"He offers unconditional surrender of the eastern borderlands in exchange for a thirty-day truce."
Miguel tossed the silver-sealed parchment onto the war council table. The crest stamped in black wax was unmistakable: Alexander's sigil, pressed so hard into the paper it had nearly torn the thick fiber.
I leaned over the map, tracing the line of the eastern borderlands with my thumb. "It's a trap."
"Of course it's a damn trap," Diego scoffed from his spot by the hearth. He was leaning against the mantel, casually coiling a leather whip around his forearm. His dark shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his corded forearms. "Alexander doesn't yield land unless he's buying time to pull a dirty trick out of his ass. Damn snake of an old man."
"Look at the wording, Diego," I
