Betrayed By My Mate, Claimed By His Lycan King Uncle-Chapter 26: War Dance.

Sorayah's fingers moved swiftly as she changed into the dancer's attire, her breath steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within her. The red skirt and top fit her perfectly, molding to her slender frame like they were made for her. A surge of confidence coursed through her veins as she tied the golden sash around her waist, its shimmering fabric a contrast to the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

The other dancers watched her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, their eyes assessing her every move. Some whispered among themselves, clearly wondering about her sudden appearance and if what they're doing is right.

At last, one of them spoke, breaking the silence. "What's your name?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "And do you... perhaps work for the palace?"

Sorayah hesitated for only a second before answering. "I'm... Akira," she said, choosing a name that sounded exotic and mysterious. It rolled off her tongue smoothly, a name that held no past and carried no expectations. "And where I work is not important. What matters is that I'm human, and I'm willing to join this dance to avoid the Alpha Emperor's wrath. You're not thinking I'm a werewolf are you? A werewolf wouldn't agree to help we humans."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. That was all they needed from her, to fill in for their missing leader, just for the night and right rather than a werewolf to join them, she'll rather report to the alpha emperor immediately and earn rewards.

Two of the dancers soon stepped forward the moment Sorayah finished adjusting her outfit. They worked on her hair with skilled hands, weaving golden hairpins through the soft golden waves cascading down her back. By the time they were done, she looked like a vision, her golden locks flowing like liquid sunlight, her waist adorned with delicate golden chains that jingled softly with every movement. Matching chains coiled around her ankles and wrists, completing the illusion of an ethereal goddess descended from the heavens.

"She looks beautiful," one of the dancers murmured in awe, her wide eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "That face... her waist... her figure... Perfect."

Another dancer, more pragmatic, cast a nervous glance toward the grand courtyard where the Alpha Emperor's gala was taking place. "We need to get into position," she urged, her voice tight with anxiety. "We're next after this set."

The urgency in her tone snapped Sorayah out of her thoughts. She forced herself to focus, but her mind still whirled with questions about the man she had encountered earlier, the lunatic in the palace.

Who was he?

It was obvious he belonged to the palace; otherwise, he had no business being there. But if he was a madman, why had he seemed so... sane?

Her fingers brushed against her palm, recalling the moments when she had touched his chest. His heartbeat had been steady, his body frail but not feverish with illness. If anything, he had felt weak perhaps from prolonged captivity or malnourishment. Yet there had been nothing truly unhinged about him, nothing that screamed insanity.

Was he pretending?

Or was she the one who had misread the situation?

She exhaled sharply and pushed aside the questions. Now was not the time to dwell on such things.

Lifting her bruised hand, she pressed two fingers against the tender skin. A faint blue light flickered to life beneath her fingertips so subtle that none of the other dancers noticed. Within moments, the bruises faded, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin, pale and radiant under the golden glow of the lanterns.

"Are you ready, Akira?" one of the dancers asked, studying her with a skeptical gaze. Her arms were folded across her chest, her expression guarded. "You looked lost in thought. Are you sure you can do this?"

Sorayah inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Then, she lifted her chin and nodded. "Oh yes. Let's go."

With that, she stepped forward, seamlessly falling into step with the other ten dancers. Their faces, like hers, were hidden behind sheer veils, rendering them mysterious figures against the flickering torchlight.

They all moved through the winding corridors until they reached the grand courtyard where the gala was in full swing. As they stepped onto the stage, a hush fell over the gathering. The once-boisterous courtyard turned deathly silent, the weight of countless gazes falling upon them.

Sorayah's pulse quickened, but she did not falter.

Her eyes flickered toward Dimitri. His gaze was locked onto the stage, but there was something simmering beneath his expression, something dark, something furious.

She had noticed him trailing her earlier, but he had vanished before she could be certain.

Her gaze then shifted to Lupien. Unlike Dimitri, his expression was unreadable, his attention fixed on the dancers as though scrutinizing every detail. When their eyes met, a spark of recognition flashed between them but she quickly averted her gaze just as the first drum sounded.

A perfect escape.

The music began, deep and rhythmic, resonating through the air. The dancers moved in perfect movement, their bodies swaying with the steady beat. Sorayah flowed into the routine effortlessly, her limbs finding the familiar rhythms.

She had danced before. Many times. But never like this.

Never as a performer.

As she twirled, the golden chains around her waist jingled, the sound lost beneath the hypnotic melody of flutes and drums. The audience remained silent, their gazes enraptured, their breaths held.

Soon, Sorayah changed the dancing steps.

She had shifted the performance without warning, leading the dancers into something surprising and unexpected, a war dance.

A dance only humans truly understood.

It was a battle ritual, designed not for entertainment but for war. A dance of deception, where each movement lured the enemy in, mesmerizing them before the final strike was delivered. To the werewolves watching, it was nothing more than an exotic, hypnotic performance. But to the human dancers, it was a dance they recognized. A dance that had once been used to kill.

Though unfamiliar with the sequence, the other dancers adapted quickly, their trained bodies falling in sync with the ten calculated steps Sorayah introduced. Their experience in the human kingdom gave them an advantage, allowing them to catch on with ease. After all, they were not just dancers, they were survivors, and many had learned performances meant to disarm and distract enemies before dealing fatal blows.

Sorayah kept her movements fluid, yet sharp, her every motion carrying unspoken intent.

And all the while, her eyes never left Lupien.

Hatred burned through her veins like wildfire as she swayed and twisted, her body a striking contrast of grace and unrelenting fury. This was not just a dance for her. It was a message.

A promise.

Thud!

The sharp whistle of an arrow sliced through the music, and in an instant, the courtyard descended into chaos.

Screams tore through the night as human maids and werewolf slaves of the lowest rank fled in terror. Some managed to escape, but others were not so lucky, captured and slaughtered by hooded assassins who emerged from the shadows.

The air reeked of blood and panic.

Sorayah remained frozen in the center of the stage, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her legs felt as though they had been nailed to the ground, refusing to move.

Run! Move! Her mind screamed, but her body would not obey.

Just as she finally summoned the strength to flee, an assassin lunged toward her, blade raised high.

Before she could react....

Thwack!

An arrow buried itself deep into the assassin's skull, sending him crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

Sorayah's breath hitched as she turned, expecting to see Dimitri.

But it wasn't him.

Dimitri was across the courtyard, cutting through assassins, his movements brutal and efficient.

Then who...?

Who had saved her this time?

Her mind raced, but she had no time to dwell on it. She leaped off the stage, her feet finally responding to the urgency screaming in her veins.

"Protect the Emperor!"

The king's eunuch's voice bellowed over the chaos, confirming the target of the attack , Lupien.

The palace guards had already engaged the assassins, their blades clashing in violent bursts of steel against steel. Some assassins attempted to flee, but the werewolves pursued them relentlessly.

The courtyard became a battleground, blood soaking the once-pristine marble tiles.

By the time the last body fell,the attack had ended.

Countless corpses lay sprawled across the courtyard, some assassins, some human palace maids, even werewolf attendants from noble households. Among the dead were eunuchs and palace servants who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire.

And in the center of the carnage stood Dimitri Nightshade.

His broad frame was tense, his sword still dripping with fresh blood. Around him, other skilled werewolves stood victorious, their claws and blades painted crimson.

Before Dimitri, kneeling with a blade pressed to his throat, was the sole surviving assassin.

The only link to discovering who had orchestrated the attack.

Lupien Stormed Forward.

His golden eyes blazed with fury, his body smeared in blood, none of it his own. Though his eunuchs and guards had attempted to shield him, he had fought alongside them, cutting down his would-be killers without hesitation.

His sword, just as bloodied as Dimitri's, gleamed under the torchlight.

"Who sent you?" Lupien's voice was a low, dangerous growl, his smirk wide, but his eyes burned with barely restrained wrath.

The assassin glared up at him, breathing heavily, his lips pressed into a thin, defiant line.

Lupien let out a low, chilling chuckle. "Oh, you really thought you could kill me, didn't you?" he mused, shaking his head. "You saw me as a weak, imbecile Alpha Emperor, unworthy of my throne."

His smirk widened, but his eyes darkened.

"Tell me... was your master among the guests tonight?" he pressed, voice laced with deadly amusement. "Answer me, and I might just spare your life."

Dimitri remained silent beside him, his own blade still pressing against the assassin's throat. His expression was unreadable, but there was something chilling about the way his grip remained firm, unwavering.

For a fleeting moment, Sorayah wondered if the assassin would break.

Would he beg for his life? Would he confess?

But then....

The assassin sneered.

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His jaw clenched.

And blood poured from his mouth.

The moment his body swayed, lifeless, to the ground, Sorayah knew, he had bitten through his tongue.