CHAPTER 127: MATE HUNTING - THE DANCE

The square shimmered beneath the lantern stones, the music pulsing like a living thing through the cobblestones.

The music throbbed through the ground, deep and rhythmic, pulsing like a living thing through the cobblestones. The drums echoed in my chest, the lilting flutes wove around me like invisible ribbons.

I tried to retreat to the edge of the square, my skirts brushing against unfamiliar faces, my shoulder bumping into a laughing woman who spun past me.

But the crowd had already tightened, closing in around me like the current of a river pulling me deeper into its flow.

There was no space, no pause. Only movement.

Hands brushed my arms as dancers turned, skirts swirled in a blur of color and light. My heartbeat quickened, my breath catching as I stumbled one step too far—and then someone’s hand caught mine.

His grip was firm but not forceful, his palm warm against mine.

I looked up, startled, meeting the eyes of a man I didn’t recognize. His hair was dark, neatly tied back, and his expression was one of polite amusement. The corners of his mouth curved slightly, the kind of smile meant to put a stranger at ease.

"You look quite delicate," he said with a low chuckle, his voice smooth, carrying easily over the hum of music.

My breath caught. He didn’t mean harm—it was just conversation, simple words to fill the silence—but I couldn’t answer. The magic in the mask held my tongue still, my lips parting uselessly beneath the cloth.

I gave a faint nod, hoping it looked natural.

Would it be too rude to just... run?

My eyes flicked toward the edge of the square, but the dancers circled endlessly, weaving in and out like waves. The dance wasn’t meant to be escaped. It was a ritual, intricate, fluid, and alive.

All around, men and women switched partners with every turn of the melody. The men led, each change marked by a bow and a twirl, hands brushing, gazes locking briefly before another came to take their place. It was mesmerizing... and claustrophobic.

’What if you get chosen by a man as his mate later?’ Leika’s voice sighed inside my mind, cool and amused.

’Don’t remind me,’

I thought back quickly. My wolf always seemed to pick the worst times to talk.

’I think I’ll just make a run on it later when the dance is over,’ I added, keeping my steps light as another man spun me toward him.

This one was younger, maybe no more than a few years older than me, with bright amber eyes that gleamed like polished glass.

"You move well," he said, smiling. "Are you from the outer districts? I don’t think I’ve seen you before."

I gave a small shake of my head.

He bowed at the end of his turn, releasing my hand as another dancer took his place.

The transitions were seamless, the music’s tempo rising. Each man who came forward had a different presence—one rough with calloused fingers, smelling faintly of steel and smoke; another refined, his movements elegant like he’d trained in the courtly dances before.

They smiled, complimented, teased, all in good humor. But for me, every word blurred together beneath the hum of panic.

My heartbeat pounded too loudly, too quickly.

The third man who caught me had a grin far too charming for his own good.

"You’re new," he said confidently. "I’d remember eyes like yours."

I blinked, startled. He tilted his head. "Ah, you can’t answer, can you? Then just nod once if I’m right."

I didn’t.

But that didn’t stop him from smiling wider. "I’ll take that as a yes."

He spun me in a circle, laughing, and though I wanted to glare at him, his infectious energy drew a reluctant smile from me. Then, as the song shifted again, he released me and melted into the rotating current of dancers.

The rhythm deepened, slower now. My breathing matched the beat as I tried to keep my movements measured.

Men circled, women turned like petals opening under the moon.

For a fleeting second, I admired its beauty.

The music swelled higher, voices rising, torches flaring brighter until the square seemed to glow like a second moon had descended among us.

The dance continued, but I barely noticed the changing faces.

The rhythm of the dance softened for a moment, the tempo easing as pairs twirled gracefully under the lantern glow.

My steps fell into sync with the man in front of me—young, broad-shouldered but not imposing, his brown curly hair framing his face a bit ruggedly.

There was something easy about him, something warm. When he smiled, it reached his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his face.

And suddenly, I remembered.

How much I used to love this.

Back when I was still a servant, I would sneak glances at the grand parties from the corners of the ballroom, imagining what it felt like to be one of those ladies in silk—admired, seen, free to dance without worry. I remembered how I’d once longed to be part of it once again, to laugh and twirl with young men who looked at me.

It had felt so far away then. Untouchable.

And now here I was, dancing in the open square, surrounded by music and laughter and shining eyes.

For a fleeting moment, I let myself forget the weight of the world and simply breathe.

"You dance beautifully," the man said, his tone gentle, the compliment not rehearsed like the others had been.

I couldn’t respond, not with the mask binding my voice, but I smiled faintly in gratitude. He seemed to understand, his thumb brushing lightly against my knuckles as he spun me again.

He smelled faintly of cedarwood and clean air. His steps were steady, reassuring. For once, I didn’t feel like I was pretending to belong.

It was... nice.

And then—

"I didn’t know you were interested in looking for a mate."

The voice slid through my mind, deep and darkly amused. Rion.

I stiffened instantly, nearly missing a step. The man noticed, tightening his grip slightly to steady me.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

I nodded, forcing my feet back into rhythm. But Rion’s voice, low and threaded with smugness, echoed again, sharp in my mind.

"You should’ve told me," he drawled. "I would’ve helped you find some great men."

My head snapped up, my eyes scanning the crowd in irritation. And then I saw him.

There, at the far edge of the square, half-shrouded in torchlight and shadow, stood Rion Morrigan. His dark silver hair caught the faint glow of the lanterns, but his expression was unreadable.

No smile. No humor now, only the steady weight of his gaze fixed on me like an invisible chain.

I tore my gaze away, forcing a neutral expression as the man twirled me again.

I shook my head when he asked what was wrong.

But Rion didn’t let up.

"Why do you want a mate?" he asked in my mind.

I rolled my eyes inwardly, biting back a wave of frustration. Why do you care? I wanted to snap, though I couldn’t even whisper it.

Did he think this, me dancing with men here, would somehow interfere with his precious plans? That my supposed "search for a mate" would ruin his scheme to use me as the key to the Celestial Wolf’s seal?

The thought almost made me laugh. If he only knew how badly I wanted this whole ordeal over with, how much I wanted his hold on me gone. I’d do anything to finish what we started, to see those keys completed and his cursed bond severed from me forever.

But even as I thought it, I felt that familiar pull—the strange gravity that always came with his presence. It wasn’t something I could name, only something I despised for existing at all.

The music swelled, and I forced myself to focus on the dance. The young man smiled again, spinning me beneath his arm, and I let myself be carried by the motion, if only to keep from glaring in Rion’s direction like an unhinged woman.

And then—gasps rippled through the crowd.

The music stuttered for a heartbeat before resuming, louder now, filled with a sudden, sharp excitement. The dancers slowed, some stepping aside as whispers spread like wildfire.

I followed their gazes.

My breath caught when I saw what they were staring at.

From the western steps of the square, descending with an unhurried grace that drew every eye in the place, was the Alpha himself.

Gone was the observer in the shadows. Now he stepped into the open, into the heart of the dance. The light caught the silver in his hair, the lean strength in his shoulders, the quiet dominance in the way the crowd parted before him without command.

No one dared to speak as he crossed into the square.

Even the Elder faltered mid-sentence, watching as Rion’s boots touched the stone floor meant only for participants.