Chapter 7: The Goblin King's Throne
The gate closed behind them with a sound like a bone snapping.
Candice's eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom, and what she saw made her stomach drop. The throne room was a cavernous maw of jagged stone, its ceiling lost in darkness so complete it might have been the sky on a moonless night. The air hung thick with the scent of roasted meat and something metallic—blood, old and new, layered so deeply into the walls that it had become part of the stone itself.
Torches lined the walls, their flames burning low and green. They cast sickly shadows across the flayed hides that hung like tapestries—warriors, mostly human, their empty eye sockets staring down at her with an accusation she felt in her bones. Some of the skins were fresher than others. Some still dripped.
Morgana's hand found hers in the dark, squeezed once. A silent question. Are you okay?
No. But Candice nodded anyway.
The throne dominated everything. It was made of antlers—hundreds of them, blackened and twisted, woven together into a monstrosity of bone that rose fifteen feet into the air. Rusted chains hung from its arms, and at its base, skulls were piled like offerings. Some were human. Some were goblin. Some were things she couldn't identify.
And on that throne sat the Goblin King.
Thresh was massive. Not tall, exactly—maybe eight feet—but built like a siege engine, all muscle and scar tissue and barely contained violence. His skin was the color of wet ash, thick and leathery, crisscrossed with wounds that had healed badly and wounds that hadn't healed at all. A crown of iron sat crooked on his head, its spikes dull with dried blood. His eyes burned like coals in a face that had been broken and rebuilt so many times it barely resembled anything humanoid anymore.
He was smiling.
It wasn't a pleasant smile.
"So," he rumbled, and his voice was like rocks tumbling down a mountainside, "the Slayer of Succi comes to my door."
Candice stiffened. She'd killed more goblins than she could count. Scouts. Raiders. Would-be invaders who'd tested the barrier and found it wanting. Thresh knew her name. Of course he did.
"I'm not here to fight," she said.
"I can see that." His gaze slid to Morgana, lingered on the curve of her hip. "You brought me a gift. How thoughtful."
"She's not a gift."
"Everything is a gift, if you know how to unwrap it." Thresh leaned forward, and the throne creaked beneath his weight. "You smell like fear, little mage. And something else. Something..." He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. "Interesting."
Around them, the chieftains stirred. There were dozens of them, hulking figures half-hidden in the shadows, their eyes glowing in the torchlight. They watched Candice and Morgana like wolves watching wounded deer.
"We need protection," Candice said.
"From what?"
"From a Holy Paladin. Level 60. He's hunting us."
Thresh laughed.
It was a terrible sound—deep and rumbling, like thunder in a cave. The chieftains laughed with him, a chorus of grinding metal and breaking bones.
"A Paladin," Thresh said, wiping a tear from his eye. "You want me to protect you from a Paladin. The very thing that makes my kind burn. You stand before the Goblin King, the Scourge of the Eastern Reaches, and ask me to hide you from holy fire."
"I'm not asking you to hide us. I'm asking you to let us stay."
"Why would I do that?"
Candice reached for the hem of her shirt. Her hands were shaking. She hated that they were shaking. But she pulled the fabric up, exposing the mark on her stomach—the golden sigil that had appeared three weeks ago, when she'd touched a forgotten statue in the village square and felt something ancient wake up inside her.
The mark glowed faintly in the torchlight.
Thresh's laughter stopped.
The chieftains went quiet. The only sound was the drip of something wet in the darkness, the distant crackle of flames.
"That," Thresh said slowly, "is not a mark I've seen before."
"It's Lilith's," Morgana said. She stepped forward, pulling her own shirt aside. Her mark was different—darker, imperfect, the lines slightly crooked where Candice's were clean. "The real thing. Not artificial. Not copied. She's a true succubus mage."
"Impossible." Thresh rose from his throne, and the ground shook. "The succubi were wiped out a thousand years ago. Their magic died with them."
"Clearly it didn't."
He descended the dais, each step deliberate, his eyes fixed on Candice's mark. Up close, he was even more terrifying—a wall of scarred muscle, his breath hot and rank, his presence so overwhelming that Candice had to fight the urge to step back.
He reached out and touched her stomach.
His fingers were rough, calloused, surprisingly warm. The moment his skin made contact with the mark, Candice felt something jolt through her—a spark of Lust Mana, involuntary, rising from somewhere deep inside.
Thresh felt it too. His eyes widened.
"You're full of it," he murmured. "Lust Mana. Raw and pure and hungry. I've never felt anything like this."
"Neither have I," Candice admitted. "That's why the Paladin is hunting us. He can sense it. And he won't stop until we're dead."
Thresh withdrew his hand. He circled them slowly, his gaze assessing, calculating. Morgana stood frozen, her face pale but composed. Candice kept her shoulders square, her chin high.
She wouldn't beg. She wouldn't grovel. If he killed them, he killed them. But she'd die standing.
"Here's what I know," Thresh said. "The barrier that protects your little village? It's fading. I can feel it. Whatever power protected you, it's gone now. And when it falls, I will come for you. I will burn your homes, slaughter your people, and take what's mine."
Candice's hand twitched toward her sword.
"Don't," Morgana whispered.
Thresh noticed the movement and smiled. "You want to fight me, Succi Slayer? Here? Now? You're Level 40. I'm Level 60. It wouldn't even be a warm-up."
"I know."
"Good. Then listen carefully." He returned to his throne, settling into it with a grunt. "I'll give you protection. Sanctuary within my territory. The Paladin won't follow you here—not alone, not without an army, and by the time he gathers one, you'll be long gone."
Candice waited. There was always a price.
"But you belong to me now." Thresh's eyes gleamed. "Both of you. You'll serve me in every way a woman can serve a king. You'll warm my bed. You'll bear my mark on your skin and my name on your lips. For one year, you are mine."
"No."
The word left Candice's mouth before she could stop it. "No. We won't be your slaves."
"Not slaves," Thresh said, and his smile widened. "Whore Queens. The highest honor a female can receive in my court. You'll have wealth, power, respect. My chieftains will bow to you. My enemies will fear you. And in return, you'll spread your legs whenever I command it."
"Absolutely fucking not."
Morgana grabbed her arm. "Candice—"
"No. I'd rather take my chances with the Paladin."
Thresh leaned back, amusement flickering in his coal-bright eyes. "Would you? Let me tell you what the Paladin will do when he catches you. He'll tie you to a pyre and burn you alive. He'll watch as your skin bubbles and your eyes melt and you scream for mercy he'll never give. He'll call it justice. He'll call it holy. And when it's over, he'll scatter your ashes to the winds and forget your name."
Candice said nothing.
"Or," Thresh continued, "you can stay here. You can live. You can grow strong. You can fuck and fight and feast and become something more than you ever imagined. You can embrace the power inside you instead of running from it."
"With you as my master."
"With me as your king." Thresh shrugged. "Call it what you want. But I'm offering you a choice, Succi Slayer. The pyre or the throne. What will it be?"
Morgana stepped in front of Candice, blocking her from view.
"Give us a moment," she said.
Thresh gestured magnanimously. "Take all the time you need. I find that desperation often makes people more... agreeable."
Morgana pulled Candice aside, her grip tight on her wrist.
"We need to do this," she hissed.
"We do not."
"Candice, listen to me. He's right. We can't fight a Level 60 Paladin. We barely escaped him in the forest. And even if we found somewhere to hide, it wouldn't be permanent. We need allies. We need power."
"We need our dignity."
"Dignity won't save us." Morgana's eyes burned with a desperate intensity. "You've spent your whole life suppressing what you are. Protecting the village. Being the perfect soldier. And what did it get you? A mark you didn't ask for and a Paladin hunting you like an animal."
Candice flinched.
"I'm not saying this is ideal. I'm saying it's survival. And survival is more important than pride." Morgana's voice softened. "We can do this together. Like before, only better. Stronger."
"The village—"
"The village abandoned me years ago. And they'll abandon you too, the second they find out about your mark."
Candice closed her eyes. She thought about the villagers—the ones she'd protected, bled for, nearly died for. She thought about the little girl who'd given her a flower last spring, the old man who'd called her a hero. She thought about what they'd do if they saw the mark on her stomach. The disgust. The fear. The pyre Morgana had described.
She thought about the power inside her—raw and hungry and waiting.
"Okay," she said. "Okay."
They returned to the throne. Thresh watched them approach with the patience of a predator who knows its prey has nowhere to run.
"Decision?"
"We accept," Morgana said.
Thresh's smile widened. "Good girls. Now strip."
Candice's throat tightened. "What?"
"You heard me. Strip. Both of you. If you're going to be my Whore Queens, I need to see what I'm getting."
Morgana was already moving, unfastening her robe with practiced ease. Candice stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides.
"You've done this before," Morgana whispered. "Just pretend it's a battle. You're taking off armor."
That was ridiculous advice. But Candice found herself clinging to it anyway. She pulled her shirt over her head, unlaced her boots, fumbled with her belt. She didn't look at the chieftains. She didn't look at Thresh. She kept her eyes on the ground and told herself this was survival.
When she was down to her smallclothes, Thresh rose from his throne.
"All of it," he said.
She removed the rest.
Standing naked in the throne room, her skin prickling with cold and shame, Candice felt the mark on her stomach begin to pulse. The Lust Mana rose unbidden, a heat that spread through her limbs and settled between her thighs.
No, she thought. Not now. Not like this.
But the mark didn't care about her shame. It fed on it. The more humiliated she felt, the stronger the heat grew.
Thresh approached, now equally naked, and she finally saw him—all of him. His cock was massive, thick as her wrist and already hardening, the head flushed dark and slick with arousal. He was scarred there too, she noticed. Ridged with tissue from old wounds.
"On your knees," he commanded.
Morgana dropped immediately. Candice followed a heartbeat later, her knees hitting the cold stone hard enough to bruise.
"Both of you. Mouths on me. Now."
Morgana moved first, lean and eager, and dragged her tongue along the underside of his shaft from base to tip. Candice watched, her heart hammering, and then forced herself to move. She pressed her lips to the side, kissing the thick vein that throbbed along his length, tasting salt and musk and something darker.
"That's it," Thresh growled. "Show me what those pretty mouths can do."
Morgana took him first, wrapping her lips around the head and sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks. Thresh grunted, his hand finding her hair, and shoved her down until his cock hit the back of her throat. Morgana took it, her eyes watering, her throat working around him. He pulled her off and turned to Candice.
"Your turn."
She opened her mouth. He didn't wait. He grabbed a fistful of her short hair and drove himself inside, forcing his cock past her lips and deep into her throat. Candice gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. His grip was iron, his hips already moving, fucking her face with deep, brutal strokes.
"Fuck," Thresh grunted. "That's a good whore. Take it. Take all of it."
He shoved harder, and Candice felt her throat spasm, bile rising. She swallowed it down—swallowed him down—and forced herself to breathe through her nose. Spit ran down her chin. The room blurred. The chieftains were watching, some of them stroking themselves, but she couldn't see them, couldn't think about them. She could only feel the thick, punishing weight of him inside her.
Thresh pulled out and shoved Morgana back onto his cock, fucking her mouth now, his pace quickening. The sound of it—wet, obscene—filled the hall. Morgana moaned around him, and the vibration seemed to please him, because he groaned low and deep and pulled her closer.
Together they worked him—mouths meeting at the base, tongues tangling around his shaft, lips sliding over each other as they sucked him in tandem. Candice could taste Morgana's spit on his skin, could smell her own arousal mixing with the musk of his body. The Lust Mana was roaring now, burning through her veins, and she felt her pussy clench around nothing, shameful and hungry.
"Enough," Thresh rasped. He pulled them both off, and they knelt gasping, faces slick with saliva, lips swollen and bruised. He stroked himself, a few rough pulls, and then he came—hot, thick ropes of it splashing across their faces. Candice felt it hit her cheek, her mouth, her forehead. It ran down her nose, dripped from her chin. Beside her, Morgana was equally marked, his seed glistening on her skin.
Thresh stepped back, admiring his work.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "From this day forward, you are mine."
He turned to his chieftains, who had risen from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with lust and hunger.
"Tell them," he commanded.
"HAIL THE WHORE QUEENS!" the chieftains roared in unison, their voices shaking the walls, the throne, the very bones of the mountain.
Thresh sank back onto his throne—hard and glistening, but still watching them with possessive satisfaction—and crooked a finger. "Morgana. Candice. Come here. Show me the devotion of a Whore Queen."
Morgana moved on all fours, crawling toward him, her eyes bright. Candice remained where she was for a beat—crouched in the cold, her face drying with his seed, her mark burning a golden brand into her skin. In this moment she thought of the village barrier she could no longer feel holding, of Seraphiel somewhere beyond the mountains gathering his holy warriors, of stone villagers deciding her fate in her absence. She thought of the girl she'd been yesterday, who'd never so much as touched another person in desire, who'd held her sword so clean and straight.
She took a breath, and it smelled like blood, meat, and something deeply and seductively warm. Then, on her hands and knees, wet and gleaming and utterly homeless, she crawled toward the throne to serve the monster who had saved her.