For the first time in what felt like ages, Ren woke up to warmth that wasn't stolen from demon fires or forced by his own body.Golden light spilled across the bed, catching in Lyra's unbound hair where it lay tangled over his chest. Outside the balcony doors, soft winds carried the scent of crystalline blossoms — so clean, it almost hurt to breathe after weeks surrounded by the acrid perfumes of Miraye's palace.
Lyra shifted with a small, content sound, pressing her cheek more firmly against him. Her arm draped possessively across his ribs. Even in sleep, she seemed determined to make sure the entire realm could see who he belonged to.
Ren smiled faintly, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair. It still amazed him how fiercely tender she was — how a goddess who could call down storms didn't hesitate to curl up in his arms like she'd found her true altar.
Eventually she stirred, eyes fluttering open. For a moment she just looked at him, eyes soft and unguarded.
"You were watching me sleep," she accused, voice still rough with dreams.
"Guilty," he admitted. "You're more peaceful like this. Not plotting how to dismember anyone who looks at me too long."
Lyra snorted, then smirked. "Who says I'm not? I could be dreaming of creative punishments."
She propped herself up on an elbow, hair spilling forward to brush his jaw. Her fingertips traced idle lines across his chest."This place almost makes me want to trust again," she said quietly. "Almost. But courts are courts, Ren. Even Saphira's realm plays at politics under all this sunlight."
Ren caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Then we let them play. And we stay what we are. Yours. Mine. Theirs only if we decide it suits us."
Lyra's answering smile was small but devastatingly bright. "Good. Because I'd hate to start burning gardens just to remind them."
They dressed in lighter clothes than they'd worn in the underworld — soft tunics, loose wraps that breathed easily under the sun. It felt almost obscene after so many days armored in stiff ceremonial fabrics or weighed down by the threat of demon eyes.
When they stepped out into the palace's airy corridors, lesser spirits stopped to bow, whispers following them like trailing silks.
"That's them, isn't it? The mortal who defied the Veil… and his goddess lover."
"Look how easily he stands here. Most mortals quake in these halls."
"And her eyes — did you see? Like they'd rip your soul apart if you reached for him."
Lyra's mouth curved. "I do love how your legend makes me sound positively terrifying."
"You are," Ren said, utterly serious. Then, after a beat, "In the best ways."
They were met by a high steward — a spirit of shimmering blue, eyes like polished moonstone. He bowed deeply.
"My lord Ren, Lady Lyra. The Lady Saphira requests your presence in her rose court at the hour of second chime. She wishes to speak of new alliances."
Lyra lifted an eyebrow. "Alliances? Or tests dressed up in gentler words?"
The steward didn't flinch. "Perhaps both. My lady believes in multi-faceted welcomes."
Ren smirked. "Tell her we'll come. We've learned to enjoy games — so long as we know where the real blades are hidden."
The rose court was breathtaking.A vast open colonnade where vines of silver and crimson blooms climbed every pillar, heavy with thick, luminous petals. Pools of clear water mirrored the sky, small golden fish darting under the surface. Spirits lounged on low couches, sipping from carved crystal flutes, their laughter soft as windchimes.
Saphira waited at the heart of it all, seated on a wide throne carved from pale stone. Her violet robes pooled around her like liquid night, tiny lights winking across the fabric as if entire constellations were caught there.
She rose when they approached, a small, knowing smile on her lips."Ren Zian. Lyra. You look… restored."
Lyra inclined her head just enough to be polite. "A change of realm does wonders. Though I'm sure you didn't summon us merely to admire our improved health."
Saphira's laughter was low, pleasant. "No. Though it does please me to see strength returned. The truth is, word of your journey to the Sixth Veil spreads quickly. Already, other courts question what bargains you struck to leave that realm unbroken — and how much of you was changed in the process."
She stepped closer, her eyes locked on Ren's."Tell me plainly. Does Miraye's shadow still touch you? Will her hunger follow you into new thrones, taint new loyalties?"
Ren didn't hesitate. "Her hunger will follow, yes. Because it's hers. Not mine. What she wanted, she never truly took."
Saphira studied him a long moment. Then her smile softened. "Good. Because there are powers rising in the frostward realms — and rumors swirl that they seek new champions. Champions untouched by old pacts."
Lyra's fingers flexed against his. "New champions? Or new lovers?"
Saphira's lips curved wider. "Often they are the same, dear Lyra. Power weds itself in many ways. The court of frost, for instance, is ruled by daughters who have never bowed — not to gods, not to demons. They might test you both. Or tempt you."
Ren felt Lyra's sharp breath, her pulse quick under his thumb where he rubbed it soothingly."Then let them try," he said calmly. "We've faced worse than temptation. And we've learned that even shared hungers do not fracture us — they forge us sharper."
They remained in the rose court longer than intended, soft music drifting around them as spirits performed delicate dances on floating glass panels. Saphira spoke of shifting alliances, of frost queens who shaped entire armies from whispered promises, of dragon-throned cities that might soon invite them in hopes of forging ties no mere contract could secure.
By the time Ren and Lyra left, the sun had begun to slip low, casting long spears of amber light through the vine-draped pillars.
Lyra exhaled, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. "We're being drawn into something bigger again. I can feel it. Every court wants a piece of the mortal who defied gods… and the goddess who loves him more fiercely than any crown."
"And they can want all they like," Ren murmured. His arm tightened around her. "Doesn't mean they get more than we allow."
Lyra's smile was slow, dark. "Good. Because next time someone tries to pull you into their bed for the promise of kingdoms, I might not be as merciful as I was with Miraye."
They reached their chambers just as night fully draped the sky. Stars blazed bright overhead, closer here than anywhere Ren had ever known on mortal soil. He stood for a moment at the balcony, breathing in the crisp sweetness of it.
Lyra slipped behind him, arms wrapping around his waist, her mouth brushing his ear. "No matter how many courts whisper, no matter how many queens scheme — remember whose name you moaned last."
His breath hitched. "Lyra."
She bit lightly at his neck, a shiver racing through him. "Say it again. So the stars hear. So they remember before they ever dare try to write new constellations for you."
"Lyra," he whispered, voice raw. "Always, always Lyra."
Below them, the gardens of Saphira's palace shimmered, haunted by faint figures — watchers, spies, perhaps new intrigues already taking shape. But wrapped in Lyra's arms, Ren felt untouchable. Unassailable.
And far to the north, where cold winds howled over jagged ice thrones, a queen with eyes like shattered diamonds stirred from restless dreams. Her advisors would soon whisper of a mortal who broke the Veil, who walked with a goddess and left demon queens whispering his name in private agony.
She would not resist long. No realm ever did when hunger tasted like destiny.