Auctioned by the Gods: Rebirth of the Harem Emperor

Miraye's palace felt different after the queen's private audience with Ren.The hallways were still lit by rivers of molten glass, still haunted by demons with sly, hungry eyes. But now there was a new weight to every glance that slid over him, every hushed whisper that chased his footsteps.

He was no longer merely an intriguing mortal who had survived divine trials.He was the man Miraye couldn't quite tame.

Lyra sensed it too. Her power coiled tighter around her shoulders, silver threads of it flickering across her skin in restless pulses. She stayed close to him everywhere — not out of fear, but to make sure every watching eye understood who he belonged to.

And many eyes did watch. Servants froze mid-step. Lesser nobles stared openly. Even the monstrous courtiers seemed momentarily cowed by the raw, defiant intimacy the two of them carried like a shield.

But it was Miraye's gaze that followed them most.She appeared at odd times — leaning in shadowed balconies, draped across jeweled couches in side chambers they passed. Her eyes glittered whenever they met his, like a predator puzzling over prey that refused to break.

More than once Ren caught her watching him and Lyra whisper together, her lips parting just slightly, breath catching before she smoothed her expression back into lazy disdain.

That evening, Miraye hosted another gathering.The great banquet hall was transformed into something darker, more decadent. Veils of black silk hung from the high arches, perfumed smoke rolling across the floor. Musicians played throbbing, low melodies that seemed to stroke across the skin.

Ren and Lyra entered together, hand in hand. Heads turned instantly. Conversations faltered, whispers rising like smoke.

Miraye sat her throne of twisted black roots, one leg draped languidly over the arm. Her gown was cut even lower than before, leaving little to imagination. When her eyes met Ren's, something hungry flickered in their depths — then darted away, buried beneath a mocking smirk.

"Do you tire of these little performances yet?" Lyra murmured at his side. Her thumb stroked over his knuckles where their hands clasped.

Ren leaned close, letting his breath ghost her ear. "I tire only of waiting to get you alone again."

Her answering breath stuttered, pupils darkening. "Good. Because I'm done being subtle."

As if hearing the promise in Lyra's voice, Miraye rose. The entire room seemed to lean forward with her."Let us have a demonstration tonight," she purred. "Not of blades or contests, but of the simpler hungers that make even gods tremble."

She snapped her fingers.Servants pulled back long curtains at the edges of the hall, revealing alcoves scattered with velvet couches and low tables piled high with decadent fruits, syrups, tiny delicate knives. Demons began pairing off immediately — lounging together in heated clutches, hands and mouths roaming freely.

Miraye's smile was slow. "Let us see if love still tastes so sweet under so many watching eyes."

A hush rippled through the court. Dozens of eyes turned to Ren and Lyra.Waiting. Wanting. Some expecting them to retreat, to preserve the modesty mortal lovers were famous for. Others licking their lips, already savoring what might unfold.

Lyra stiffened, her hand trembling in his. Then her jaw set, hard and proud.

"Is that a dare?" she called across the chamber, voice sharp enough to slice silk.

Miraye's answering laugh was soft — but there was an edge of breathlessness to it. "It is whatever you wish to make it, little goddess."

Lyra turned to Ren, eyes blazing. "Then let them watch."

Before he could answer, she was dragging him toward one of the velvet alcoves. Gasps and delighted murmurs chased them. Ren's blood surged hot — not from humiliation, but from the fierce, raw adoration burning on Lyra's face.

They reached a low couch shadowed by trailing black veils. Lyra pushed him down, straddling him immediately, robes sliding up to pool around her hips. Her hands found his face, cradling it with almost reverent tenderness.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" she whispered. "Why I'll let them all see?"

Ren's hands slid to her waist, thumbs pressing into the tender dips there. "Tell me."

"Because I want them to know there is no power in this realm that can make me ashamed to love you."

She kissed him — deep, consuming. Her tongue swept into his mouth with hungry insistence. Every soft moan she gave was like fire poured straight into his veins.

When she shifted to sink down onto him, Ren's head fell back against the couch with a low, wrecked groan. Her heat swallowed him greedily, muscles fluttering as she seated herself fully.

Lyra let out a tiny, broken laugh against his throat. "Gods… still perfect. Always perfect."

She moved slowly at first, as if savoring every inch. Her hands slid into his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, helping her set a rhythm that quickly frayed his control.

Around them, the hall pulsed with breathy sighs, sharp cries, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin. But none of it mattered. There was only Lyra — the way her breath hitched each time she rolled her hips just so, the quiet, pleading noises she made when his thumb brushed her swollen clit.

Miraye watched.Ren felt her eyes like a physical touch, hot and searing. When he met her gaze over Lyra's shoulder, the demon queen didn't look smug. She looked… stricken. As if some part of her had never truly believed such raw devotion could exist, laid bare without shame.

He let her watch. Let her see how Lyra shattered for him — head thrown back, mouth parted in a soft sob when she came around him, muscles clenching tight.

"Ren—" she gasped, trembling violently.

"I've got you," he rasped. His hands slid up her back, pulling her flush as he thrust up into her with rough, desperate snaps of his hips. Her second climax broke with a tiny scream muffled against his shoulder.

When he followed her over the edge, he made sure his voice was low, dark, only for her."Yours. Even in front of every throne in this cursed realm. Only yours."

When they finally sagged together, sweat-damp and breathing hard, the court was dead silent. Hundreds of eyes stared. Some in awe. Some in horror. Some in helpless arousal.

And Miraye?Miraye sat frozen on her throne, one hand fisted at her lips. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. When her eyes met Ren's, they were dark, wide — and for the first time, uncertain.

Later, alone in their chambers, Lyra curled against him. Her fingers traced idle lines across his ribs.

"Do you think we shamed her?" she whispered.

Ren let out a low, wicked laugh. "No. I think we fed something in her she's terrified to name."

Lyra's answering grin was sharp. "Good. Let her hunger. Let her see what she can never take from us."

Outside, the underworld seemed to pulse slower — as if even its ancient, greedy heart needed time to remember how to beat. And in Miraye's private sanctum, the queen of the Sixth Veil pressed trembling fingers to her lips, whispering his name into the empty air.

Not in triumph.

Not yet.

But in a soft, breathless wonder that might just undo her far more surely than any sword.