Betrayed By My Mate, Claimed By His Lycan King Uncle
Chapter 62: You’ll Have To Wear Male Clothing.

Chapter 62: You’ll Have To Wear Male Clothing.

Dimitri rode the horse tirelessly throughout the night. Sorayah, exhausted, eventually succumbed to sleep, her body swaying gently with the rhythm of the ride. When she finally opened her eyes, daylight had broken, painting the world in hues of white and soft blue.

Her gaze fell upon a sprawling series of tents in the distance, neatly arranged in rows. Though they were still far off, Sorayah could see figures moving between them, their identities obscured by the distance and the rising morning mist.

"Where are we?" Sorayah asked at last, her voice hoarse from sleep, confusion etched plainly across her delicate features. The wind swept her golden hair across her face, strands lashing lightly against her cheeks and even brushing over Dimitri’s sharp jawline.

"We’re at a soldiers’ camp," Dimitri replied, his tone serious and deliberate. "One of many, but this one leads directly to the borders separating our pack from the others. The war has started."

A knot of dread twisted in Sorayah’s stomach.

Damn it! This bastard already brought me to the warfront? Her mind raced, her anger rising even as she kept her face neutral. Wasn’t the battle supposed to begin in three days?

Did he do this on purpose because I killed Adam and took Mira hostage? What a manipulative bastard... The fury burned quietly in her chest, but she refused to voice her thoughts aloud.

Dimitri’s horse carried them steadily toward the camp, Liam following close behind on his own steed. When they reached the edge of the encampment, Dimitri dismounted with practiced ease. He reached up and lifted Sorayah from the saddle with one arm, as though she weighed nothing at all.

Two soldiers immediately approached their general, bowing their heads in deep respect. Without a word, they took the reins from both Dimitri and Liam, leading the horses away toward the stables.

The moment Dimitri entered the camp, other soldiers paused in their training, their eyes drawn to him. One by one, they dipped their heads in reverence before returning swiftly to their drills and routines.

Sorayah swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the scene before her. The camp, a sprawling network of tents and fortified bunkers, nestled deep within the thick, shadowy forest. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of smoke, sweat, and worn leather. Soldiers moved briskly between the tent.

The clang of metal against metal, the barked orders of commanding officers, and the low, constant hum of machinery formed a chaotic sound that filled the air. Training exercises were underway sparring, weapon handling, tactical drills, all with a singular purpose: preparing for war.

"Let’s go to your camp, Your Highness," Liam said, bowing deeply toward Dimitri. "The commander and several high-ranking officers are already waiting to begin strategic discussions."

Dimitri gave a curt nod and began walking, his long strides purposeful. Sorayah quickly moved to follow him, her eyes wide with curiosity and caution.

Inside Dimitri’s personal command tent, two burly guards stood waiting. They were clad in thick fur coats, a symbol of rank and endurance against the cold. In front of them lay a large wooden table, its surface dominated by several detailed maps.

The maps depicted the territory of rival werewolf packs, the ones they were soon to face in battle. It was a meticulous representation, showing every hill, river, and forested stretch, down to the smallest of villages and clearings. Tiny wooden markers indicated known enemy outposts and patrol routes.

"Greetings, Your Highness," the two guards said in unison the moment Dimitri entered. They straightened to attention, their eyes fixed firmly on him.

Dimitri walked straight to the table, Liam joining him on one side. Sorayah hesitated at the entrance, uncertain if she was permitted to enter. Still, her curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped just inside the tent, her hands wrapped around her body.

Dimitri’s gaze swept over a particular map, his eyes narrowing with focus. He leaned forward, one hand braced against the edge of the table, the other tracing the borderlines and terrain.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice low but commanding, "we’ve received intel confirming that their Alpha has begun assembling a significant force near the eastern ridges. Their numbers are growing. We can no longer rely on brute strength alone, we must be strategic in our approach if we want to outmaneuver them."

One of the guards, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and gave a firm nod. "We’ve identified a potential weak point in their defenses, Your Highness. If we can breach the eastern flank at the right moment, we may be able to gain the upper hand and push them into retreat."

Dimitri’s finger moved slowly across the map, hovering over the indicated position. His mind worked rapidly, calculating probabilities and visualizing troop movements. "I agree," he said at last, his voice low and resolute. "Liam, what’s the current status of our scouting parties?"

Liam stepped forward with precision, his posture rigid, his tone clipped and professional. "They’re in place, Your Highness. We’ve confirmed the enemy’s numbers, their deployment strategy, and their weak points. They’re spread thinner than expected across the ridges."

The two guards exchanged a grim glance. The older of the two cleared his throat before speaking again. "We’ll need to move swiftly, your highness. The enemy won’t hesitate to strike first if they sense we’re gaining ground. And His Royal Highness, the Alpha Emperor, made it clear that there are to be no survivors. He has demanded blood. Kill all, but bring back those worthy of servitude."

Dimitri’s expression darkened, but he said nothing.

Liam picked up the thread, his voice more cautious now. "Werewolf slaves aren’t particularly useful. Even if their pack falls, they’re still werewolves, proud, fierce, and likely to rebel. In rare cases, they’re granted citizenship, or more often... they’re executed. The only werewolves allowed to serve as slaves are from within our own pack, those who are bound by debts to influential families. They have no choice but to serve until their debts are repaid."

The guards nodded solemnly in agreement, understanding the grim reality.

Liam added quietly, "I know you said that to appease the Alpha Emperor, he’s still furious about the death of his consort hence you suggested that just for him to perhaps kill some with his own hands. This war... it’s just as much a campaign of vengeance as it is a territorial conquest."

"There are over a thousand packs across the region," Dimitri muttered, his voice heavy with thought. "But we’re only targeting the weakest, those who refused to pledge their allegiance to our Alpha Emperor. Even if they wanted to bend the knee now, it’s too late. This bloodshed serves a purpose, easing the Emperor’s wrath, satisfying his hunger for justice and power."

He turned away from the map, walked toward the far side of the tent and sat on the edge of a wide, fur-lined bed. He exhaled slowly, shoulders tense.

"This discussion is over. Continue training the soldiers and maintain alertness. I’ll decide soon which pack to target first. And I’ll choose which commanders will lead the strike on each one. But for now..." His voice trailed off as he leaned back slightly. "I need time to think."

The guards and Liam bowed in unison. "As you wish, Your Highness," they said before turning and exiting the tent, leaving Dimitri and Sorayah alone.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts.

Sorayah’s eyes remained on Dimitri, her mind racing. Throughout the meeting, something had changed in his voice, a subtle shift she couldn’t ignore. Though half of his face was hidden by a mask, and the other half turned away from her, she could sense it. There was something heavy, buried deep behind his words.

Just what is going on inside his head? she wondered, folding her arms across her chest.

Suddenly, Dimitri’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. "Are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" he asked without looking at her. "I need a bath. Come remove this shirt."

The blunt command struck her like a wave. "Oh.. uh...yeah," Sorayah stammered as she moved closer.

Dimitri stood abruptly, his movement swift and unexpected. Sorayah, caught off guard, stumbled backward, about to fall. But in a fluid motion, Dimitri caught her by the waist, holding her close. Her breath hitched as her bare chest, now exposed beneath the loose coat she wore, which lacked buttons pressed against his.

"Let go of me!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

He did immediately and without ceremony. Sorayah let out a startled yelp as she dropped to the floor, landing on her backside with a hard thud.

"Ouch," she muttered, more in frustration than pain. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest, trying to conceal her exposed breasts as she wrapped the edges of the coat tighter around her.

"You should take a bath too as you stink," Dimitri said calmly, as if nothing had happened. He sighed and began unbuttoning his black shirt, revealing powerful muscles that flexed beneath his tanned skin. Beads of sweat glistened along his chest and collarbones. Sorayah found herself staring before she caught herself and quickly averted her gaze.

"There aren’t any female garments in the camp," Dimitri continued. "We should’ve brought some from the palace, but now it’s too late. You’ll have to wear male clothing. Just act the part. No one will question it."

Oh yeah. I prefer trousers than skirts anyways. Sorayah thought as she rolled her eyes away.

Dimitri then hooked his thumbs into his trousers and pulled them down, completely undressing before walking confidently past a silk curtain that divided the tent from what appeared to be a bathhouse on the other side.

Sorayah blinked in disbelief. Has he no shame at all?!

"Get in here and scrub my back. I don’t have all day as I need to get to training the troops," Dimitri called out, his voice echoing from behind the curtain.

Sorayah stood up quickly, still flustered. Her eyes fell on a nearby rope, which she grabbed and tied around her waist, securing Dimitri’s coat more tightly around her body. With a muttered curse under her breath and a determined frown, she dashed toward the bathhouse, ready to face whatever madness came next.