Auctioned by the Gods: Rebirth of the Harem Emperor

Morning came slowly in Miraye's palace.Or perhaps it was only a trick of the underworld sky — that bruised violet expanse never truly shifted, holding them in an eternal half-night lit by drifting cinders.

Ren woke to find Lyra already awake beside him, watching him with stormy eyes. Her hand lay flat over his chest, as if staking a claim.

"They'll try today," she murmured. Her voice was raw from last night's broken moans, but layered now with hard edges. "Not just sly questions or sweet poisons. Miraye promised a contest. She'll orchestrate something ugly — something meant to turn us against each other."

Ren caught her hand, bringing it to his mouth. He pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, then dragged his lips down to the soft pulse at her wrist. "Then we won't give her the pleasure."

Lyra exhaled shakily. "Easier said than done in a court that thrives on manipulation."

He rolled over her in a slow, predatory shift. His weight pressed her into the silks, earning a tiny gasp. His grin was dark, tender. "Then we'll give them a different kind of show."

They bathed together — not urgently, but indulgently. Ren sat behind her in the sunken stone tub, hands moving over her slick skin, tracing circles on her belly that made her sigh. Every soft noise she made echoed off the high arched walls, slipping out into waiting shadows.

"Let them hear," he whispered against her ear, biting lightly at the lobe. "Let them know who you belong to."

Lyra arched back into him, her breath stuttering. "Always yours."

When they emerged, servants waited with garments more lavish than before. Ren's was a long dark tunic embroidered with smoky threads that seemed to move when the light struck them. Lyra's was a cascade of pale silver silks so thin they were nearly scandalous, studded with tiny gemstones that caught every candle flame.

She scowled at her reflection. "This is a costume for them. To show how easily I might be stripped."

Ren's hands settled on her shoulders from behind. Their eyes met in the mirror — his dark, steady; hers sharp and luminous. "Then we'll turn their spectacle into our victory."

They were led through snaking corridors to a wide balcony that opened onto an arena of sorts. The floor was carved from dark stone, etched with molten lines that pulsed like sluggish veins. Dozens of demon courtiers crowded tiers above, lounging on cushions, cups of dark liquor in their claws.

At the highest seat, beneath a canopy of smoking wisteria, reclined Miraye.

She was draped differently today — wrapped in molten black and red fabrics that left one long leg bare to the hip. Her hair was piled atop her head, small embers drifting through it like fireflies.

When her eyes found Ren, she smiled slow. "Welcome to my little game."

Two slender demons approached carrying an ornate box between them. They set it at Ren's feet and backed away quickly, heads lowered.

Miraye gestured lazily. "Inside, you'll find three seals. Each tied to one of my lesser binds. Break them in order, and you'll prove your strength. Refuse — and you'll look quite the coward to my court."

Lyra's jaw clenched. Her hand twitched toward the faint glow of power at her side. But Ren rested his hand on hers, steadying it.

"What happens when I break them?" he asked, voice cold.

Miraye's smile sharpened. "A vision each time. A taste of what your life could be… or what your precious goddess might suffer if your hands ever falter."

Ren crouched, opening the box. Inside lay three discs of obsidian, each etched with intricate runes. They pulsed faintly under his fingers, warm like breathing flesh.

He picked up the first and snapped it between his palms.

The arena seemed to vanish.

He stood in a quiet chamber lit by soft candlelight. Lyra lay sprawled on a bed of tangled sheets, her skin flushed, lips parted in a soft moan. Another shape moved above her — and Ren's heart slammed painfully.

It was him. Or at least his body, moving with desperate, hungry rhythm inside her. But the look on her face wasn't love. It was resigned. Hollow.

"Say it," the other Ren growled. His hand wrapped around Lyra's throat, squeezing just enough to make her breath hitch.

"I… love… you…" she gasped, tears spilling.

And the other Ren laughed. "You love the chains. Remember that."

The vision snapped away so violently Ren staggered. Lyra caught his shoulders, eyes wide and terrified. "What did you see?"

"Nothing real," he lied hoarsely, pressing his forehead to hers. "Nothing we will ever be."

Miraye's laughter drifted down from her seat. "How quickly your breaths turn ragged. Shall we continue?"

He crushed the second seal.

This time, he stood on a battlefield. Corpses lay strewn around him — demons, mortals, even angels. Lyra knelt at his feet, covered in blood, staring up at him with adoration so fierce it was almost grotesque.

"Please," she whispered. "Tell me who to kill next."

The version of Ren in that dream laughed, lifting her chin with a blade slick with dark gore. "Good little goddess."

He ripped himself free of the vision with a strangled sound. Lyra's arms were around him immediately. "Ren—"

"I'm here," he rasped. "Not that monster. Never that."

Miraye leaned forward, eyes burning. "One left. Still think your mortal heart can bear it?"

Ren didn't answer. He shattered the last seal.

He stood alone in a palace. No Lyra. No laughter. The halls were silent, each step echoing like a curse. He entered a grand chamber and found a throne of bone waiting. When he sat, shackles snapped closed around his wrists. The walls closed in. The chains grew tight.

He screamed, but no one came. He was alone — utterly, devastatingly alone.

When he blinked back to the arena, sweat poured down his back. His knees threatened to buckle. But he stayed standing. Lyra clutched his hand so tightly her nails bit into his skin.

"Done," he ground out.

Miraye rose. Slow applause echoed through the stands. "Impressive. Though I wonder — does your goddess still see the same man she offered her soul to, or has some part of her begun to doubt?"

Lyra didn't hesitate. She turned and crushed her mouth to Ren's in front of the entire court. Her kiss was savage, as if to brand him with her devotion. When she pulled back, her voice rang across the stones.

"He is mine. In every twisted possibility. Even when darkness gnaws at him, I will burn it away."

Miraye's smile flickered. For just a breath, something raw and unsatisfied flashed across her perfect face. Then it vanished, replaced by lazy amusement.

"So be it," she purred. "Two more days, mortal. Let us see if your convictions hold when desire comes to you not as nightmare — but as invitation."

They left the arena under a chorus of murmurs. Lyra's fingers stayed locked with his the entire walk back. Only when their door shut behind them did she let herself sag, pressing her forehead to his chest.

"They're trying to tear us apart from the inside," she whispered.

"Then we'll stay so tangled there won't be an inside left to divide," Ren growled, lifting her easily into his arms. Her startled laugh broke on a soft sob.

They fell into the bed together, mouths hungry, hands clumsy in their urgency. Each time she whispered "mine," he answered with a dark promise against her throat.

Outside, Miraye watched from her high balcony, a goblet dangling from her fingers. Her smile was cold, but her eyes were alive — bright with a fascination that was becoming far too dangerous.

"They cling to each other like drowning fools," she murmured. "But there are so many ways to teach drowning that the water was always home."