I’m still the only one who gets to have you like this

Miraye did not summon them the next day.Her courtiers still filled the halls — lounging like decadent serpents on silken cushions, whispering gossip sharpened to poison points. But the queen herself stayed absent.

At first it seemed a silent victory. Lyra practically glowed with fierce satisfaction as she strolled by demon lords who couldn't quite meet her eyes. Even the guards posted at their chambers bowed deeper than they had before.

"She's hiding," Lyra muttered. "Or sulking."

Ren only smiled, slow and amused. "Good. Let her feel what it's like to hunger and find her power meaningless."

But by evening, a quiet sort of worry gnawed at the edges of their small triumph.The palace itself seemed to hold its breath. Fires burned lower. The ambient magic that had once danced up the columns now pooled in sluggish glows, like blood that had forgotten how to flow.

Ren found himself wandering the grand hall alone for a time, Lyra trailing slightly behind, one hand lightly brushing the hilt of her dagger. As if expecting some trap to spring from the shadows.

They found Miraye at last in a small gallery overlooking the city of the Sixth Veil.She stood alone, hands braced on the dark stone balcony, hair unbound and drifting around her like a spill of liquid night. No courtiers flanked her, no fawning demon pages dared intrude.

When Ren approached, her shoulders stiffened. But she didn't turn. Didn't command them away.

"You've left your court to whisper in your absence," Ren drawled. His voice was smooth, dark velvet edged in steel. "They're wondering if you finally met a mortal who taught you humility."

Miraye laughed — a brittle, slightly desperate sound. "Humility? Do you mistake this hollow ache in my chest for something so quaint?"

She finally faced them. Her eyes were bright with an emotion Ren couldn't quite name. Hunger, yes — but under it, something painfully close to awe. Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line.

Lyra stiffened at Ren's side. Her hand found his, clutching tight. "Whatever you're brewing in that serpent's mind, keep it away from him."

Miraye's gaze cut to Lyra, expression tightening. "That's your fear speaking, goddess. Not your power. For all your light and defiance, you hold him so closely because you dread he might step from your shadow."

Lyra's breath hissed out. "He steps wherever he pleases. And it is your shadow that grows hungry for him."

Ren watched the subtle tremor in Miraye's throat, the way her hands flexed against the balcony rail. A realization struck — not a triumph, but something sharper, more dangerous.

"You thought to seduce me," he murmured, stepping closer. "To make me beg for your power, your throne, your decadent little realm. Instead you're standing here on shaking knees, wondering what it would feel like if someone finally shattered your composure."

Miraye's pupils blew wide. Her lips parted on a soft breath that was dangerously close to a moan. Then her claws raked the stone, slicing shallow grooves.

"I could still destroy you," she hissed. But her voice cracked, trembling in a way no threat should.

Ren moved until only a breath of space lay between them. He didn't touch her. Only let her feel the slow exhale of his confidence, the dark promise curling at the edge of his mouth.

"You could try," he said softly. "But you'd break yourself first."

Lyra watched, jaw tight. Not jealous, not exactly — more like bristling at how close ruin hovered. She stepped forward, sliding her arm around Ren's waist, staking her claim with casual, possessive intimacy.

"He's mine," she said simply. Her power flared — a soft radiant glow that cast Miraye's beautiful face in pale, holy light. "And that will eat you alive long after we've left your cursed halls."

Miraye shuddered. Actually shuddered, breath catching. Then she turned abruptly, bracing both hands on the balcony's edge as if needing the support.

"Leave me," she rasped. "Before I decide I want to taste what it feels like to lose to you."

They returned to their rooms in near silence. Only when the heavy doors shut behind them did Lyra turn on Ren, hands sliding up into his hair, mouth crashing to his with a soft, angry noise.

"You toyed with her," she whispered against his lips. "Turned her hunger back on her. Gods, Ren, I wanted to watch her fall to her knees for you — and yet I hate that I wanted it."

Ren's answering grin was dark, feral. "Does it scare you? That I could bend a demon queen to the edge of begging?"

"It scares me how much I'd let you," she breathed. Her hands tangled in his tunic, pulling him toward the bed. "So long as she never tastes what's truly yours."

They fell together onto the mattress, silks tangling around their legs. Lyra straddled him immediately, fingers clawing his chest as if needing to mark him deeper than any demon could. Her robes fell open, spilling her curves into his waiting hands.

"Show me," she demanded. Her voice cracked, eyes luminous. "Show me that even with all her games, all her beauty — I'm still the only one who gets to have you like this."

Ren sat up, hands gripping her hips so tight she gasped. "Lyra. Little goddess. There's no contest."

Then he tipped her back, mouth finding the sensitive slope of her throat. His teeth scraped skin, earning a desperate moan. His hands roamed lower, finding the slick heat already waiting for him.

"Say it again," he rasped against her collarbone. "Say whose you are."

"Yours," she breathed. Her hips rolled into his touch shamelessly. "Always yours. Even if you stood in every demon court, they'd see — they'd hear me cry your name."

He slid into her in one slow, punishing thrust. Her head fell back on a strangled little cry. Each roll of his hips drove deeper, their bodies clashing with obscene wet sounds that would've scandalized any watching eye — though here, they welcomed scandal like breath.

Lyra's hands scrambled for purchase, nails biting his shoulders. "Ren, gods, harder — let them all hear how you ruin me."

He growled, thrusting harder, one hand fisting in her hair to pull her mouth back to his. Their kiss was a bruising clash of teeth and tongues. When she came, it was with a sob that echoed off the stone, thighs clenching desperately around him.

Ren followed her over the edge moments later, groaning low, burying his face in her shoulder. "Yours. Even if every throne begged me to kneel. Only ever yours."

They lay tangled together long after. Lyra's breathing finally slowed, her hand tracing lazy shapes over the faint scars on his chest.

"You think she'll leave us be now?" she whispered.

"No," Ren murmured. His grin was slow, dark. "I think she'll burn. Because I've shown her a hunger she can't buy, can't threaten, can't seduce. She'll chase it long after we're gone."

Outside, the underworld winds howled around the palace — wilder, less certain than before. And in her private sanctum, Miraye sat on the floor amid shattered goblets, one hand pressed over her thundering heart.

She didn't whisper his name. Not yet.But her lips shaped it in silence, over and over, as if hoping that one day he might say hers the same way.