STEFAN MONTESSORI
Peace.
A beautiful lie.
A word dressed in silk and dipped in poison.
I’ve never believed in peace — not from my enemies, not from my own blood, and certainly not from Cardan Montessori.
That name alone is enough to make my jaw tighten.
So when one of my men burst into the council chamber this morning, panting and sweating through his armor, blurting something about Cardan sending a messenger for peace, I didn’t even look up. I thought I’d misheard him.
It wasn’t until the room went completely silent that I raised my eyes.
“What did you say?” I asked, my tone calm but heavy enough to make the guard stutter.
He swallowed. “Alpha… Alpha Cardan sent someone. He says… he wishes to make peace.”
I heard the muffled scoffs and low chuckles ripple across the table.
My
