Auctioned by the Gods: Rebirth of the Harem Emperor

The invitation from Queen Miraye was still warm from Lyra's clenched fist when they returned to their private suite.She paced like a caged beast, bare feet silent on the marble, the trailing ends of her robe whispering furiously with every sharp turn.

Ren watched from the couch, one elbow braced on the armrest. There was a faint amusement in his gaze, but mostly it was hungry — drawn irresistibly to the way her movements made the thin fabric cling to her hips and thighs.

"You're enjoying this," she snapped, catching his look.

He arched a brow. "Enjoying you. Always."

Her hands curled at her sides. "Don't you dare turn this into something charming. This isn't a petty goddess with a bruised ego. Miraye is ancient. She makes lesser demons drown themselves just to amuse her."

"And yet she invites me as if to a dance," Ren said. His mouth twisted. "That's what's interesting, Lyra. If she only wanted me dead, she wouldn't bother with pretty words on scorched vellum."

"She wants to seduce you," Lyra spat. Her eyes glowed faintly, tiny motes of silver swirling in their depths. "She'll try to twine herself around your mind, feed every dark corner you thought buried."

Ren stood, closing the distance between them in two strides. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip."You think I'll be tempted?"

Lyra's breath hitched, lashes lowering. Her voice was smaller when she answered. "Not by her power. But… maybe by the promise of no more fear. She can offer you a throne where no god dares chain you. Where I'd simply be… another decoration at your feet."

His heart lurched. Gently, he pressed her back against one of the cool stone pillars, crowding close until their bodies aligned."You're wrong," he said roughly. "It's not her power that tempts me. It never will be. The only throne I crave is the one I build myself — with you standing beside it. Or in my lap, making your goddessly huffs and threatening to smite anyone who looks too long."

That startled a watery laugh from her. She looked up, eyes shimmering. "Promise me. Even if she undresses herself with nothing but her voice, even if she offers you legions of horrors at your command… promise me she'll never know your name the way I do."

He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "I promise. And if she tries to slip her claws into me, I'll make sure you're there to see exactly whose name I moan when I come undone."

Lyra let out a small, strangled sound. Her hands fisted in his tunic, pulling him into a bruising kiss. It wasn't sweet — it was desperate, biting. She nipped at his lower lip hard enough to taste his blood, then licked it away with a shaky moan.

"You're insufferable," she breathed when they parted.

"You're perfect when you're jealous," he countered. Then he dipped to press his mouth to the side of her throat. Her pulse fluttered wildly under his lips.

When he tugged at the sash of her robe, she didn't stop him. The fabric fell away, pooling at her feet. A flush swept over her skin, but she stood proud, chin lifted, as if daring him to worship her.

"Look at you," he rasped. "No demon queen could ever burn me the way you do."

His hands slid up her sides, thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts. Her breath shivered out on a sigh."Then prove it," she whispered.

He pressed her harder against the pillar, one knee slipping between her thighs. Her soft gasp turned into a needy little whimper when his mouth captured her nipple, sucking hard enough to draw a trembling shudder through her entire frame.

"Ren—" Her hands buried in his hair, tugging just shy of painful. "Gods, don't stop."

"Never planned to."

He sank to his knees, large hands guiding her leg over his shoulder. Then his mouth was on her — hot, relentless. Lyra's head tipped back against the pillar with a soft cry. Her fingers scrabbled against the stone, trying to find purchase. When he sucked harder, her thighs clamped around his head, a string of half-formed prayers and curses spilling from her lips.

It didn't take long. Her climax tore through her with a ragged little sob. She sagged, trembling, and he rose, catching her before she could slide to the floor.

Their kiss after was messy, salt-slick from tears and the echo of her pleasure. When he finally pulled back, she laid her head against his chest, breath slowing.

"You make it very hard to stay angry," she murmured.

"That's the idea."

They dressed in comfortable travel leathers soon after — dark tunics for Ren that hugged his torso, silver-trimmed layers for Lyra that left her arms bare but looped soft bands of silk around her wrists, making her seem both regal and faintly bound.

Saphira waited for them at the base of the grand stairs. A swirling portal of dusk-colored energy hovered nearby, anchored by four obsidian pylons humming with low power.

"This will carry you directly to the threshold of Miraye's realm," Saphira said. "Any deeper, and her wards would close around you before even my power could intervene."

Ren nodded, jaw tight. "That's close enough. She wants an audience — she'll give me safe passage to earn it."

Lyra squeezed his hand. "And if she doesn't?"

Ren's smile was thin, dark. "Then she'll learn how badly her underworld burns when I decide to break it."

As they stepped toward the portal, Saphira's voice followed. "Be wary of Miraye's bargains. She doesn't demand blood or gold — she deals in truths you might not be ready to give."

He didn't look back. Only held tighter to Lyra, feeling her pulse quicken under his grip.

The portal swallowed them in a rush of dark petals and frost. For a heartbeat, it felt like falling into a whisper that spoke only of hunger. Then they landed on cool, slick stone.

They stood on a vast balcony overlooking a sprawling city of black spires. Rivers of molten glass snaked through streets far below, casting eerie orange light that danced across Miraye's realm. The sky was a bruised twilight, pierced by slow-drifting flares of violet fire.

And waiting at the edge of the balcony was a woman who could only be Miraye.

She was draped in thin crimson silks that clung to a body both lush and lithe — the kind of figure made to torment weaker men. Small black horns curved elegantly from her temples, long hair a waterfall of deepest obsidian studded with faint ember-like lights.

Her eyes glowed faintly red as they swept over Ren… then Lyra. Her lips curled into a slow, mocking smile.

"So this is the mortal who thinks to dance on fate's throat," she purred. Her voice was low, rich, somehow intimate even across the distance. "And his precious bloom goddess, standing guard. How… quaint."

Lyra bristled. "Say what you came to say, demon."

Miraye ignored her, eyes locked on Ren as if he were a fine wine she intended to sip slowly. "Oh, I will. But first… let me see if your rebellion tastes as sweet as rumor claims."

Then she extended a hand, palm up, claw-tipped fingers beckoning.

Ren's pulse thundered, but he didn't hesitate.He stepped forward, Lyra shadowing him. His heart roared with silent vows:You can test me, tempt me, threaten me — but you'll never own me.

And in that vow lay the first crack in Miraye's carefully poised smile.