Auctioned by the Gods: Rebirth of the Harem Emperor

Ren didn't return to the grand strategy halls after Saphira's warnings.He needed hours where he could pretend — if only barely — that the weight of gods and demon queens wasn't clawing at his shoulders.

Instead, he took Lyra to a quiet wing of the palace, one lined with ancient gardens clinging stubbornly to marble ledges. Vines of pale violet flowers spilled over balconies, leaves rustling with tiny bell-like chimes whenever the wind sighed through them.

They settled on a carved bench under a stone arch. Lyra curled into his side, legs drawn up, head resting against his chest. He draped an arm around her, fingers idly tracing circles against her hip through the thin silk of her robe.

"Tell me something reckless," she murmured. Her voice was soft, but the way her hand played at the edge of his tunic hinted at other hungers.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "I've torn down divine trials, nearly courted death by refusing to sever memory, and will likely challenge a demon queen to try seducing me. What could be more reckless?"

Her lips quirked against his throat. "Wanting all of that and still aching for a few stolen hours where we pretend we're only lovers, not pieces on some vast cosmic board."

That startled a softer smile from him. He tilted her chin up and pressed a slow kiss to her mouth. When he pulled back, she chased after it, not satisfied with one.

They kissed lazily. No desperation, not yet. Just warm mouths brushing, tiny sighs caught between parted lips. His hands roamed her waist, the curve of her ribs, delighting in each faint shiver.

"You know," he murmured eventually, lips brushing her ear, "if you keep sighing like that, I'll forget where we are."

"Maybe I want you to." Her voice was breathy, pupils blown wide. One of her hands slid into his hair, tugging lightly — the command there unmistakable.

He lifted her effortlessly into his lap. She straddled him, knees bracketing his hips, robe falling open to bare long pale thighs. Even after everything — the trials, the battles, the gods — she still blushed under his hungry gaze.

"You're staring," she whispered.

"You're perfect," he corrected, voice gone rough. His hands cupped her hips, thumbs pressing in gently. She rocked forward instinctively, a tiny whimper leaving her throat when she felt how hard he already was.

Her fingers curled at his collar. "Then show me."

He didn't make her ask twice. One hand slipped higher, pushing the robe aside so his palm could find her breast. She sucked in a sharp breath when he rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger, her hips bucking against him.

When she leaned forward to kiss him again, it was no longer lazy. Her mouth was hungry, demanding, moans spilling out each time he teased her harder. His free hand slid down, gripping her thigh, urging her to move.

Lyra began to rock against him in earnest, the thin barrier of his clothes doing nothing to hide how desperately he wanted her. Each drag of her slick heat over his length made him groan into her mouth, hips jerking up to meet her.

"Ren," she breathed, breaking the kiss, forehead pressed to his. "Don't hold back."

His answering snarl was soft but lethal with want. He shifted his hips, grinding up, until she gasped — head tipping back, hands fisting in his hair.

"Say it again," he rasped.

"Don't hold back. Please—"

He claimed her mouth fiercely, swallowing every sweet desperate sound. The garden around them blurred; he didn't care who might pass by, what celestial scribes might gossip about a goddess undone in a mortal's lap.

Lyra climaxed with a soft, shattered cry, nails digging into his shoulders. The sight — her trembling, her mouth parted, the flush sweeping down her throat — nearly broke him.

"Beautiful," he groaned. "Always so goddamned beautiful when you come."

Her answering laugh was dazed, breathless. "Keep praising me like that, and I might never let you out of my bed again."

"Who says I'd want to leave?" he growled, catching her mouth in another dizzying kiss.

They stayed like that long after the edge faded — Lyra half draped over him, face buried in his neck, his hands still roaming idly over her back as if afraid she might vanish.

When they finally pulled themselves together enough to stand, Lyra tugged her robe tighter and shot him a teasing glare. "You're going to ruin my reputation."

He grinned. "Too late. I think I ruined it the moment you claimed me before the gods themselves."

Her eyes softened. She reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead, fingertips lingering on a faint scar there. "I'd do it again. In every life."

They returned to the palace proper only to find a hush had settled. Servants whispered, courtiers paused in their halls. Even a few minor godlings lingered in doorways, eyes bright with speculation.

Ren's stomach tightened. He pulled Lyra closer. "What now?"

A steward scuttled up, bowing low. "My lord, my lady — a message arrived from the outer gates. It bears the seal of Queen Miraye of the Sixth Veil."

Lyra stiffened beside him. "She sends messages now?"

"It is… less a message, more an invitation," the steward admitted. He offered a slim piece of parchment. Black vellum, edges charred as if by careless flame. An intricate sigil of twisting horns and roses adorned one corner.

Ren cracked the seal. Inside, elegant crimson script danced across the page:

*"To the mortal who thinks to unseat destiny itself —

I hear your name on the lips of frightened gods and see your defiance ripple across my underworld.

Come to me. Let me see if your rebellion holds when faced with desire that burns darker than any sun.

Yours to conquer — or be conquered by,

Miraye, Queen of the Sixth Veil."*

Lyra made a low noise in her throat, snatching the letter. Her eyes scanned it, then narrowed. "The arrogance."

Ren's smile was humorless. "She's throwing bait. Trying to draw me into her court where her power is absolute."

Lyra's hand fisted the letter until it crumpled. "You can't go."

"I have to," he said quietly. "If I don't meet her challenge, she'll keep probing our defenses. Testing for cracks. Better to face her on ground I can prepare for."

Lyra's eyes shimmered, anger warring with fear. "Then I'm coming with you."

He hesitated only a breath. Then nodded. "Good. Because I'd rather have you there than waiting here, wondering if I've fallen under her spell."

Her small smile was fierce. She leaned up to press her lips to his. "I'd tear the underworld apart myself before I let her claim you."

They didn't see the shadow that lingered at the end of the hall, watching them.A wisp of dark flame curled around an earring shaped like a tiny broken crown. The demon spy smirked, then slipped into the walls, her whispers already winging back to Miraye's obsidian court.

And far below, in chambers carved from molten stone, a demon queen lounged on a throne of skulls. Her fingers traced the edge of her wine goblet as she listened to the news.

Her smile was slow. Dangerous."This mortal will amuse me," she murmured. "Let us see how long he resists before he begs."