Elder Eamon limped forward, his weathered face creased with concern. "Kael, I understand this is difficult to accept. Your uncle must have had his reasons for this decision. You're still young—your future achievements may well rival his own. Why torment yourself like this?"
"Why torment myself?" I stared at him in disbelief. "We're not talking about a few silver coins or a small territory. This is the entire Ashenvale pack lands, the tribute networks, everything my uncle built over his lifetime. Doesn't it strike you as strange that he suddenly changed his succession decree right before his death? What hold does Alaric Ravenhart have over all of you?"
Eamon's expression hardened completely. "Suspect what, exactly? Kael, your uncle has passed beyond the veil. I expect you to honor the wishes of the dead!"
Alaric let out a cold laugh. "All this noise—you're trying to imply your uncle and I had some shameful bond, aren't you? Kael Stormshadow, he was your own blood. How dare you smear his memory like this?"
Heat rushed to my face instantly, the burning shame of being exposed.
The servants and the pack healer standing nearby turned their gazes on me, their eyes filled with open contempt.