4. Zarek

Istorm through the palace halls, my fury mounting with every step. How dare the council interrupt me during my crucial human interrogation! The audacity of their summons, pulling me away from her, the outworlder who has ignited an insatiable hunger within me.

I slam open the council chamber doors under the force of my rage. The assembled goblins jolt at my entrance. Kla'zar shrinks back, his beady eyes darting nervously. I can sense their collective unease, their uncertainty at my unpredictable mood. Good.

"What," I growl, my voice lashing out like a whip, "is the meaning of this interruption?" My heavy boots echo through the grand hall as I head toward my throne.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," Kla'zar says, his voice quivering. "There is a matter of the utmost urgency which requires your attention."

"I fail to see how anything could be more important than interrogating the outworlder," I snarl, glaring at the gathered council.

I approach the raised dais at the far end. The chamber is circular, with towering pillars carved from green marble. The air is thick with the scent of power, tradition, and a whiff of fear; a heady mix which only serves to fuel my growing anger.

As goblin king, my throne is the centerpiece of the chamber. A massive chair hewn from obsidian and adorned with the skulls of my most formidable foes. It's a seat designed for a being of my size and stature. I ascend the steps to my throne and sit. My eyes scan the assembled council members, each representing a different clan within our society. Their eyes are downcast, a show of submission in the face of my wrath.

But it's not the council which draws my attention. No, it's the trio of goblin females now standing before me. Each one is more unappealing than the last. The council has been pressuring me to take a queen to secure the next generation of our lineage. But their idea of the "best" the empire has to offer leaves much to be desired.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demand, glaring at the assembled goblins.

Kla'zar swallows hard, his bulbous red eyes shifting nervously. "These three noble females have come forward as candidates for the position of queen. As the king, it is your duty to select a mate and continue the royal line. These females represent the most powerful clans and are thus the most suitable candidates."

The thought of bedding any of these wretches sends a shudder down my spine. I groan inwardly, my frustration mounting. Is this truly the best they can offer? Where are the females with spirit? With intelligence? With a fire that matches my own? I find my thoughts drifting back to Sabrina, the human who dared to defy me, to challenge me. She's everything these goblin females are not.

Such a bitter pill to swallow.

But for now, I push those thoughts aside. I have a duty to my people. I settle into my throne, my eyes sweeping over the assembled council and the three females before me. Let the farce begin.

The first female is a hulking brute for her small size. Her bulging muscles ripple under her leathery skin and rival my own. She's a warrior, and I suspect her to have crude manners and a lack of intellect, making her as appealing as a rock.

"Cla'nir of Clan Grak'nok. She's strong and will bear many fine offspring," Kla'zar exclaims. "Her clan is wealthy and powerful, a fitting match for our mighty king."

She steps forward and bows her head in a show of respect. But her beady black eyes are filled with cold calculation—a hunter assessing its prey. Eyes not unlike my own.

"I'm not looking for a warrior queen, Kla'zar," I scoff.

The second candidate is no more appealing. Her skin has a sickly green pallor, and she stinks of the boglands. She is a scrawny thing. I watch as her eyes dart nervously around the room. She's a schemer, I can tell. I am certain her constant plotting and backstabbing would drive me to madness.

"Jana of Clan Bromak," the councillor announces. "Her clan controls vast resources and has an army of loyal followers. She will make a powerful ally."

Jana smiles, revealing rows of jagged teeth. She reaches out, her clawed hand trailing over my arm. Her touch sends a wave of revulsion through me, and I wrench my arm away, glaring at her.

"Next," I command.

The third is a surprise. She's beautiful, in a traditional goblin sense, with smooth green skin and a graceful stature. But her eyes are devoid of the fire and spirit I've come to crave. She's a decoration, a pretty bauble to be displayed and nothing more.

"Pilar of Clan Jard," Kla'zar states, his tone hopeful.

Pilar offers me a demure smile, her eyes dropping in a show of submission. "I'm honored to be considered, Your Majesty," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "My clan is powerful, and my family is well-respected. I would be a worthy queen and mother to your children."

"Yes, you'd be the perfect wife, but you wouldn't be the perfect queen," I retort, studying the trio. "Do I look like a man who needs a docile trophy wife? I seek a queen who is... almost an equal in power, in strength, and in Cunning." If such a female even exists.

Pilar blinks, taken aback by my response. Cla'nir frowns, her brow furrowed. Jana narrows her eyes, a calculating look crossing her features. The air crackles with tension as the assembled councillors wait for my decision.

"None of them will do," I announce, rising from my throne.

A chorus of gasps echoes through the chamber, and the assembled councillors look at me in shock and disbelief.

"None?" Kla'zar exclaims.

"That's right, Kla'zar. Not one of these females is fit to be my queen. They are all unworthy."

The room erupts into chaos, with the assembled goblins shouting and arguing. Cla'nir glares at me, her lips curling into a snarl. Jana sneers, her eyes filled with hatred. Pilar watches me, a hint of sorrow in her gaze.

"Order!" Kla'zar cries, trying to quell the commotion.

"Your Majesty," one councillor protests, his voice ringing out over the din.

I slam my fist on the arm of my throne, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. Everyone falls silent, their eyes wide in shock and fear. The females are ushered from the chamber, and the door slams shut behind them.

"Enough," I roar, my voice booming through the chamber. "I am the king! My word is law! Those females are unworthy, and I will not be forced into a union with any of them."

Kla'zar steps forward, his eyes narrow in anger. "Your Majesty, you cannot simply reject these candidates without cause. They represent the most powerful clans in our empire. To refuse them is to invite chaos and discord."

I rise from my throne, my eyes blazing with fury. "Are you questioning my judgment, Kla'zar? Do you believe you are better suited to rule the Goblin Empire than I?"

The councillor shrinks back, cowed by my anger. "No, Your Majesty, of course not."

The others murmur among themselves, their voices rising in a cacophony of dissent. I can feel their anger and frustration, their fear of the unknown. But their petty concerns will not sway me.

"You cannot ignore your duty, King Zarek," Kla'zar says.

"Silence!" I bellow.

The chamber falls silent, the goblins shifting nervously.

I descend from my throne, my footsteps echoing through the room. "I will not be ordered about by a council of weaklings who cower in the shadows," I snarl, glaring at them. Succession planning was so much easier when we could steal babies.

Kla'zar's eyes dart to Obl'ick, another councillor. They mutter between themselves, and a faint smirk curls the corners of Obl'ick's lips. The sight of his smug expression is enough to stoke my rage.

I do not have time for their petty infighting and endless bickering. "It's obvious your three candidates have failed to impress," I bark, silencing the murmurs. "I will select a queen worthy of my throne and my bed. Until then, I will not be swayed."

Obl'ick rises from his seat, his expression darkening. "And what if such a queen cannot be found? Then the Goblin Empire will fall into chaos and ruin! We must invoke the Ancient Rite of Succession. As is written in the Goblin Credo."

My eyes narrow with suspicion. I really should make myself more familiar with the Goblin Credo. Especially the sections added eons past... and perhaps the bits I wrote as well...

This has gone on for long enough. I am fed up with this endless nagging from my council and their lack of vision. Their obsession with the routine monotony of governance and the mundane matters of my marriage leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth.

If it is a queen they want, it is a queen they shall get!

"Perhaps you are right, Obl'ick," I say, my voice laced with mischief. "If none can satisfy my desire, then I will simply claim a queen from the outworlds. And what luck! I have one chained right here in the palace."

The councillors look at me in confusion and alarm.

"Sabrina Hexter, I believe she called herself," I clarify, enjoying their shock. "The female who breached our borders will be my bride."

A ripple of disbelief and outrage sweeps through the chamber.

"Surely you cannot be serious," Kla'zar exclaims.

"This is an outrage!" Obl'ick cries, his green skin darkening a shade in his anger.

The chamber erupts into chaos once more, and a smile plays on my lips. This will be the last time they try to question my authority. I will make sure of it.

"Silence," I roar, the sound echoing through the chamber. The assembled goblins fall silent, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. My mind is made up. Sabrina will be my bride, and the Goblin Empire will have a queen, and one day I will have an heir. Now, with that decided, it's time I tell my bride.

"Prepare the wedding feast for two days hence. I must return to my future queen and tell her the good news," I command.

Before any of them can utter another word, I sweep from the chamber, my cape billowing behind me. As I stride down the hallway, a strange feeling washes over me. Is this excitement? Anticipation? I am not sure, but for the first time in ages, my mood has lifted.