The Forbidden Throne
Copyright© 2025 by Tharnoren
Chapter 8
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 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
They walked side by side down the corridor, neither speaking a word. Night had already fallen on the palace, shadows thickening, carrying the scent of resin. Merit followed his pace, her veil pulled tight around her shoulders.
He pushed open a low door, and they stepped into the hall where their family once gathered, far from the pomp of official banquets. The air here was gentler, brushed by the warm breath of the garden. A few torches flickered, softening the gloom.
They sat in their usual places. The wood creaked under their weight, that too-familiar sound striking straight at an old wound. For a moment neither dared to speak. Their eyes fixed on the pond outside, dark as ink, where the moon was beginning to shimmer.
Nakht drew a deep breath, his voice low and raw when he spoke.
“The last time we ate here ... father was still alive.”
Merit slowly turned her head toward him. Her dark eyes clouded.
“And mother scolded us for laughing too loudly.”
Silence thickened. Words had cracked open something painful. Memories floated between them, heavy, suspended in the air.
Servants slipped in quietly, laying out trays of hot bread, roast goose, vegetables. The smells rose at once, filling the room with grease and spice. They withdrew without a sound, leaving the two rulers once more alone before their untouched plates.
Nakht brushed his fingers along the linen, jaw tight, eyes straight ahead.
“Tonight ... we’ll have to share the same chamber.”
Merit flinched only slightly. She lowered her gaze to her cup, turned it slowly between her fingers, then raised it to her lips.
“Eat first,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We don’t speak of such things at the table.”
He stared at her a moment, ready to press on, but thought better of it. He tore a piece of bread, chewed without tasting. Merit touched her food only lightly, each gesture measured. But her mind churned. She looked toward the garden drowned in shadow, at the table set as it once had been, and could not shake the thought: even back then, when their parents still laughed in this hall, he had been pretending. He looked away, he stayed silent—but maybe even then his silence hid the same turmoil that now consumed him. And she, blind, had seen nothing.
The meal dragged on under a strange weight, broken only by the clink of dishes, the rustle of a veil, the far-off whisper of insects. Neither found any more words.
At last Merit set down her cup. Her eyes lifted to his, a flash of something sharp passing through them, gone as quickly as it came.
Nakht gave the smallest nod. They rose together. Their steps left the empty hall, lamps trembling faintly above the untouched feast.
Nakht pulled aside the heavy curtain, letting his sister pass. The sheets had been changed, incense burned earlier still hung faintly in the air, sweet and cloying.
They stood there a moment, hesitant, like strangers at too intimate a threshold.
“This feels ... so strange,” Merit whispered, staring at the low bed.
“Yes.” Nakht cleared his throat. “I...” He almost said forgive me, but swallowed the words. His eyes dropped, then returned to her.
Merit drew a breath, pulling her veil tighter. “Are you sure we’re being watched?” Her voice carried no accusation, only a doubt she could not keep in.
Nakht held her gaze. “Yes.” His tone aimed for firmness, but he felt at once she could read something else in it. He looked away quickly, adding in a rush: “If we refuse, it could be dangerous...”
Silence beat heavy between them. Heat rose in Nakht’s face. She must think he was lying, that this was just a pretext to lure her here. Desperate, he blurted clumsily:
“It’s not ... I mean ... it’s not because I want to ... well, I do want to, but—” His voice cracked, his lips stumbling.
“Nakht.” Merit cut him short, sharp but not cold. Her eyes had a different gleam. She pressed her lips together, stifling a smile. “I know.”
He stared at her, stunned. She turned away at once, as if she’d betrayed herself. Inside, a nervous laugh rose—seeing her brother, so often so sure of himself, stammering like that was almost absurd. She shouldn’t have found it light, and yet she did.
They readied themselves in silence. Merit slipped off her sandals, loosened her veil. Nakht leaned his staff against the wall, unbuckled his belt, slid under the sheet. She joined him from the other side. Their bodies stayed taut, well apart.
Darkness swallowed the room quicker than they’d expected. The curtain drawn, the lamp snuffed, nothing remained but blackness. Only their breathing disturbed it.
Nakht closed his eyes. His belly still churned, but he forced his breath steady. After a long pause, he spoke softly.
“Do you remember ... the day father let us climb into his chariot?”
Merit turned her head toward him, caught off guard by the ordinary memory. “Yes.”
He gave a faint laugh. “I nearly fell, and you pulled me up by the arm. You were stronger than me.”
“You were a clumsy child.” Her tone softened despite herself.
He carried on. Simple stories, scraps of their childhood: a jar spilled in the kitchens, a runaway escape by the Nile, a prank on Tiaa. His voice shook at first, then steadied into rhythm. Merit listened, her shoulders loosening little by little. She even laughed gently at one tale, surprised by the sound coming out of her.
Then she understood what he was doing. He was easing her, trying to erase the shadow between them. And, against her will, it worked. For a while they could pretend—just another childhood night under the same roof, no eyes upon them, no threat hanging above.
At some point, Merit no longer answered. Her breath had evened out, peaceful.
Nakht stayed still, listening. A deep relief swept through him: she was asleep. But for him, sleep would not come. The woman he loved—his sister, whom he should never have desired—lay two arms’ length away. Her scent of myrrh filled the dark. The curve of her neck, her shoulders, her breath—all of it called to him.
He shut his eyes, fists tight against the sheet. His body screamed for her, but he fought it. Inhale. Exhale. Calm down. Sleep would not come to him tonight.
The night dragged on, long as torture. Nakht hadn’t closed his eyes once. Merit had been asleep for hours, her steady breath rising and falling under the sheet. In the darkness he listened to every beat of his heart, every creak of wood in the chamber, every whisper of fabric.
The first light slipped shyly behind the curtains, barely visible. Still, the room remained drowned in black, thick with shadow and silence. Nakht stared upward at an invisible ceiling. His eyes burned, dry. He had spent the night thinking.
What if I walked away? Leave Thebes, cross the desert, vanish. Take Merit with him, protect her, then set her free in some distant land. He pictured her absence already. The thought hurt worse than death. And yet he kept repeating to himself: when the day finally rose, it would be her choice. He would obey.