The Forbidden Throne
Copyright© 2025 by Tharnoren
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - After their parents’ murder, the priests crown young Nakht pharaoh and force his sister Merit to become his queen. To end famine and restore the Nile, they must conceive a pure-blooded heir—an unholy union that will twist duty into forbidden desire.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Incest Brother Sister MaleDom Rough Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Oral Sex Pregnancy Royalty
The sun was sinking over the outskirts of Thebes. The orange glow clung to the mud-brick walls, making the suspended dust shimmer. The air carried that dry, bitter taste that clings to the throat after a whole day without a breeze.
Merit walked with a jar resting against her hip. At every step she stopped, offering water to those who reached out their hands: women with hollowed faces, children far too thin, an old man with trembling lips. She poured carefully into a chipped cup, waited until he drank, then laid her hand on his for a moment. No words—just that touch, which spoke enough.
A small cluster of children laughed softly around her. Their laughter was brief, snatched from exhaustion, but it was still laughter. Merit gave them her smile in return, her chest swelling at those fleeting sparks of life amid so much misery. Here, she wasn’t a ruler’s daughter, nor a guarded princess. She was simply Merit, and her presence was enough.
Then something shifted.
She sensed it before she heard it. A silence, fragile, settling between two bursts of laughter. Faces turned toward the avenue beyond, backs straightened. Merit frowned. A heavy breath seemed to sweep the street, as if even the dust held itself back.
Then came the sounds. Not clear words—more a distant swell of voices, rising and colliding. Not yet screams, but already too loud to be just a market quarrel. Merit held the jar with both arms, straight and alert. The children’s laughter had faded. The adults stared into the distance, eyes wide with unease.
The uproar grew. Short exclamations, cut off by others. Footsteps broke into a run through the alleys, kicking up clouds of sand. Merit’s heartbeat quickened. A different heat, alien, crept up her neck.
That’s when they appeared. Two guards, their armor caked in dust, pushing through the crowd with wide gestures. Their ragged breaths betrayed a sprint across half the city.
“Princess Merit!” the first one barked.
She straightened. “What is it?”
They didn’t explain. The older one shook his head, still gasping. “By order of the palace, you must come with us. Now.”
Around them, the beggars stepped back. Merit clutched the jar tight, lifted her chin. “I’m with my people. You can wait.”
The younger one stepped forward, hesitated, then dropped his eyes. “Forgive me, but there’s no time. Please—come.” His hand started toward her arm, then quickly recoiled under the fire of her glare.
Merit drew a deep breath. Every part of her resisted. But she read the strain on their faces, the urgency vibrating in their silence. She set the jar down, wiped her damp palms against her veil, and moved toward the palace.
The guards closed in on either side. The restless crowd pressed together as they passed. Shadows poured from every alley, rushing toward the main avenue. The voices swelled, sharper, more frantic.
And then, only then, the words pierced the murmur.
“ ... pharaoh...” “ ... the queen...” “ ... dead...”
Merit blinked, shook her head. No. That wasn’t right. She must have misheard. Each syllable hammered at her chest, but her mind refused to string them into sense. She walked faster, her breath short, ears buzzing.
The guards said nothing. Around her, cries broke out, prayers to the gods tangled in despair, but no one dared say it to her face.
The closer she came to the palace, the more the uproar turned into a single wail, a tide of grief. Merit clenched her fists, throat parched, gaze fixed ahead. The tenderness she had just shown had already been stripped away. Rising in her now was a cutting coldness: she needed answers, and she needed them fast.
The palace loomed ahead, a dark mass against the horizon, its pylons cut sharply against the red sky of dusk. Merit crossed the great gate under escort; the roar of the crowd was left behind, replaced by a silence too heavy to be natural.
In the vestibule, a figure rushed forward. Tiaa. Her servant, almost a friend. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her hands trembling. She threw herself at Merit and grabbed her by the arms.
“Princess...” Her voice broke. “Come...”
Merit had no chance to ask. Tiaa was already pulling her through the corridors, where torchlight quivered across painted walls. Priests awaited in the funerary chamber, lined up like statues. Their stern faces left no room for doubt.
“Our sovereigns...” began the eldest, head bowed. “They were ambushed in the city. They tried to calm the people’s anger over the drought ... but an armed band ... they were struck down.”
Merit’s knees weakened. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. She shook her head, refusing the words.
“Come,” said another priest, his tone gentler.
They passed through a low doorway. The air grew thick, saturated with incense and oil. A golden, flickering light filled the room. Two bodies lay covered in white shrouds on low tables.
On the ground, kneeling by one of them, was Nakht. Her younger brother. His face drowned in tears, his shoulders racked with sobs. His fingers clutched at the cloth as if he could drag the dead back to life.
“Father ... Mother...” Nakht’s voice cracked, the sound of a child again.
Merit stepped closer. The tears she had held back burst free at last. She collapsed beside him, pulling him into her arms without a word. He turned instinctively, clinging to her with desperate force. Their foreheads touched, their sobs mingling, their bodies shaking like two lost children.
Merit tightened her hold, as though she could shield him from the whole world. Her fingers slid into his sweat-soaked, tear-damp hair. She whispered, barely audible: “I’m here ... I’m here, Nakht...”
At last, he lifted himself a little, but his reddened eyes burned with rage. “Why them?!” he rasped, voice raw. “Why did the gods let them die?” His fists slammed against the stone. “Those who did this ... those dogs ... those murderers ... they must be found, Merit! They must be put to death!”
She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. He was twenty now, a man’s body, but in that moment she saw only her little brother.
“Nakht, listen to me.” Her voice trembled but stayed firm. “Yes, they will answer for what they’ve done. I swear it.” She drew a breath, her tears still blurring her sight. She paused, weighing her words. “I suppose I’ll have to carry the burden now. But I won’t be alone. You’ll be there with me. We’ll face it together.”
Nakht nodded quickly, biting his lip to keep from breaking down again. “Promise me we won’t let them escape. Promise me, Merit.”
She gripped his hands tight. “I promise, on our parents’ memory.”
They stayed that way for a moment, pressed together, breath ragged—until the shuffle of sandals broke the silence. Two priests entered, upright silhouettes in the torchlight.
The eldest inclined his head, but his gaze offered no comfort. “Heirs,” he said, voice deep. “We share your sorrow. But the kingdom falters. Tonight, the path forward must be decided.”
Merit wanted to drive them away, to stay alone with her brother and the dead. But she knew already that mourning would not be theirs to keep. She drew a deep breath, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
She helped Nakht to his feet. His trembling fingers clung to hers, as though he feared she’d vanish. Merit whispered, “Courage. We’ll face this together.”
Nakht nodded, unable to say more.