to him.
“What was your suggestion?” Rhene asked when Gregor had taken his seat.
“When unraveling a knot, I always start at the beginning, and I would recommend doing the same here.”
“The beginning…” Rhene scratched his chin. “But where did it all begin?”
“With the alliance between the dragons and the wolves,” Erwan said softly. “It all started with the pact between King Laoch and Olaf in 840.”
Gregor nodded. “I think you’re right, Your Majesty.”
“Could I persuade you to call me Erwan? Please? My mate and I despise these formalities.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Gregor said.
Fergal harrumphed. “But when I ask, you make an issue out of it?”
“He asked nicely and said please. You may want to consider that next time, see if the result is different.”
Fergal pouted. “I’m always nice to you.”
“That depends on your definition of nice, I suppose,” Gregor said and turned back to Erwan. “I agree. It all started there. Something was set in motion then that has repercussions to this day. Breaking the sanctity of that pact is what got us here, I fear.”
“The Great Shame,” Rhene said slowly. “That’s one thing we were never able to figure out. Why on earth did the Doyles break ranks? And why didn’t the other clans stop them?”
“Have you heard of the vision Seamus the Librarian had back in 1776?” Gregor asked. When they shook their heads, he continued. “He was called into a meeting between King Niall and his advisers, which also included his two sons, Cladhaire and Baoth.”
That he referred to them as that and not as Erwan’s father and uncle made Rhene like him even more.
“The American Revolution was in full swing, and they wanted his opinion. King Niall’s brother, Prince Erroll, was aiding the revolutionaries fighting to throw off the yoke of British oppression.”
“He was a white dragon, correct?” Erwan asked.
“He was, and he helped them gain victory. But during that meeting, a vision took hold of Seamus, one he shared with those present.” Gregor cleared his throat. “To quote him, ‘The dragons will be faced with the choice between honor and betrayal, and they must choose wisely. Old alliances will be reconsidered, with implications that will impact generations to come. But when the White Dragon and the True Alpha join forces, peace will reign.’”
The words echoed in Rhene’s head, especially that last line. The first part made sense, but what was that last sentence about?
“Those present didn’t want peace with the British. They wanted the war because they craved independence. And thus, the Great Shame began. They wanted to prevent that alliance between the White Dragon and the True Alpha. And your grandfather, King Niall, approved it, though in hindsight, he must’ve been under the influence of his sons’ dark magic already.”
“Baoth killed him two years later,” Erwan said with bitterness in his voice. “They killed their own father.”
“Gregor says once you break the Code, it becomes easier and easier,” Fergal said softly. “At first, your honor puts up a fight, but when you keep shushing it, it fades until there’s nothing left.”
