Auctioned by the Gods: Rebirth of the Harem Emperor

Miraye's hand remained outstretched, claws glinting faintly with some oily iridescence. Her smile was slow, patient — the way a predator might smile at a fawn that hadn't yet realized it was dinner.

Ren didn't take her hand. He only stared back, mouth curling into something that wasn't quite a grin. "You invite me as a guest, then stand there like a queen demanding tribute. That's not how I was taught to greet a host."

Miraye's eyes narrowed. The glow at their center pulsed once, like a coal being stoked. Then she laughed — a low, rolling sound that made something deep in his chest tighten. It was rich, layered with a kind of lazy wickedness that promised she could make men weep with either pleasure or pain.

"Clever mortal. Most crawl to prove themselves before I ever ask. You simply refuse." Her hand dropped. "I see now why the lesser lords are whispering that you're worth studying."

Beside him, Lyra's spine stayed rigid. Her aura had condensed into a faint shimmer around her shoulders — a bloom of silver-white petals drifting slowly, then dissolving. A subtle show of her divine power. A silent warning.

Miraye's gaze flickered over to her, mouth twitching in amusement. "Oh, little flower goddess. Do you truly think your light matters here? In my realm, shadows do not flee. They feast."

Lyra didn't dignify it with an answer. Instead she stepped closer to Ren, slipping her arm through his. Her chin tilted high, eyes daring.

Miraye's smile only widened. "Adorable. I wonder… will you stay so confident when my world begins to bleed into yours?"

She turned without another word, walking deeper into the palace. Her silks clung to swaying hips, the bare line of her back marked by faint ember-like runes that pulsed as she moved.

Ren felt Lyra stiffen again. Her hand clenched on his arm so tightly it almost hurt.

"I know what you're thinking," he murmured, voice low.

"Oh?" Her glare didn't waver.

"That she wants to rattle you. Make you angry, jealous, unsettled so you slip. Let her. Let her see a goddess willing to burn a court for the man she loves."

Lyra's expression fractured for just a breath. Then she huffed a soft, almost embarrassed sound. "If she tries to touch you, Ren, I will do more than burn her court."

He leaned down, pressing his lips just behind her ear. She shivered. "I'm counting on it."

They followed Miraye through towering arches of black stone, deeper into her fortress. Every surface seemed alive — braziers that wept violet flame, tapestries woven with images of warring demons and weeping angels. Even the floors were dark glass, reflecting them as if from some inverted, twisted realm.

Courtiers lined the halls. Demons of countless shapes and sizes — some beautiful and terrible at once, others so monstrous Ren's stomach clenched to look too long. They whispered as he passed. Some licked their lips. Others sank to knees in mocking bows, eyes never leaving him.

Lyra's hold on his arm didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened, as if daring any of them to try stepping closer.

At last they entered a vast throne chamber. It wasn't gilded like the courts of the gods. Instead, rivers of molten glass cut through the floor, casting roiling orange and crimson light that danced up the walls. The throne itself was made of what looked like fused skulls — human, demon, even some with twisted horns or delicate elven shapes.

Miraye reclined there, one leg draped lazily over an armrest. A chalice of dark liquid rested in her grip, claws clicking lightly against the metal.

"You may approach," she purred. "Or shall we stand on formality forever?"

Ren didn't bow. He simply strode forward until he stood at the edge of those glowing glass rivers. Lyra matched him step for step, her robe stirring around her legs like restless moonlight.

Miraye regarded them both over the rim of her cup. "Your reputation precedes you, Ren Zian. The mortal who broke fate's mirrors, who unmade his own darker shadow with nothing but a goddess' love to hold him steady."

Her eyes slid to Lyra again. "How quaint."

Ren's jaw ticked. "You summoned me. Why?"

Miraye set aside her chalice. Her claws tapped the arm of her throne in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Because I'm curious. You see, most who rise as quickly as you did do so because they've cut away all hesitation. They build thrones on the backs of lovers, on the corpses of friends. You… kept your lovers. Freed them, even. It's inefficient. Maddening. Beautiful in its foolishness."

She rose. The movement was sinuous, almost serpentine. Her silks slid against her body like living shadows. Slowly, she descended the throne steps until she stood right before Ren.

"Let me test a theory," she breathed. Then her fingers — cool and deceptively gentle — slid along his jaw.

Lyra moved like a viper. Her hand caught Miraye's wrist, a faint crackle of divine power lighting her skin.

Miraye's smile sharpened. "Ah. There it is. The bloom's thorns."

Ren's own hand closed over Lyra's. "Not yet," he murmured. Then his gaze locked on Miraye's. "You think you can unmake me with a single touch?"

Her claws flexed slightly. "I think I can show you truths you've long denied. Desires so old they're fossilized into your marrow. Wouldn't that be delicious? To see you unravel here, in front of your little goddess."

"Try it," he growled. "And watch how quickly your throne becomes ash."

Miraye let out a soft, delighted sound. Her breath ghosted over his ear as she leaned in, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I do so adore mortals who threaten me. It makes the eventual surrender all the sweeter."

Lyra's hand trembled under his grip. Not in fear — in sheer, blistering fury. Ren's other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush to his side.

"You'll be disappointed," he said darkly. "Because even if I ever fall, it won't be to you."

For a heartbeat, something in Miraye's expression changed. Her smile didn't fade, but it faltered — as if she'd tasted something unfamiliar. Then it returned, bright and cruel.

"Very well. Stay as my honored guests for a while. Taste my feasts, walk my halls. I'll give you three days to prove you're more than just pretty defiance wrapped in mortal skin."

Her eyes slid once more to Lyra, glittering. "And you… try not to bore me. I do love watching goddesses fight over scraps."

As she swept away, the tension didn't leave. If anything, it coiled tighter, thicker in the air. Lyra exhaled shakily, leaning her forehead against Ren's shoulder.

"She's going to try to break us," Lyra whispered.

"She can try," Ren murmured back. He tipped her chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to her mouth — right there in the demon queen's throne room. "But she'll learn I'm not so easily unmade."

They were led from the hall by silent, masked servants — demons with eyes like cracked glass. Their guest chambers were lavish in a dark, decadent way: black velvet drapes, a bed so wide it could have fit five, lanterns filled with captive will-o'-wisps that hissed when they drew close.

Lyra paced as soon as the doors shut. "This place is a trap. Every wall hums with her spells."

"I know," Ren said. He didn't sound worried. If anything, he sounded amused. "But she's laid it out for us. Three days. Which means for three days, she can't touch us directly. That's three days to make her court doubt her power — and see who might turn on her if given the right push."

Lyra slowed, watching him with wide eyes. "You're planning to play her game."

He strode over, hands sliding around her waist. "No. I'm planning to win it."

Then he kissed her — hard, devouring. She gasped into his mouth, hands fisting in his hair. When he finally pulled back, her pupils were blown wide, breath coming in tiny hitches.

"Let her watch," he growled. "Let her see exactly whose goddess moans for me. She'll learn soon enough that desire doesn't always equal surrender."

Outside, the underworld winds howled around Miraye's palace, carrying whispers of power, of wagers already forming in darker courts. And at the center of it all stood one mortal man, arms full of a fiercely jealous goddess, daring an entire realm to try breaking what they'd built.