Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

Upon stepping outside, Pyris found Alera waiting, her expression betraying that she had witnessed every moment of the tense exchange within. Lizzie remained blissfully unaware, her innocence intact like that of a sheltered child. The young servant offered a respectful bow to her master while Alera slipped her arm through his, and together they departed the chamber.

"Lizzie," Pyris commanded softly, "fetch Esmeralda for me."

As the girl hurried away, Pyris turned toward a shadowed alcove. "Song," he called into the darkness.

The second-in-command of the Phantoms materialized from the thick shadows as if conjured from the very air itself. His form seemed to drink in the light around him.

"By the banquet's end," Pyris instructed, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority, "I want every member of the Eclipse Syndicate captured. Their involvement in the attack matters not—bring them all."

"Consider it done," Song bowed deeply before melting back into the shadows with the same eerie silence that had heralded his arrival.

As they walked, Pyris's mind churned with unease. Something fundamental had shifted in the balance of power, though he couldn't yet grasp what.

He had been oblivious to whatever mental exchange had passed between Lekiza and the Emperor, but the signs were unmistakable. The Emperor, notorious for his volcanic temper, had calmed too quickly, and there had been something in his gaze—the look one reserves for those whose days are numbered.

More troubling still was Prince Kaelion's absence from the meeting chamber. In the days since Prince had been chosen as Champion of the Eternal Sun, the Human Emperor had made it a point to appear at every major gathering with the Prince at his side. Given House Obsidian's precarious position among the empires, presenting the newly-minted Champion of a god would have been a powerful diplomatic lever—a promise of divine favor and future prosperity.

A long-lasting leverage!

Yet the Emperor had deliberately withheld this advantage, keeping his most valuable asset as far from the Obsidians as possible. As if he feared something...

"Afraid of what?" Pyris muttered, unable to connect the scattered pieces of the puzzle.

But time was running short. He needed to act swiftly so he had commanded Song to get more members of Eclipse, they needed to act quickly.

Elsa took his hand, guiding her beloved brother toward their destination, with Alera following gracefully in their wake.

The Banquet's Enchantment

The grand banquet hall buzzed with the energy of high society at play. Among the glittering assembly, two figures commanded attention like twin moons drawing the tide.

Zalaria Serenova and her daughter Selene possessed the kind of beauty that could topple kingdoms and ignite wars. Zalaria's mature elegance was magnetic, drawing admirers from every corner of the hall—seasoned nobles, ambitious merchants, and even bold young men barely past their coming of age. Her laugh was like silver bells, enchanting all who heard it.

Selene, however, was a different sort of allure entirely. Her ethereal beauty was wrapped in an aura of untouchable aloofness that only inflamed the desires of those who beheld her. She was the ultimate prize—heiress to the most powerful commercial empire in the realm. The combination of her mysterious nature and formidable heritage made her both feared and desperately coveted.

The mother and daughter stood together near the ornate windows, their animated conversation punctuated by genuine laughter that seemed to illuminate the space around them.

"You've shown such interest in him," Zalaria murmured to her daughter, her voice carrying the knowing tone of an experienced woman, "yet young Pyris has made no overtures toward uniting our families. Tell me, dearest, is he always so... reserved?"

Selene's cheeks bloomed with the faintest hint of rose, her usual composure cracking just enough to reveal the maiden beneath the mystique. "Mother, you're being terribly forward," she whispered, though her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Zalaria's smile widened, delighting in her daughter's rare display of shyness. "Ah, but look how you blush when I speak of him. Perhaps it's time someone made the first move, don't you think?"

The fallen angel's composure wavered further as her mother's gentle teasing continued, the powerful heiress suddenly seeming very much like any young woman caught between desire and propriety.

The music below was pure decadence—harps twisted with golden strings, violins sighing like breathless spirits, a piano dripping arpeggios like molten pearls onto a ballroom floor of gold-veined obsidian. Magic laced the sound. Each note a seduction. Each chord a velvet rope. Dignitaries spun in lazy circles, demigods whispered in wine-slick voices, and war-heirs danced like their enemies weren't sharpening blades just beyond the city gates.

But none of that mattered.

Not up here.

Above them all, wrapped in silence seals and illusion veils, high in a crescent balcony untouched by mortal eyes, the true stage was set.

Zalaria Serenova stood at its edge. Seer of the Mortal Realm. Priestess of the Veil. Oracle of a thousand screams she could never unhear. Her dress shimmered with divination thread, her fingers ink-stained from prophecy maps she dared not reread. And beside her—arms folded, chin raised, aura coiled like an unsheathed dagger—was her daughter.

Selene.

Sharp. Still. Beautiful in that untouchable, wicked way only the fallen ever mastered. The world called her cold. But Zalaria knew the truth.

Her daughter didn't lack emotion.

She had simply outgrown the need to show it.

"You're staring again," Selene said, voice low—measured. Not judgment. Not interest. Just observation sharpened into steel.

Zalaria didn't blink.

"He draws every eye," she murmured, "whether he wills it or not."

Below, Pyris moved with Els and Alera. No crown. No title. No divine sigil aglow on his brow. And yet the world curved around him like gravity itself had grown envious. Nobles drifted out of his way unconsciously. Some stared and forgot why. Others whispered his name with the reverence of prayer or the tremble of fear. And most—poor fools—didn't even realize why their knees felt weak.

But Zalaria knew why. Always did, now more saw after what she'd witnessed tonight and the visions she just had when Song had stopped that attack.