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Chapter Text

Looking back at that night, later, Sarah wondered if at any point she could have changed things.

Gwen, Sylvie and Diana had taken a long time to explain the rules, Sarah thought, grinning, but they had never mentioned what to do if lord after gorgeous Fae lord was too busy ogling her cleavage to introduce himself properly.

"Mortal or immortal, men are all the same. Just look at them," Gwen had said. Then she caught Sarah's eye. "And look at you. If you've got it, baby, I say flaunt it!"

"Maybe you should just – I don't know," Sylvie said, anxious. "Tie that glove around your neck, or something. Di, maybe you shouldn't have – I mean, we didn't realize that they'd all be this –"

"Drooling." Diana laughed. "If we weren't all feeling the love, too, Sarah, I'd be jealous."

Sarah adjusted the bodice of her gown, discreetly. Or tried to. There wasn't much fabric with which to be discreet. Diana laughed harder.

The cleavage was all Diana's fault. The bright-faced girl had found a dress, with her, at some random retail outlet, and then had insisted on handing the modestly cut green satin over to her bevy of female relatives. "She's descended from the one of the guys who did the Emperor's New Clothes," Sylvie had explained. "He knocked up the gaol keeper's daughter, before the axe."

Diana had thought that was funny – almost as funny as the look on her new friend's face when she had had it explained to her: the best part of having spells woven into the laces (and Diana had giggled, lacing them) was "all the support of Victoria's Secret, and absolutely none of the expense!"

They had all laughed. Gwen had come late, and had to have it explained – but she pushed them to new heights of hilarity when she demanded the same spells for her dress. "Friends don't let friends go commando," she had said, deadpan, "at least, not by themselves."

When it came to those explanations, though, Gwen had done an excellent job. As they had walked up the gravel path to the immense castle – Sarah's heart had been pounding – she had kept up the steady stream of serious talk.

"Remember, don't eat anything, don't drink anything, and for the love of all the powers, don't go away with anyone. If you stay by us, you should be fine, but just in case, run any lordling by us first, OK? Or lady. Oh, don't look at me like that!" Gwen grinned. "If you had wanted to be bored, you could have gone to the library ice cream social."

Sylvie had started the whole thing, by inviting Sarah to the ball. They had met in a production of, predictably enough, A Midsummer Night's Dream. Sylvie had danced the part of a wood nymph, graceful and increasingly curious about Sarah, who was stuck playing Mustardseed.

It was only after a few miscommunications that Sarah realized the truth: Sylvie was a wood nymph for real. A sylph, technically. And her friends Gwen and Diana were respectively the daughter of a Selkie ("she left me with my Da, the silly bint"), and an elf.

And all of the wary glances thrown Sarah's way in high school, and through college so far – all of the loneliness and sighing on her own part – suddenly made sense.

"Love, the magic you're putting out would put 'em all off," Gwen had explained.

Sarah had told them all about her loneliness, and her sadness, and they had nodded judiciously. Still, as Sylvie had gently said, all the sorrow in the world didn't excuse her reams of shitty emo poetry.

At the ball, they had crowded into a corner to watch the higher-ranking attendees glide down the stairs. It was like the Oscars, the Emmys, and the prom, all rolled into one – and even if Gwen hadn't been warning her nonstop, Sarah would have been too excited to eat a single bite. She clutched at the damp lace glove in her hand. Sylvie had explained the custom, and had given them all a spare, so they wouldn't get tricked.

"If there's only one favor involved – a ring, or a kerchief, or a Gucci handbag, or whatever – well that's a kind of "Mine, so don't touch" mark – so you can look, but can't ask them to dance or anything. Unless the giver says you can." Her friend's voice had been judicious. "But if each of them has a favor, then they're mates, so don't go there. Don't even give them a second look, if you want to keep your eyes in your head."

Sarah had wondered if her friend was pulling her leg, but Sylvie looked serious. "Just keep that glove close, and obvious. Nobody will know that you don't belong to anyone, and they'll be careful around you."

"Thanks, Mom," Diana sighed.

Sylvie had glared – "You're not helping!" – and Diana had said, exasperated, "For crying out loud, it's just a game!" – and Gwen had stepped in to make peace, as usual.

"It is kind of a game, but serious at the same time." She squeezed Sarah's hand, reassuring. "Like a lot of stuff here. Just stay close, and let us know about anything freaky, and you'll be fine. And oh my god, Perfect Parsifal finally gave it up to the Lady of the Lake – check it out!" She wolf-whistled.

Diana had looked, and then snickered, "Is that – kelp?"

"At least she didn't give him Nessie on a leash."

Her friends pointed out favors to Sarah. Matching the honoree to those honoring formed half the fun of watching lords and ladies pour into the ballroom, shining with magic, leaving her breathless at their beauty.

The last of those staring at her cleavage only left off when the highest ranks had finished their stately march. Trumpets sounded, and all eyes turned to a tall, dark-haired lord, dressed in darkest purple. He held up a hand in greeting and walked slowly down the steps.

"The King!" Gwen bellowed, "All hail!"

"Hail!" her friends chorused. The noise had reached a fever pitch.

"Damn, look at those shoulder pads," Diana said, standing on tiptoe.

Sarah was taller; she looked over her friend's head. "Where's the Queen?"

Sylvie shrugged. "She's not usually bothered with this business – I mean, if my King jumped anything with two feet and a pulse, I'd chuck him and his favor, too –"

"Don't forget the centaur," Gwen said, winking.

Sarah blushed, "Geez –"… but then her eyes caught a flicker.

She stared.

There, in the King's wake, she saw Jareth.

Sarah held her breath. The Goblin King had paused at the top of the stairs, then started to lope down them – but her eyes watered, and somehow hurt at the sight of his feather cape flickering – at him, almost fading in and out of sight – what –

"Hey." She tapped Gwen's shoulder. "Who's that?"

Even though I know already –

"The King, stupid," Diana said.

"No," Sarah said, stung. "I mean the guy in back of him."

"Last person out is the most powerful, Sarah; how many times do I have to tell you?" Gwen said. "His Majesty looks well – wait – where are you –"

For Sarah had darted away.

Her blood was pounding in her ears – it felt as though she were being swept somewhere, or flying down a zip line. Jareth, her mind chanted, Jareth, Goblin King – I'm here, I'm back, and I didn't need you to get back, and – want to dance with me?

She bit back a breathless laugh. Everything's turning up Sarah, she thought – new friends, and a party that beats any other Valentine's Day shindig hollow, and I might as well ask him, even though he had been the villain of her piece. The memory had never left her, of their dance, even though it had the pulsing quality of a fever dream. But she remembered the expression in his eyes, and his singing to her …

When she had told her friends that something not-quite-human had given her a song, they had exchanged long looks, and nodded. "That would be enough," Gwen had said, wisely, and "What did it look like, exactly?" asked Diana, who had a sketchbook.

Sarah had not described Jareth in too much detail. Somehow, she wanted to keep one secret to herself – now that the big one was out. Hi, Goblin King, she practiced, in her mind, andTurns out your song made me magic – awkward. Or maybe, I found my way here – want to dance with me?

She had not expected it to be difficult to find him, but it was.

He was lurking in a corner beneath the stair, arms crossed – that strange, flickering light – or non-light – surrounding him. She shook off a sudden qualm. Go for it.

"Goblin King, Goblin King …"

It was hilarious – he almost jumped, whirling where he stood.

Sarah laughed, giddy, despite herself. "Jareth – it's me!"

She expected him to stare, brow furrowed. He did, and then his eyes widened in recognition.

But she had not expected him to hiss, in that voice she had never forgotten, "Leave."

Events were fragmented, flashes in her memory, but she could see the fault lines – where they might fit together.

She hadn't left, of course. Instead, she narrowed her eyes, and strongly resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at him. "Yeah, nice to see you, too."

"Is it?" The Goblin King raised a hand and twisted his fingers –

Sarah shook her head, hard, fighting off a wave of dizziness. "Ow – what the hell?" She began to glare at him, but stopped – because his image was blurring and clearing, blurring and clearing with her pulse, almost –

"What – hey!" she snapped. "Whatever magic that is, stop it!"

The strange pulsing stopped; and the Jareth remained there, staring at her.

Sarah glowered back at him.

"How …" he began. Then his lips pressed into a thin line.

"'How,' what? How are you? How have you been?" Sarah said. "How now, brown owl?"

"Barn owl," the Goblin King murmured, and – so quietly, that she could hardly hear, "It really is you."

"Sarah Williams, in the flesh." She grinned.

He did not smile back. Instead, he tilted his head high, regal. "And what do you do here, in the flesh, Sarah Williams? Why have you come to this place?"

And whose fault had it been, anyway? Not her friends, who had only meant well. Not the worlds of Over and Underground, who had no hand in time's unfolding.

The whole story crowded onto the tip of her tongue, but – play it cool, her mind said, excitedly. It's him, it's really him, and he's gorgeous–

Well, maybe he was wrapped in a veil of flickering light and non-light that made her squint, but gorgeous anyway.

"Why?" Sarah shrugged. "Change of scene. Nice party. That, and I thought I'd ask you to dance with me."

"You came all this way," Jareth said, softly, "all these many hours, and miles, and kingdoms and worlds – to ask me for dance?"

His words lingered on the air.

"And what if I did?" Sarah refused to back down.

"You might have saved yourself the trouble of such travel. You only ever needed to wish."

"Yeah, but I learned my lesson about wishing a long time ago. So," Sarah tipped up her chin. "Surprised?"

Finally, the Goblin King smiled. He had done so in a ballroom, long ago …

"Enchanted."

But he hadn't smiled like that.

Most days, she was split between blaming herself, for not knowing the rules, and blaming him, for being who – or what – he was.

"You are quite sure you wish to dance, Lady Williams?"

The Goblin King sounded genuinely curious, but ... Sarah squinted. Shadows lay oddly on his skin, skewing away and wrapping closer at the same time. The way they fell on his cloak almost made the feathers writhe, and the way they pooled and dripped to the floor made her feel queasy – and that was no way to feel, on the verge of a dreamed-of dance …

"It's Sarah, and yeah, I'm sure. Just drop whatever that is that's making you go all melty."

"What, this?" Jareth flicked a feather from his cloak; something crackled through the air –

And there he was. Her breath left her in a whoosh.

Whatever magic had shrouded him was gone. The feather cloak was the same – she remembered it, from their confrontation in the topsy-turvy remains of the Escher Room. The hatchet face was the same, gaunt and pale as ivory, though made weird by the flashes of color sweeping up alongside the hawk nose, and over the hooded eyes. And the way those eyes watched her ...

There was the Goblin King she remembered.

In the darkest hours, she was honest with herself. Was anyone to blame? Was it somehow a fault – to crave, to want ? To be in thrall to the whisper of a voice and the brush of feathered cloak? …

"Sarah," he drawled, "what, exactly, is so interesting, that you should stare so?"

"You." Sarah refused to feel self-conscious. "You clean up nice."

"I might say the same of you. It has been quite some time, since we last met, has it not?" The Goblin King's eyes traveled from the silver combs in her hair to the silver slippers on her feet, but then flicked back up to her chest. He raised an eyebrow. "My, how you've grown."

Sarah felt herself flush, and then met his sardonic stare with defiance. "Good to know my friends had it right: mortal or immortal, men are all the same."

He bared his teeth in another … smile? Whatever it was, her skin prickled as it flashed. "Surely not all men here are the same, Sarah – after all, one has been so fortunate as to bestow his favor upon you."

"What, this?" She pulled out the glove, from where most of it was stuffed up her sleeve. "This is nothing."

"Poor man, mortal or immortal, to be made so insignificant." The smile had gone; Jareth's face was schooled into bland politeness.

"No, I mean it really is nothing – it's a fake." She wadded up the glove and tossed it at him. "We got a pack of them at the costume shop, for two ninety-nine."

Unfolding the cheap lace carefully, the Goblin King said, "'We'?"

"My friends and I. You can meet them after we dance."

"Perhaps we had best not." Jareth looked at her, eyes half shut. "For I am not sure you know the significance of a dance, here, Sarah."

"Excuse me, but I am sure that I do. It's whatever you make of it. I don't have a date, and I'm definitely not tied by favor, so it's just for fun. And my friends explained all the rules. Believe it or not, Jareth," and she put her hands on her hips, "even in scary Fairyland, you're allowed to have fun."

"True enough." His expression was still neutral. "I meant, though, that you do not know the significance of a dance with me."

Sarah gave him a challenging grin. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you don't scare me, Goblin King."

He gazed at her, still impassive, holding her glove in his hand. Sarah remembered something – uh-oh –

"And I want that glove back."

He smiled a faint smile. "You would not give me your favor?"

"No," Sarah said, firmly. "I don't want a Goblin King for a pet."

"You're certain?"

"Yep."

Jareth heaved a sigh. "Very well." Then he tossed the glove from one hand to another, and – Sarah gasped – the glove spun and whirled, and a tiny white bird flew away on lace wings.

"Oh, wow …" She stared after the bird for a long moment, before turning back to the Goblin King, bright-eyed and beaming, even in the face of his now condescending smile. "That was amazing."

Jareth blinked, his expression changing, but Sarah didn't notice – remembering, instead, that she had come to the corner of the stairwell with a purpose – a dance …

Sarah stuck out a hand. "C'mon."

When the Goblin King did not move from the stairwell, she laughed. "Come on. I took a year of ballroom since we last – met. I won't embarrass you. Or," and she tilted her head, "are you scared?"

"Not I," Jareth murmured, and he took her hand.

Sarah remembered the ballroom, dazzling in marble and gold, and the dancers in velvet and gossamer whirling round. Last in line, she had walked into a place of illusion and pretense – and she had been warned.

"You dance well."

"Told you so, didn't I?"

"Mm."

"So. Do you come here often?"

"No."

"Anybody special here, for you?"

"No."

"You're not avoiding anyone?"

"No."

"Then why would you be wearing some weird invisibility spell?"

"None of your business."

"And now you've clammed up on me. Does one little dance tire you out so much, Goblin King? Make you forget your manners?"

"Surely not."

"So, surely, you have about two minutes to recover them, because I'm going to introduce you to my friends."

"My manners are always sufficient to my company."

"Like hell – look, people are staring at you. That's how weird you are."

"They are not people, Sarah."

"You know what I mean –"

"And they're staring at us both."

Her friends had warned her, and had told her the stories: a sip from a bad glass, or a glance in a worse - – the smallest favor taken unawares – and body or soul could be lost …

They had never told her a story of someone who lost both.

But, then, she had never asked.

The music lilted to a stop. Sarah curtsied to the Goblin King, noticing, out of the corner of her eye, how wide a space there was around them. Her instincts shivered. Something's wrong…

Setting her jaw, Sarah grabbed his upper arm and strode off the dance floor. To make the introduction, she told herself, ignoring the silence that spread wherever they walked, doing her best to keep from touching the feathered cloak, which smelled strange, and felt even stranger.

No, she had never asked. Instead, she had introduced him to her friends.

And the story had been set, from that point on.

Chapter Text

Sarah bit her lip, watching her friends draw closer together. Gwen was the first to curtsy, and the other two quickly followed suit – but Sylvie almost stepped on the hem of her own dress. Sylvie, who was a ballet dancer, for god's sake. What the hell?

Jareth inclined his head; they straightened, and he bowed. A smile she could not read twitched around the edges of his mouth. His gaze rested on each her friends in turn, and – what was the problem? Gwen was looking determinedly over his shoulder, Sylvie and Diana stared in opposite directions.

None of them would meet his eyes.

Something's wrong. The thought came to her in a flash, but she instantly knew it was true. I've messed up, somehow. Shit, shit shit – what do I do now?

Sarah decided to seize the bull by the horns. "Well," she said, forcefully, "shall I make the introductions, then? Ladies, this is –"

"No!" Sylvie interrupted her, her voice cracking. Then Gwen spoke.

"Thank you, Sarah, but that privilege should be ours."

And now Sarah felt bewildered, and hurt. Gwen's voice was formal, and flat – she still did not look at Jareth, even as she continued, "Your Majesty, honor compels me to name to you myself and my friends. Let it be known then, that I hail from Forest Green, and my companions from Longsword Keep."

Wait – what? Sarah blinked. Only yesterday, Gwen had been going on and on about how Sarah had to meet her brother, in Dun Something-or-other, in Ireland. She had tried to pronounce it, and Diana had said, "Gesundheit," and they had all laughed.

"Forest Green …" Jareth's spoke softly, and gently. "I was not aware that the Lord and Lady of Forest Green had any issue whatsoever."

Her friend's jaw clenched. "I was sent away for fostering. Majesty."

"Ah." And now Jareth sounded amused. What was going on? The Goblin King had plucked a long feather from his cloak; he was tracing its spine with slow strokes, but without looking at it. His eyes glittered with something that made her skin prickle. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that such a fine company should attend my Sarah."

He flicked those eyes towards her; she stared back, indignant, and spluttered, "Excuse me? One little dance does not make me yours, Goblin King."

Jareth's grin could only be described as nasty, she thought, but she was distracted from that flash of sharp and crooked teeth by the sight of her friends all looking … sick? What –

"Sarah, Sarah Sarah –" he purred, and a movement caught her eye. Diana had grabbed Gwen's arm. Diana, she saw … flushed and fiery Diana had turned the color of chalk.

She blinked, disconcerted, then found a target in the Goblin King's smirk. "Leave off the name-calling."

He laughed. "I call you only as I ever have, Sarah – and such a lovely name, too."

"Yeah, whatever," she snorted. "How about you introduce yourself, since my friends have been nothing but polite so far?" Jackass, she thought.

Jareth tilted his head to one side. The smile slowly slipped from his face. "But why would I wish to do that?"

Sarah saw Sylvie flinch; to cover up her worry, she snapped, "Because it's good manners, which, as I've already told you, you seem to lack."

"Ah, Sarah …" His eyes glinted from beneath their lids. "What if your well-mannered friends already know who I am?"

"Oh." She paused. Gwen had said, "Your majesty" – oh. Uh-oh. OK, obviously I broke a big rule. OK. Goblin King 1, Sarah 0. He's just pissed because you're on his turf. Everyone's allowed one social fuck-up per year. Get this over with, and we can get a martini and laugh about it.

"Whoops." Sarah shrugged. "Then I'll just be the dumb human here and wrap it up all informal. I'm Sarah, and these are my friends Gw –"

"Bronwen," Gwen interrupted. "Of Forest Green."

Sarah's jaw dropped.

"And these are the daughters of Longsword Keep, Achren and Morwen."

Jareth bowed again. "A pleasure."

"Sure." Sarah kept her voice high, to cover up the hurt. "So, whatever names you want to pick, this," she made a ta-da gesture with her hands, "is Jareth the Goblin King. And now we're all introduced, and we can go get some wine, or whatever they're calling it these days." She gathered up handfuls of the green dress, blinking hard. Just because you made one little mistake –

The rustling of her skirt sounded loud. Too loud.

Silence had fallen.

Sarah darted a quick look at her friends. They were staring at the Goblin King, who was – oh, shit. "Put that thing away, Jareth!"

He looked up from the crystal, glowing in his cupped hands. Its light shimmered over his face. "Why?"

"You and those crystals, I swear." She strode up next to him, ready to swat at it. "I've only ever seen them when you're about to do something – well, bad." No gift for an ordinary girl, and this little slice, and fear me, love me, echoed through her memory, and Sarah swallowed hard.

"No need to fret." His voice was soft, and he began to roll the orb back and forth, over and under his gloves. Sarah watched, drawn by the effortless motions, and the pearly sheen of his grey silk gloves dappled with moonlight, or starlight, crystal light … beautiful …

She shook her head to clear it, and gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Nice spell. What is it?"

"A mere pause." The Goblin King smiled at her, and it was just as bad as before, not softened at all by the glow of magic. "I thought we might have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

He lifted both eyebrows. "For old times' sake?"

Sarah snorted. "Try again."

Jareth paused, and held the orb up to his chest. Its pale, strange light glimmered over the gold clasp of his feather cloak. "Look at your friends."

Sarah glanced over at them. Then she stared.

They were caught in place, as though by a camera, their emotions showing on their faces clear as day. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. Diana's hand was still gripping Gwen's arm; Sylvie's hands were knotted around each other. Gwen's free arm was raised – her fingers spread wide, as if to ward off a blow.

"What …" She swallowed. "What the hell did you do?"

"What did you do, more like." Jareth let go of the crystal, matter-of-fact. It fell to the marble floor and shattered. Flickers of silvery light shone bravely from the shards, but the rest of the immense hall was plunged into darkness.

The effect on the scene made Sarah's skin crawl. Her friends' faces looked stark, almost like those of statues. Jareth's looked even worse.

"You have no idea, do you?" His voice was kind, almost paternal, but then he smiled once more, and it was the shark-grin of a gargoyle.

Sarah squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I guess I don't know all the rules for this place, Goblin King."

"That much is very true. Which begs the question," and he quirked an eyebrow. "Why did you come here?"

"It's Valentine's Day, and I wanted to go to a party –"

"And you had no other plans? Oh, what a shame."

She flushed at the mockery. "Maybe I just wanted to have fun with my friends."

"Your friends?" Jareth deliberately stepped on a piece of crystal; she heard an awful, grinding crunch. The faint lights flickered. "Do you honestly think your friends will want you here again, after what you just did?"

"What was it, then?" Sarah felt her throat start to close up. "What did I do wrong?"

Another crunch; the lights dimmed even further. "Ah, Sarah …" Jareth had stepped closer. "Such a small thing, such a petty thing, but …"

"But?"

"You told them my name."

"That's it?" Her breath left her, in a huff of disbelief. "Who the hell cares about that?"

The Goblin King's eyes narrowed; he had stopped smiling. "Nobody knows it."

Sarah blinked.

He sketched a mocking reverence with one gloved hand. "Except you."

"Don't forget Hoggle," she sniped.

"I only wish I could." Jareth crossed his arms over his chest. "But perhaps I have not been clear, Sarah. Those who know my name would never be found in this place, for they are of my kingdom, and they will not leave it while they live. They are mine – my vassals, my subjects. Mine to do with as I please."

"So …"

"By telling your friends my true name, you do them an immense disservice. Those who know my name end up in my kingdom, somehow or other, and never leave. And they know it. Thus the fear."

A scuff of his boot across the floor, and a few crystal fragments flew up into the air. Light flashed over her friends' faces, before the shards fell again and vanished into darkness with their shattering.

"The invitation to this insignificant soirée came with the honorific 'Goblin King,' or, I should say, 'G-g-goblin K-k-king.'" He laughed at his own mockery. "A fairy child herald to my dark tower came, not knowing if he would leave again; thus the stammering. But 'Goblin King,' not Jareth. The former is bad enough, for them."

"'Goblin King, Goblin King,'" she whispered, remembering.

"Well, that's not the way it goes," Jareth said, waving a hand in dismissal. "But the point is the same. The King of the Goblins exists to steal their children. The more specific a figure I am, to them, the more likely it is that they – will – slip – one day, and wish a child away, and then in grief, and sorrow, and through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, et cetera, they will do their very best to retrieve the poor thing …"

"And?"

"And fail." Another twist of a smile. "They always do. And that, Sarah, is why I am not invited to their parties very often."

"They look at you like the bogeyman, because –"

"I am the bogeyman." He clapped his hands together, mockingly. "Very good. I am so pleased to see your education has been worth the trouble and expense."

Sarah clenched her teeth. "How often?" she asked, abrupt.

"Beg pardon?"

"How often do you get an invitation?"

His figure, a dim outline in the gloom, had gone still. "I think that none of your business."

"Which means hardly ever, and of course I'm there at the same time," she muttered, to herself. "Great. Fine. Goblin King," and Sarah raised her voice, and dropped into a deep curtsy, "I most humbly apologize for using your highly honored name in polite company. Will you ever forgive me, your Majesty?"

She couldn't straighten without wobbling, but that was the fault of the dress. Besides, he didn't seem to notice. In fact … Sarah felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. It was too dark – she could not see his eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I don't recall saying that you could get up."

"Geez," she rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her stomach had suddenly clenched. "Big etiquette mistake number two. Miss Manners would be ashamed of me." And she swept down into another curtsy, and did her best to stay in place.

With her eyes lowered she could not see him at all – but she could hear the crunch of crystal as he stepped closer. And closer.

Sarah's blood rushed in her ears. It was getting more and more uncomfortable to stay in place. That, and it was almost completely dark, so she could barely see his boots as they stopped just in her line of sight. But there was no way to miss the sensation of his feathered cloak drifting against her skin.

"Well now," and his voice was even lower, but with an edge to it. "What have we here?"

"Someone trying to be polite –" she started, but caught her breath as one silk-clad finger brushed along the back of her neck. "I don't recall saying that you could touch me, Jareth."

"I don't recall asking," he said, still cold. "All the same …" and he tapped the base of her skull. "Up you get."

Sarah hated being ordered around. But she hated the idea of taking the bait for some verbal trap even more. So, "Ugh," she grunted, and straightened, grimacing at the way her knees cracked, and ignoring as best she could the weight of his hand on her neck. She fixed him with a flat look. "So, do you accept my apology?"

He did not reply. Instead, he stared at her, one gloved thumb resting at the base of her throat. This close, Sarah could feel the whisper of his warm breath on her face. She could see his eyes … widening in appraisal, glittering in the dark …

Her own breath caught, as he murmured, "How extraordinary."

"What?"

"You." Jareth tilted his head to one side. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

He sounded almost … curious? Sarah didn't bother to get at his tone; instead, she lifted her chin. "I told you that already, but, again: no, I am not afraid of you." Then she hastened to add, "And you'd better not say something lame like "you will be" or "you'll learn to be."'

"Of course not. And besides," Jareth said, "I rather doubt that you're open to learning new things, at this stage."

Sarah stiffened. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

He smiled that jagged-toothed smile again, but this time his thumb traced her collarbone. The smile widened as she gulped. "Merely that old habits are hard to break. Stubbornness, for example. Or foolhardiness. Speaking of which," and he brushed the hand at her throat down her arm, and coiled his fingers round hers, "will you dance with me again?"

"God, you know how to charm a lady." She rolled her eyes. "No wonder you're so popular at these things."

Jareth did not retort as he drew her closer, but stayed silent and watchful – his own eyes glinting with something she couldn't place.

It was eerie, to dance without music and in such a dim light. Sarah was on the verge of asking him to magic up another crystal, but she thought better of it. And she thought it best not to ask him to sing. Instead, the swish of her green ball gown, and the brush of his feather cloak, along with the click of his boots and the tap of her shoes, made a faint and whispering music out of noise.

It grew darker and darker as they danced away from the glowing shards of crystal littering the floor.

When she looked back over her shoulder, and only saw at a distance the three faint silhouettes of her friends, only visible by means of the magic light, Sarah stiffened, remembering.

"Jareth …" she whispered, stepping closer to him in the pattern of the dance.

There was a pause; his hand at her waist shifted in a minute adjustment. Then she heard his voice, somehow rough. "Yes?"

"My friends …"

"What about them?"

"Why are they – stuck like that?"

"I told you, Sarah …" She felt the words slide across her cheek, warm, and lingering. "This is a mere pause. As soon as I lift the spell, everything will start again where it stopped."

"Oh." Sarah bit her lip.

"Nothing to worry about," Jareth murmured, and she felt his words somehow pull at her skin –

"OK, what was that?" she snapped.

"Ah, curse." His voice was lazy. "You noticed."

"Damn straight. What was it?"

"Just a small bit of persuasion, which you seem to dislike. Along with the glamour to make my person somewhat more appealing, and the geas to prevent you from seeing me or speaking my name in the first place. You've ignored them all, Sarah. Picture my disappointment." He sighed. "Ah, me."

"Yeah, I'm so sorry for you." Sarah narrowed her eyes, squinting into the darkness. "But you can't stop me worrying about my friends. If you do anything to them, Jareth, I'll …"

She paused, trying to think of a decent threat.

"Yes?" The Goblin King's voice sounded amused. "You'll what?"

"Spill wine on your pretty cloak, tell everyone that you have bad breath, knock over your castle again, I don't know," she punched him on the shoulder, annoyed at the laughter that she could feel him trying to control. "Or maybe," sudden inspiration hit, "I'll french kiss some guy as soon as we get back; right in front of your glittery nose. How would you like that?"

"I fail to see how are the Gauls are germane to that course of action." Jareth stepped to one side, neatly, and spun her in a circle. "And why do you imagine I would care?"

Sarah tried to ignore how his words stung. "If you're like every other mouth-breather that my friends and I have run into at parties, you'd care. Believe me," and she deliberately stepped closer, and guessed where his face was, in the darkness. She aimed her whisper at his ear. "You'd care …"

Jareth was silent. She felt his grip at her waist tighten.

They danced through a few more passes, saying nothing. She couldn't see anything at all – even the glimmer of light from the crystal shards was now a distant speck. Sarah frowned, and then tugged at his hand. "My turn to lead."

"I think not."

"Actually, I think so, Jareth." She pushed at his shoulder. "We're too far away from my friends."

"Your friends, your fine friends, your precious little friends …" Jareth's voice slinked over her ears. "What have they done, to make you so fiercely loyal to them? If all it takes is a party invitation, you might recall that I gave you one, first."

"Yeah, but their invite wasn't spiked." Sarah focused on leading them back towards the light. "Besides, they explained – well, it's a long story, but I met them at school, and before then, people seemed to hate me – but from the beginning, they didn't."

"Ah."

"They're talented," she held his hand tighter, her fingers digging into the silk of his glove, "they're nice, and yes, they did bring me to this – party, thing, whatever, but they wanted to show me a bit of life Underground. Gwen says she wants to figure me out."

"Does she?" Jareth sounded thoughtful. "I take it you haven't told them about the Labyrinth."

"No." Sarah squinted down at her feet; it was hard to steer, when she couldn't see anything. But the pitch black was gradually shading to grey, and her slippers glinted silver up at her. "I thought that I should save that 'til we're drunk, or something. I mean," and she shrugged, "it's a bit of a weird story."

"True, quite true. But surely your friends would be interested by the tale. Gwen, and – and who, Sarah dear?"

"Sylvie and Diana, and don't call me –"

Her breath caught in her throat, as she realized – oh no –

All of a sudden, the crystal shards winked out.

Sarah stopped in her tracks. There was no light – she could not see her friends, and she could not see him.

"Ah …" The Goblin King's voice slithered out of the dark. "You didn't mean to say that, did you?" A pause, then, soft and dripping with malice: "Whoops."

"No, Jareth –" She tore her hand free of his – I can't see – and stepped in the opposite direction, heart hammering. "Jareth, if you do anything to them, I'll –"

"You'll what?" A derisive laugh. "Call up Higgle and those other mangy beasts of yours and tear down my castle a second time? If you could find it again, which I sincerely doubt, perhaps you would stroll through the gardens first?"

A rustle – was that his cloak? Sarah backed away further.

"The statuary is very fine – and my three most recent acquisitions will be particularly pretty things. A sylph, an elf, and what looks like a Selkie child – quite charming, if I say so myself."

"You …" Sarah felt horror clutch her stomach. "You can't do that."

"Oh, I certainly can," he crooned, gloating. "Not one of ten thousand calls me by my name, Sarah, for fear. They fear that if they know my true name, so I will know their true names, and I will call to them," his voice dropped to a silken whisper, "call to them in the night, when there is no moon, or when the Hunt rides, or when we all dance at Midsummer's Eve …"

Another faint sound, and then his voice was closer, still whispering, "Your Gwen, and Sylvie, and Diana – fair ladies three … I will call to them, and they will find their way to me, and no one who loves them will ever see them again …"

Sarah angrily dashed her hand over her eyes. My fault. My stupid fault –

The voice paused. "But you would not have it so?"

"No!" she shouted; her voice echoed through the blackness of the ballroom. "Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am?"

Another pause. "A powerful one, obviously. The fear in your friends' faces – some was for me, but a good deal of it, at the end, was for you. To speak so casually to the Child Stealer. To invite him to dance – tsk."

"I told you," Sarah gritted her teeth, "I had no idea that you were such an awful person, your Majesty."

"Well, I am not a person, per se – but I suppose I am rather awful."

For a long moment, Sarah heard nothing but the blood thumping in her ears – but then she heard a faint pop, and a hiss. She smelled a strange scent as soon as she saw a magical light glimmer, then begin to glow.

The magic spilled over his gloves, and to the floor, illuminating the Goblin King as he gazed at her. Jareth's face was stark, inhuman – a study in light and shadow. Darkness licked between the feathers of his cloak, and caught at the three crystals that he was lazily passing between his hands.

He must have heard her stop breathing, for a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, and he flicked his eyes down to the crystals. "Awful, and terrible, and a poorly behaved party guest. Some days, I am ashamed of myself."

Jareth was quiet for a moment. Then her skin prickled at the sound of his laugh, as soft and sly as his voice. "But most days I try to turn such lamentable truths to my advantage."

Sarah tried to swallow. "Really."

"Yes." He turned his head to the side – crystal light crackled along the edge of his jaw. "For I am awful, and terrible, the Goblin King, the Child Stealer, the Taker of Souls … but, Sarah, you still don't seem to be afraid of me."

It was hard to speak. "I think I'm getting there."

"Well, no, for you see, your heart is hammering at such a wild pace for your friends' sake. Were we the only two concerned, I daresay you would be mildly exasperated, and nothing more."

Sarah inhaled. "Then make it just you and me. Whatever issues," she stumbled, "whatever's going on in that twisted mind of yours, between us – leave my friends out of it. They were just here for a party. They've – they've done nothing wrong."

"Is that so?" Jareth spun the crystals round and round, loop after loop after loop, until Sarah felt dizzy. "Let me ask you, then …"

And one of the crystals stopped. He was holding it still – holding it out to her …

The memory flared to life: Fear me, love me … Sarah looked from the crystal to his face.

"What are your friends worth to you, Sarah?"

His expression made her blood go cold. "What?"

"Your friends." He twirled the crystal in his fingers. "What will you give me for them?" Jareth watched the orb go back and forth, from his palm to the back of his glove, back and forth, and he smiled at his own skill. "After all, they would make such a pretty set. 'The Three Graces,' perhaps, or 'The Three Who Really Should Have Known Better,' or –"

"Stop it," she whispered.

The Goblin King looked at her, eyes glinting beneath their lids. The crystal kept spinning; its fellows lay dormant in his other hand. "Why?"

"Because," Sarah swallowed, "because I –"

Jareth waited. His gaze flickered, as she took a careful step forward – and then his eyes tracked her every move, as she closed the remaining space between them.

"Because you … what?" His voice, low as it was, mocked her.

"Because I asked you to." She paused. "Please."

Jareth's eyes widened, and he began to sneer –

– but before he could retort, Sarah kissed him.

She felt him inhale sharply, through his nose, even as he went completely still. Wait – what's wrong? What did I do?

She stepped closer, just a bit, but he did not move. She touched his hand, where he still gripped the crystal tightly – and he didn't move. Sarah reached out questing fingers to the feathers of his cloak, and then jerked her hand back when she felt the snap of something like static electricity.

He still hadn't moved. It was like kissing a statue.

Why isn't he doing something? Sarah gave up. She broke the kiss and stepped away, clenching her teeth so they wouldn't chatter. Her lips were tingling, but if he wasn't even interested enough to kiss back –

"There," she gritted out, staring at the floor and crossing her arms over her chest. "Is that good enough for you?"

Silence.

Sarah waited, then darted a glance up at his face. The Goblin King looked – and she frowned. Confused? Surprised? Not even those – more like … dazed? Although really, he doesn't seem the type …

He let the crystal in his left hand drop. Sarah winced, but the expected shatter did not occur; a flurry of iridescent dust floated away instead.

Jareth touched his fingers to his lips, still looking shell-shocked.

"Um," she started. "Jareth?"

No response.

"Jareth? Say something."

He was staring at the floor, just like she had been. "You kissed me."

No shit, Sherlock. "For one of my friends, yes. But mostly because I wanted you to shut up."

He hardly seemed to hear her, muttering, instead, as he stared, "I had thought – your firstborn child, or your vow never to return, your tears or your heartbreak or the heart of your first true love, but – you kissed me."

The words made her skin crawl, but she stood her ground. "Yeah," and damn it, her mouth still had the ghost-imprint of his on it, tingling with something she had never tasted. She tentatively licked at her lower lip, and almost jumped as she saw his eyes pin her in place.

"You're not afraid of me," he rasped.

Sarah pressed her lips into a line, and shook her head.

"No, of course not," he whispered, still staring, and then ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth. She swallowed hard. Jareth saw it, and his eyes gleamed. "A kiss for your friend – three kisses," he said, his voice suddenly thick, "for your three friends."

Sarah blinked, and like that, he was standing right in front of her – too close – she gulped, and backed up a few steps. His eyes burned into hers, and she saw the feathers of his cloak move with his quickening breath. "Three."

"Two," she squeaked.

The Goblin King's eyes narrowed. "That first one didn't count."

"Oh, yes it did."

"How was I supposed to know –" he flung out his arms, only just keeping hold of the crystals in his right hand; his cloak flared out in a grey and white arc. "How was I supposed to know what you would do? No one kisses me – no one –"

Jareth stopped short, and glowered at her. "Three."

"No." Sarah raised her chin. "You get two more – but," she hurried on, as his look turned savage, "you could try making them last longer."

He stared at her, for another long moment, and then brought his right hand up, in a jerky motion. The crystals were shining with an almost painful light. Jareth looked at them, then back at her.

"Take these."

Sarah was too surprised to protest as he dropped the crystals into her hands. Almost immediately, her wrists sent up a twinge – the orbs were heavier than any bauble had any right to be, and they were so cold that they burned. Wait – were they actually cold? Or hot? Or something different, something –

"Magic," she whispered, feeling her hands go numb.

"Yes." Jareth's voice was rough. Sarah blinked, focusing back on him; and she swallowed, as she saw that he was removing his gloves. His hands were shaking – that's why it's taking so long – and he caught her look of surprise, and glared.

"Take these, too," he ordered, holding out the gloves.

"I'm not your butler," she snapped.

The Goblin King's eyes flashed, and his lips drew back into a sneer, and then the crystal light flickering over those teeth set off an instinct she didn't know she had. Oh god you're prey get away get away –

Jareth must have seen her blanch, because his sneer curled into a grin. He whispered, "Won't you please take them, Sarah?" while edging close, then closer, and she stumbled backwards, but shit – she hit a pillar, and that was it, because he had crowded into her personal space. "Please, do me this tiny favor?"

"It's just," she choked, "I don't have a free hand." And she held up the crystals.

"Ah, of course. Then permit me this liberty …" And his hands slipped behind her, brushing her arms – his hands are warm, her mind reported, stupid with surprise – and he must have pulled out at least three crossings of the silver laces, because her bodice sagged in front before she gasped out, "Hey, stop that –"

He slid his hands back to the front of her dress, then trailed them over the green satin, just grazing her décolletage. "Yes?"

"What, exactly, are you doing?"

"This." His eyes held hers as he smiled, so that she almost didn't notice his long fingers carefully tucking his gloves down her bodice. "Keep those warm for me, would you?"

"Sure," and her voice squeaked again, damn it. Sarah cleared her throat. "But only if you do something about these." She held up the crystals. "They're making my hands hurt."

"Forgive me," he whispered. "I would not harm you for the world ..." Jareth moved his fingers over her shoulders, down her arms, over the tracery of vein and tendon, and then slipped them round the crystals.

It was the sensation of blood surging back to her fingertips that was making her gasp for breath, she told herself; nothing more. "But my friends." Sarah gulped. "You'd harm my friends –"

"Never."

She heard a clink; he had carefully placed a crystal on the floor. The other he kept in his right hand. Its glimmer lit his face – so close – and overwhelmed her once more with that roaring rush of other and not human and my god what is he?

I'm not afraid, Sarah told herself, fiercely. "The way you were talking before, Jareth. Turning them into statues, and keeping them prisoner, and – oh –"

The words caught in her throat as he cupped her face with his free hand. "Never," he breathed. "I will never harm them, for you kissed me for their sake – Sarah –" The Goblin King's eyes burned, feverish. "Let me – will you –"

She watched, astonished, as he closed his eyes – and then she had to close her own as he tipped her face to meet his, and kissed her.

Sarah heard a strangled sound – oh, that was me – and her mind tried, and failed, to deal with the onslaught from her senses – the press of his lips and the warm flick of his tongue and then the liquid heat of his mouth, the rasp of each breath in his throat and chest, and then it was a matter of seconds before she was grabbing at him, desperately.

She was so focused on the taste of him, on the lean strength of his body pressing closer, and on the hungry sounds of his mouth on hers, that she hardly noticed – oh – his hand sliding from her jaw down to her bare shoulder and then down her arm – but then Sarah gasped at the sensation of his fingers digging into her skin, because he had grabbed her wrist – wait, what the hell –

The Goblin King brought his hands together, with the one of hers pressed between them – pressed between them and the crystal, because he was still holding it. But then he began to murmur something into her mouth; she felt the pulse of his words over her tongue, even as he twined his fingers together …

A sudden heat spiked into her hand, making her yelp and yank her head backwards. She felt her skull hit the pillar with a thunk, but even that could not distract from the light pulsing between them. Sarah knew her eyes were huge – she looked up at Jareth, anyway.

She shivered, despite herself, as he stared back at her, one pupil pinprick-small in the blaze of light, and the other fixed.

One corner of his mouth tugged up. Jareth lifted her hand, twined with both of his, to the level of her eyes. He tilted his head, and she could practically hear the memory of him murmuring, coy, It's a crystal, nothing more … but the crystal had vanished, and her fingers were practically glowing in the dark. Sarah stared at him in consternation. His smile deepened, and he brought her hand to his lips, and kissed it.

OK, she thought, fuzzily. Now might be a good time to stop.

"That's three," she mumbled, "– three kisses." Sarah tried to pull her hand away. "You only get three. Show's over."

Then the Goblin King flicked his tongue over her knuckles, and her stomach lurched. "No …" he whispered. "You did say that I could try to make them last longer."

"Yes, but I didn't –"

"You didn't mean it?" and he laughed, breathlessly. No, Sarah fought for words, and that's not what I was going to say, but Jareth had caught at her waist with both hands, leaving her own to fall against his chest. "Kiss me again."

"But you only get –"

"Sarah," and her name vibrated against her skin, where he had shoved his face into the crook of her neck, breathing hard. "Let me kiss you – I – please –"

It was the please that did it. Sarah slung an arm around his neck and fisted her hands in his cloak. Something crackled through her fingers; she whimpered at the shock, but only until he dragged his lips away from her skin and found her mouth.

Oh ... Sarah only dimly registered his hands clutching her back, fingers pulling at her dress and then digging into her skin, as she threw herself into the kiss. She felt the click of their teeth before she tilted her head at a better angle to thrust her tongue into his mouth, harder and deeper; he growled as she pressed closer, clinging to him, and the kiss somehow turned even more ferocious. I can't even think – this is a dream. Her mind refused to work, except to realize that this was a dream, it had to be a dream, because nothing in reality could ever equal this, no matter what Gwen said …

Gwen …

Ohshit I almost forgot –

Sarah broke the kiss and leaned her head against the pillar again, sucking in air. "Jareth." Her voice was thick; thinking felt like wading through molasses. She ran her hands across his shoulders as he bent his head to the swell of her breasts; Sarah shivered as he kissed her there. She twisted her fingers into his hair and tugged. "Jareth."

"Yes?"

Sarah almost laughed, despite herself, because he sounded drunk. "Could you just – give me a minute, please?" She released his hair and let one leg fall from where it had twined around him. How did that happen? "I need to – think. About something."

For a long moment he stayed where he was, but then he murmured, "Very well," and stepped back. Sarah blinked. She had half expected to have to struggle, and plead, but there he was, a good arm's-length away, running one hand through his pale hair and looking disoriented.

It was too good to be true, of course. She swore as she straightened, and her dress began to fall off. "You – did you get all of the laces?"

He wasn't too disoriented to smirk. "I'm afraid so."

"Great," Sarah fumed. "Well, since you untied them, you can retie them." She held her dress together by making a fist in the material behind her back, with her left hand, not her right. Her right hand throbbed, strangely. "It took Diana forever, so I'm sure as hell not doing it."

Jareth had flicked her a glance, at her friend's name; his eyes widened as he caught her glare. "And don't think that I've forgotten, Goblin King. You've had your three kisses, so now you have to put things back the way they were."

"Are you sure, Sarah?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Because," and he caught a fall of his cloak in one hand, and ran his fingers through the feathers, "in the first place, I believe I only had two kisses. In the second place, and if I remember correctly, your friends were standing frozen in fear." The Goblin King's voice was low. "You were on a surprisingly intimate footing with the Child Stealer before, and now … Now, they will have all the more reason to fear you …"

"Wait," Sarah began, but he spoke over her.

"Can you imagine the reaction?" Jareth laughed, and turned on one heel. He caught sight of the last crystal on the ground and snatched it up; its light threw the planes and angles of his face into harsh relief. "The news spreading like a fire, and your friends in the thick of it: the Goblin King has a Queen, the Child Stealer has a partner in crime –" his eyes blazed, "the Taker of Souls has a mate." Jareth threw the crystal high, and caught it again, laughing. "Can you imagine?"

Queen – partner – mate – Her mind refused to process the words. "Jareth," Sarah said, slowly, carefully, "I – I think you're assuming that I –"

"– will stay." The Goblin King nodded. He looked almost insane; Sarah recoiled. "You will stay with me – you know me, you know what I am, and yet you kissed me. You embraced me. You held me close to you … Ah, Sarah …" He stared, then smiled, and the sight made her blood freeze. "I had banished even the thought of love from my world –"

"No," she choked out, in a high-pitched voice.

"– but Sarah, my Sarah, with you I will lack for nothing, and I will give you everything …" He slowed, catching sight of her expression, and his brow creased. "What is it?"

She was dimly aware of the fact that she was trembling, but all of her being was focused on the terrible light in his eyes, willing him to understand her words. "Jareth …" she whispered. "I – I want to go home. I want to go back with my friends."

"You do, do you?" He grinned at her, his teeth showing jagged and sharp. "Then you should not have taken my ring."

Ring? Sarah fixed on the memory; his pressing the crystal against her palm and squeezing with both his hands until the heat turned into an agonizing point – She held her right hand up to the light and stared, her heart pounding.

"Explain to me," she said, keeping her voice calm. "I see what looks like a second-degree burn, but I don't see a ring."

Jareth stared at her hand, then strode over to her and grabbed it. The pain made tears spring to her eyes. He looked at her palm, then twisted her wrist to look at the backs of her fingers. Then he snarled something vicious, but the language was none she could understand, even if she were trying to grasp it rather than trying to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks.Too late, Sarah thought, as he pressed his thumb into the burn; she sucked in a breath and let her chin drop to her chest.

"The glamour, the geas, the spell of binding: all of it, failing," Jareth spat. "How have you done this?"

"No power over me," Sarah offered, weakly, and felt rather than saw him turn.

"Wait …" He placed a finger and thumb on her chin, and tilted her head up – only to gaze into her eyes, his own frowning. "Why –"

Sarah felt a tear fall. Jareth blinked. "Why do you weep?"

"Are you kidding?" Her voice cracked. "You hurt me, you bastard!"

A look of consternation spread over his face. "How can this hurt you? You have power, Sarah, a very great power – how can this –"

"I don't know," she gulped. "But it does."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "Well, you were the one to resist the magic." He leaned in, and kissed away the tear; she felt her stomach churn. "And all you need is some moss from the oldest tree in the Labyrinth, and it will heal itself in no time at all."

Sarah tried not to hyperventilate. Her head throbbed in time with her hand. "Jareth, I am not staying with you."

"But you are, Sarah." His voice was as soft as silk. "My Sarah … you knew. You knew who I was – you knew what I was, and yet you kissed me." She stared into his eyes, mismatched, glittering with magic, gazing back into her own ... "You knew my true name, and yet you kissed me. Sarah … you have my name, and I have yours …" He kissed her cheek again, and whispered, in her ear, "You cannot have thought that I would ever let you go …"

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. I won't break down, I won't give him the satisfaction. But he wouldn't be satisfied, just puzzled by the fact that she wasn't jumping for joy at the prospect of being kidnapped and imprisoned and – her mind stuttered with the memory of the kiss – I won't let this happen. Besides, he –

Oh.

"Jareth," she croaked. "You're forgetting something important."

"Am I?"

"Yes." Sarah pushed him away. He frowned at her, as she raised her burned hand to wipe the tears from her face. "You have no power over me – so your spells won't work. You made the rest of this party disappear," she tipped her chin at the surrounding darkness, "but you can't move me anywhere."

The crystal he was holding flickered; she just barely glimpsed his jaw tightening. She continued. "I'm not going to the Labyrinth with you, and unless you return me to my friends, I'm just going to stay here."

"Forever?" he asked, his upper lip curling.

"Not long at all. Just until I go crazy." I think I'm well on the way already. "Or die of thirst."

Jareth's voice was rough. "I would bring you water."

"Well, I wouldn't drink it. And my will is as strong as yours, remember."

He was silent.

Sarah scrubbed at her eyes again, wincing at the pain in her hand. "And – and would you want that? If you – love me," she stammered the words, "would you want me to suffer and die?" It hurt too much to continue with her right hand, so she brought her left out from behind her back, to tuck her tangled hair behind her ears. She heard a rustle, and shivered, because it was suddenly cold. "Is that what you think love is?"

Jareth was still silent – but it was different, somehow – oh. The rasp of his breathing had stopped.

Sarah blinked, and looked at him.

He was staring at her. And his eyes were glittering with … she gulped. Desire, hunger … greed? What was the right way of – oh – she shuddered. Why is it so cold?

And then she realized why. And why the Goblin King wasn't staring at her face, anymore.

Sarah scrambled to pull her dress back up, even as she felt her cheeks turn scarlet. Her right hand throbbed, and her left fumbled with the slippery satin. Both were shaking so much that she lost the tenuous grip she had and the material slid down further.

Choking back a cry, she dropped to her knees and scrabbled for the dress. A silver ornament dropped from its braid onto the floor, and with a flash of inspiration, she bent her head so that a fall of dark brown hair covered her breasts. With her eyes lowered, and as she caught at the fabric with her good hand, she could not see him at all. But –

Sarah froze where she crouched, her pulse thumping in her ears. She could hardly hear his footsteps – he was treading softly, as a great cat might when stalking its prey … She squeezed her eyes shut, hunching her shoulders, but there was no way to miss the sensation of his feathered cloak drifting against her skin.

"Well now," and his voice was like velvet. "What have we here?"

She winced in anticipation, and then shivered at the sensation of his hand drifting over her hair. "Does this seem familiar to you, Sarah? Because it seems to me as though we're retracing our steps – with, of course, one enticing variation …" He traced a finger through her hair, parting it, and brushed along the line of her neck.

Then he laid his bare palm on her back, in a gentle caress.

Sarah flinched, and he laughed, quietly, his breath warm over her skin. "How lovely you are like this, my Sarah. And yet …" he mused. "And yet, there is something less pleasing about it …"

She swallowed. "And what might that be?"

"You are afraid of me, now, when you were not before." The Goblin King drew his hand away, one finger at a time, and sighed. "Such a pity."

It's true. She clenched her jaw. He's right. I am afraid.

He began walking around her, circling, as silent as an owl in flight, except for the smallest scrape of his footsteps. It was strangely intimate, in a fearful way, to know that he was devouring her with his gaze, but that her will was as strong as his, her kingdom as great, and that –

You have no power over me, she thought, and suddenly, and with frightening clarity, she saw a way of escape.

"Well," she said in a level voice; the footsteps stopped. "Maybe I was … hesitating, for a moment."

"Hesitating?" Jareth drawled.

"Yes." Sarah fisted both hands in the dress, and pulled it back up to cover herself. Then she straightened her shoulders, and raised her head high, to stare at him as proudly as she could from the disadvantage of kneeling.

He was smiling that twisted half-smile, but she had seen the look burning in his eyes before the disdainful mask had slammed into place. "Yes, hesitating. You see, I want to negotiate, and you're not giving me much to start with."

The Goblin King tossed the one remaining crystal back and forth between his hands. "I do see. Well, what have you to say?"

"May I get up, please?"

"No." He smirked.

Sarah rolled her eyes; and caught the spark of feral delight that flashed in his. "Fine. Goblin King, I wish to negotiate the terms of my return to my friends, and to my world."

"No," he murmured, staring into the crystal. "I want you to stay with me."

"I know that, but you also want me alive, don't you?" At his grimace, she continued. "Alive, and healthy, if not happy, and willing to do –"

Sarah paused. Watching her narrowly, Jareth raised an eyebrow. "'Willing to do' … what?"

Here goes nothing. She returned his stare, for a long moment. Then she caught at her hair with her good hand and combed it forward, making sure that he could see the back of her neck, vulnerable and pale. "Depends," she murmured, turning her head to the side and staring down. Pretend to be afraid. Just a bit. Just a tiny bit – not too much. "What do you want?" Look at me, Child Stealer, I'm all alone and afraid. Take the bait.

"Besides you with me, forever?" He voice was rough; she stiffened, despite herself. "I might have to consider it further."

"Do you want your gloves back?" She made her own voice low. "We could start with that. Because I'm not keeping them, you know."

The grey scraps of silk had fallen down the front of her dress in the confusion. Sarah steeled herself, then looked up at Jareth, smiled deliberately, and slid the heavy satin up her legs. She plucked the gloves from where they had ended up, pressed together between her thighs.

Then she flicked her gaze back to him – he was staring at her, his eyes wide and his nostrils flared.

"Well?" Sarah held the gloves out to the Goblin King.

Jareth's eyes held hers, as he stepped forward and took the gloves with his free hand, his fingers lingering. Sarah could only watch, pulse thumping in her ears, as he brought the silk to his lips, and then – oh god – casually sniffed. Her face burned. He had better not be able to – oh, the unmitigated bastard. For he smiled at her in return, knowingly, and tucked the gloves away somewhere within his cloak.

That doesn't change anything, Sarah told herself, fiercely. "So," she said. Her voice sounded brittle, and his smile widened. "That was a good-faith offer. Now you have to hear my terms."

"With pleasure." Jareth cupped the crystal in both hands, and inclined his head.

"OK. First, I want you to reorder time. I don't want anybody to know about our – connection, including my friends. I want them to forget, you understand?" He said nothing; she soldiered on. "And I want you to promise me that you'll leave them alone. Forever."

The Goblin King heard her out. Then he arched his eyebrows. "That's all?"

Sarah stumbled over the words, in her haste. "And I want to go back to them, and return to my world, without fearing that you'll try and kidnap me. You have no power over me, remember? But –" and she looked around the gloom of the spell, and didn't need to pretend nervousness. "I don't have a way of getting out of here. At least, not yet."

"I see." He glanced at the crystal. "And what do you offer me in return?"

She held the dress closer. "That third kiss that you wanted."

"And that's all?"

Sarah was silent, trying her best not to shiver.

Jareth watched her, narrowly, for a moment, and then laughed, haughty and cold. "How absurd. You ask me to sacrifice you forever, and for a kiss – really, Sarah, perhaps I have become spoiled after two in the last half hour … but I do not see how this is a fair exchange."

She closed her eyes, tiredly. "Who said anything about sacrificing me forever?"

The Goblin King was silent.

"Really," and she swallowed. "That seems to be a problem with all you epic evil types. You threaten me, and hurt me, and do your best to bully me into giving you what you want – but did it ever occur to you just to ask?"

Sarah opened her eyes again, only to see him gazing at her as though he had never seen her before. "Ask?" and his voice sounded like it had when she had first kissed him – confused. Disbelieving.

"Yes, ask."

"Will you come back to the Labyrinth?"

"No."

"Will you be my Queen?"

"No!"

Jareth hissed. "You tell me to ask, but it appears futile, Sarah."

"Look, Jareth …" Sarah bit her lip. "I just came here to go to party, for Valentine's Day. I'm twenty-two years old, and I – I just found my own apartment." She made her voice soft, and pleading. "I've only just started to have my own life, really … so I don't want to be a queen of anything. Not yet."

Jareth had been frowning, but at her last words, his eyes flashed. "'Not yet,'" he echoed. "How interesting. Do you mean to imply that someday … some fine day in the future, you might wish to be a queen?"

"Maybe."

"My queen?"

Sarah's skin crawled. "Maybe?"

His lips curled. "I'm still not convinced."

"I just need time, Jareth," she quavered, tilting her head down. Sarah adjusted her grip on her dress and pretended not to notice a fold of it slipping. Take the bait. Take the bait. She heard him exhale between his teeth – the hiss of it slithered over her skin, and she didn't have to fake the trembling of her hands as she clutched the satin closer again. Take the bait – Get all hot and bothered, and make a stupid mistake, damn you. "Besides …" and inspiration hit, thank god. "You're asking the wrong questions."

"And what are the right ones?"

"Smaller-scale." She paused. "Like, 'What are you doing tomorrow night?'"

"Tomorrow …" Jareth mused. "Tomorrow, the day of the moon."

"Yeah."

"Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement."

"That's not what I – Jareth," she snapped, as he grinned; was he teasing her? The lunacy of it made her light-headed; her freedom on the line, and he was willfully misinterpreting her words. "Ask me for another day."

"Odin's day," he returned, suddenly serious. His grip on the crystal tightened. "What are you doing in the evening?"

Odin's day?  Sarah blinked, and her mind translated, Wednesday. "Um." She swallowed. Stall. "I think I'm busy."

"Odin's day next, then? I may call on you? In the world over the Underground, at a place of your choosing?"

Now or never. Do it. "Sure." Sarah forced a smile. "So you see, you can come say hello next week Wednesday, and we can take it from there. One step at a time."

The Goblin King looked younger, somehow, despite the shark teeth glinting in his broad grin. "And for that, and a kiss, I return you to your friends, and your happy little life, yes?"

Mutely, Sarah nodded. Please, oh please …

"So be it." Jareth tossed the crystal in the air, laughing, and caught it.

A rush of relief almost caused her physical pain. Sarah gasped, and brought her hand to her mouth, forgetting until she felt its throb that it was the one with the burn. She made sure the dress was drawn tight in her good hand, and then she clambered to her feet.

"Ah, I will forgive you that, my Sarah …" His voice was jovial, but she remembered ice, and I don't recall saying that you could get up.

I'm not afraid of you, Goblin King, she thought, fiercely, but said instead, "Gee, thanks," and smoothed out the crumpled satin of her bodice as best she could. "When can I leave?"

"So soon?"

Sarah looked around at the darkness, and shivered. "The sooner the better."

"Very well," he sighed, and she fought not to flinch as he drew close. "You see, Sarah …" and he tapped the crystal. She squinted, and saw figures dancing. "Here is the ball, and here," he tapped the crystal again, "are your friends. When I cast the spell, time will be reordered, you will return, and none shall remember what has passed. Except you, of course." Jareth smiled into her eyes. "Is this acceptable?"

She nodded.

"Perfect." He twirled the crystal on his fingertips. "Then there is only the small matter of my kiss."

"Right." She leaned back against the pillar. "Only one, and only on the lips, and nothing more than a minute –"

"Ah, my Sarah …" Jareth's smile widened. "The time to specify the nature of this kiss was surely during negotiations. Was it not?"

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face.

No wonder it was such an easy sell. No wonder he seems so happy. Well, if he thinks that I'm going to – her thoughts raced – that I'm going to … oh my god, take the bait, I said, and he did, he did –

"OK, your Majesty, let me explain something to you. No amount of lust, or obsession, or sheer stupidity, will change the fact that a kiss is a kiss, and that a kiss doesn't involve anything more than the lips. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Jareth said over his shoulder, still smiling, as he set the orb down, off to the side. Then – and Sarah froze – he flicked various buttons open, pulled his shirt off from beneath the cloak, and let the fabric fall in a heap to mute the light.

Oh my god, this is bad, this is bad. It was darker, but – not as dark as it was before, her thoughts chanted, beginning to panic. Not as dark, but still dark enough, and what is he going to do?

She told her legs to move, but everything about her was frozen – except for her heartbeat, crashing in her ears.

"Well, well …" The Goblin King stopped in front of her, barely a foot away. "You wouldn't be afraid again, would you, Sarah?

"You know what you look like, leaving feathers on, but no shirt?" she spat. "You look like some sort of – mascot. Like a deranged poultry enthusiast –"

Jareth stepped closer. "Or like poor Icarus, who fled the Labyrinth, but flew too high … Too close to the sun, and then he fell, and fell so far, who was so fair, that all wept to see him bleeding, dying there … Well. All except your Goblin King, of course."

His breath was warm on her face; the heat from his body more pronounced than she remembered. Sarah clutched the dress closer, and bit her lip as he traced a finger over her shoulder, down her arm – then he touched her right hand, in the middle of the burn, and she hissed, "Stop that."

"I'm so terribly sorry," he murmured, not sounding sorry at all. She cursed him, mentally – but then her thoughts ground to a halt as he leaned forward, and gently kissed her hand.

"Jareth," she started, hating the way her voice shook – but he cut in.

"You know better than to try and tell me that was my kiss, Sarah." His voice was amused. "And do you know why I kept this cloak instead of the shirt?"

"No."

And then he leaned close, and she felt his breath, hot, at her ear. "I've seen the way you look at it, and I felt your gasp when you touched it. It has power, Sarah, and so do you … and the two together …"

She waited, her skin crawling. Finally, "… the two together?" she repeated.

"Words fail me." Jareth's voice was rough. "Here …" He licked her ear – she flinched – and then he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, and pressed close to her. Sarah dug the fingers of her left hand into the burn, where her hands were clenched together, just so she wouldn't have to think about the hard length of him hot against her body, or about the way his skin seemed to set hers on fire, wherever they touched …

"You …" the Goblin King rasped, as he moved, slightly. "Sarah, I never –"

"Really? Great, a biology lesson. I said it before, and I'll say it again – you kiss with your mouth, Jareth, and not with your –"

"That's not quite what I meant." He laughed against her skin. "But you'll never bore me, my love."

Sarah felt her stomach drop to her toes. "What do you mean?"

"What – that I find you charming, and fascinating, and scintillating, and –"

"No." She gulped. "You said 'my love.'"

Jareth paused.

She felt him smile against her ear, and then he moved to stare into her eyes. "So I did."

Sarah couldn't look away, with him this close. She saw his eyes gleam in the dark. "Ah, and now you are afraid …"

"Jareth, it's just – it's just that love … love is a big thing, you know."

"Yes, I know." He rested his forehead against hers. "I traffic in pain and heartbreak, selfishness and mockery – but I know what is said about love ... after all," he whispered, "similar things are said about fear."

The Goblin King brushed a kiss over her brow. "Fear me …" He bent to her jaw; another kiss. "Love me …" He stooped to her collarbone. "Do as I say …"

And then he sank to his knees before her, fluid and graceful, and Sarah thought her heart would stop.

"Fear, and love, and obedience – they're much the same, really." His voice was muffled, against the satin crumpled over her stomach. "All a form of slavery."

She didn't trust herself to speak. She could only stare at his shock of hair, pale in the darkness, and then at the muted light from the crystal reflecting in his eyes, as he gazed up at her face.

"Well, my Sarah …" and she saw him tilt his head to one side. "May I kiss you?"

Sarah bit her lip until she tasted blood.

"So silent." He traced her hips, through the fabric, and tapped his long fingers in a slow pattern. "I beg an answer, my Queen."

I'm not – I – She tried, but couldn't speak –

"Precious thing," and his voice was a silken caress. "Let me kiss you …"

He took hold of the fabric of her dress, and tugged, slightly – just enough for Sarah to feel the pull, where she held the material in both hands. She gasped, and stiffened.

If she could see in the dark, she knew her knuckles would be white.

Jareth paused. "Surely you're not afraid of me, precious thing? Kneeling as I am?"

"No," she rasped.

She felt him rest his forehead against her body. "Then let go."

"I – I don't –" Sarah swallowed, hard. "I can't –"

"Shhh," he whispered. "Let go."

She trembled, and she knew that he would feel it, damn it, her shaking like a leaf.

"Sarah … my love …" The Goblin King's whisper was somehow dark, even in the blackness of the spell. "If you wish me to stop, at any point, command me, and I will obey."

Her breath hitched.

"Now – let go."

Sarah closed her eyes tight, and opened her hands; she felt the satin slither down her body as he pulled. He touched a long finger to one of her shins – she wasn't sure which, she couldn't think – oh my god oh my god I can't really be doing this – but she lifted one foot, then the other – her slippers slid off with a clink – oh my god I am doing this – and the Goblin King moved the dress away from where it had caught around her ankles.

He kissed her belly, and flicked his tongue into her navel, and she almost jumped out her skin with the sensation, her eyes flying open – "Jareth," she gasped, and she felt his teeth scrape over her heated flesh, as he traced his tongue lower, and lower. "Jareth – oh my god –"

A blue crackle of static marked the path of the satin as he tossed it to the side; it fell over the crystal, with his shirt, and the dim light vanished completely. So it was only the darkness, and her fingers knotted in his hair, and his hands and mouth and tongue on her, and kisses that made her arch her back, and gasp his name, the name that only she was brave enough to say –

Chapter Text

"Jareth," Sarah murmured. It was somehow quiet, after the noise of the High King's reception –

"What?" Sylvie turned, her plucked eyebrows raised. "What did you say?"

Sarah felt a wave of vertigo. Her knees wobbled, as she looked up and saw the Goblin King, coldly beautiful, gliding down the stairs at the end of the huge hall. Last in line, the place of power, and walking down the steps now – right now, she realized, as he fixed the crowd with a haughty stare.

"Oh –" Sarah said.

"What is it?" Diana was pulling at her sleeve.

"Up there," Sarah gestured, feebly. She didn't need to pretend to feel faint; her head was swimming. "There's something – something's not right ..."

Gwen had turned to listen, and Sylvie was talking to her urgently, pointing. Gwen looked, and then gasped, "Oh bloody hell – quick, everyone," she grabbed Sarah's arm, "get her out of here."

"But what is it?" Diana asked, and, "She's new, from Above," Gwen replied, terse. "They say he can smell 'em." To Diana's unheard question, she hissed, "The Goblin King, idiot, he's here – get her out."

"Quick – the side room!" "Yeah –" "Watch the dress, watch the dress," and before Sarah knew it, her friends had closed ranks and bundled her out of the main hall. A door slammed shut, and she was deposited on a divan.

"Ouf," chirped Sylvie, "that was close."

"Too close." Gwen leaned against the door. "How the bloody hell does he come to be here, anyway? Da says he never gets invited."

"Who?" Sarah croaked, and, "Well, if my aunt is right, then the story goes –" Diana began, and Sarah could tune her out.

She bit her lip, and regretted it immediately, because it was – sore? Sarah blinked. Her lips felt chapped, and cracked in places; her legs felt like rubber, and – and there was a nasty burn on her right hand.

She stared at her reflection, in the mirror opposite the divan. At least her dress was laced again – But why would it have been unlaced?

Someone knocked on the door.

Her friends wheeled, and faced it, Gwen jumping away as though she had been scalded. "Who is it?"

"Could I have a word?" came a familiar voice –

– and that voice was all she needed, for the memories to come flooding back. Sarah stared into the mirror. Her hand hurt because he cast a spell on me, or tried to; her lips were chapped because I kissed him, again and again, and her legs felt weak because I stayed standing up, while he was – oh – her face burned. Standing up, or trying to, until he coiled the fingers of one hand into her upper leg, on one side and urged her to edge it up further, whispering, and then he placed a shoulder beneath her thigh and held her until she balanced and did it to the other and oh my god. Her back felt as though something had rubbed it raw. The pillar had, she thought, and what was he saying now, because something told her it might be important.

Gwen had arranged the other two in front of the divan, and stood between them. She was replying in a monotone to the Goblin King's low and honeyed words. Sarah saw Sylvie's hands, knotted behind her back, and trembling. There was something said about the ball, and the dancing; they each turned him down flat without him even asking, which made Sarah press back a giggle that was half hysteria. But then he said, "Before I take my leave, I believe one of you dropped something."

"A glove. Your Majesty is too kind." Gwen didn't pretend to sound anything but hostile. "But, so sorry, I don't think it belongs to anyone here –"

"Truly?" It sounded as though he was grinning; Sarah peeked in the mirror, which reflected almost all of the room – and yes, he was. The Goblin King looked distorted, in the glass – but the overall effect on her was as though someone had gripped her insides in a red-hot fist, and squeezed. Sarah closed her eyes, and pressed her legs together, tightly. "You see – and pardon me for being, ah, indelicate, Lady …?"

"Bronwen, of Forest Green." The rustle of a curtsy. "And these are my companions, Achren and Morwen, of Longsword Keep." More rustling cloth, and, "There now. Was that so difficult? How do you do," Jareth murmured, politely. "Lady Bronwen, to be frank, this glove's scent matches someone's in this room – someone who might just be behind you, as you can see – right – there?" He indicated the mirror with his chin.

"Ah, yes." Gwen stepped away, and fixed Sarah with an urgent stare. "This is, uh, Lady –"

Sarah blinked at her, and flailed, mentally, until she came up with, "Lady Krystal-Lee. Of, um, the Metropolitan Museum of Art – Park."

"Indeed." Jareth's mouth twitched. "Are you newly arrived Underground, my lady Christallë?"

"That's really none of your business," Diana snapped.

"Ah. And your family are all well, lady – brothers, sisters?"

Gwen cut in. "She doesn't have any."

"Hm." Jareth glanced back and forth at the others, who refused to look at him, and then he shrugged, and bowed. "Lady Christallë, I believe this belongs to you."

He held out the grey silk glove – his own. Sarah stared at it, heavily. Her scent. She blushed, and sweat began to bead on her forehead. Jareth saw it – she saw his eyes glitter, and then his tongue darted out over his upper lip, and good, because she wasn't the only person hot and bothered in the room.

Then she saw her friends; the fear on their faces – and Gwen making a minute motion with her head, side-to-side: No.

"I've never seen that glove before." She set her jaw, and looked away from him. "You have the wrong person."

"Oh, I think I very much have the right person … my lady …" and with his husky voice, she remembered his words whispering hot over her flesh as he licked her – god –

Sarah swallowed, and glanced around. Nobody else was looking at the Goblin King, or at her, for that matter – so she glared up at him. Bite me, she mouthed, but I have, he mouthed back, and tapped his upper thigh.

And, that explained the sore spot there. Shit. She shoo-ed him away, with a flicking gesture; his eyes flared. "You will not accept this small favor, Lady Christallë, as a welcome to the Underground?"

"No, she won't," Sylvie said, suddenly, in a firm voice.

Jareth paused. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw him looking round the group of her friends. As though he were taking their measure …

"No," she agreed, clearing her throat. "Thank you, but I have sufficient favors already."

She carefully smoothed down her dress, and folded her hands, avoiding his gaze. But there was no way of avoiding the quiet sound of the feathers of his cape; rustling as he drew it close. Something tickled – Sarah bit her lip, and darted a glance down – and saw that a small white feather had fallen onto her bodice. Shit – she glared up at him again, shook her head fiercely, and blew the feather away with one quick breath.

Jareth watched it waft to the floor, his face impassive. Then he looked at her, and drew something out of the glove in his hand.

A ribbon – silvery … Sarah stifled a yelp. It was one of her silver laces. He had kept it, the thieving, cheating –

– and the memory uncoiled in her mind, slowly, as slowly as he had drawn her down on top of him, because she had been shaking – quivering, unable to stand even when he had eased her back down, and her bare feet had just started to slip on the floor because of the same sweat that was stinging her eyes and plastering her hair to her shoulders and back, and her throat was sore from crying out … and he had looked up at her, and smiled, slowly, and had drawn her down, down to the floor, and had caged her in his arms …

And then he had feathered a kiss over her cheekbone, and whispered in her ear: "Give me your favor, precious thing …"

Sarah stared at the Goblin King, mute. He was threading the silver lace between his bare fingers –

"Give me your favor, precious thing …"

– and his eyes … the expression kindling in his eyes made her shiver, and look back down again.

She saw the feather blur and vanish with a snap of white-hot fire.

A long moment passed – almost like a spell of silence, stretching …

But then Jareth spoke again, his voice quiet. "Then I will bid you farewell. And I might say to all of you, though, that Lady Christallë has an excellent taste …"

Sarah felt her face flush, and could hear his grin, as he finished: "In friends."

Oh, I am going to murder him for that, she thought, furiously, next week on Wednesday. Her heart pounded. Oh my god, next Wednesday – that's only ten days away.

She hardly heard the Goblin King leave; it was only a bit later, though, that Gwen hurried back with a jar. "The bastard, trying to slip you a favor, and you not a day Underground! Wait til my Da hears about it. And you wouldn't believe what he said to me, leaving," she fumed. "That someone had tried to hook you with a binding spell, and you obviously didn't know it. Here," and she drew out the stopper, and smeared a dollop of cream onto Sarah's right hand. "Does that hurt?"

It did – a strange sting – and Sarah said so. "Son of a bitch, that's a powerful glamour," Gwen breathed. "I can't see a thing. Sarah," and her voice was urgent, "did you eat or drink anything since you came here? Did you take anything, from anyone?"

"No." Sarah was only half listening; it was great, to watch the burn bubble and heal in real time. She carefully avoided thinking about the silver lace … ("Give me your favor, precious thing …")

Sylvie and Diana were defending themselves from Gwen's charges of negligence; Sarah let them fight it out for another moment, and then said, "Guys, whatever happened – it's OK now." She wiggled her fingers. "Nothing hurts anymore." The burn was completely gone.

"But we were just –"

"Looking out for me, I know. That's what friends are for." Even as she spoke, in a cheerful voice, something in Sarah's heart twisted. For all her bravado, she suddenly felt as though she might cry. He had just been here, but only just before that he had had her moaning, gasping, crying out his name … Sarah shuddered. It had all turned out all right, though, hadn't it?Wednesday, she thought. I have until next Wednesday night – I'll figure out something, to get him off my back –

Her mind promptly supplied her with an image of the Goblin King on her back. Sarah sucked in a breath. "Come on." She got up from the divan, and strode to the door. "I want to see the rest of this party." Anything for a distraction.

"Great – let's go," Diana bounced up off her chair, and Sylvie flitted behind her. Gwen closed the jar of ointment, set it down by the divan, and followed, frowning.

"Listen, Sarah," she began.

"It's all right – come on," Sarah coaxed. "Out we go." She urged her friends ahead of her. "I'll keep an eye out."

In more ways than one, she thought – because she would walk out that door, and if Jareth looked for her again, he would see her in the place of power. I'll protect them.

She squared her shoulders, and followed her friends into the ballroom dazzling in marble and gold, with the dancers in velvet and gossamer whirling round. A place of illusion and pretense, of fever dreams and sleepless fantasies. A sip from a bad glass, or a glance in a worse – the smallest favor taken unawares –

and body or soul could be lost …

Last in line, Sarah held her head high, and tried not to look around too obviously – but … there.

There he was. The Goblin King glided through the ballroom, cutting a swathe through courtiers fine and fey, who retreated as gracefully as they could. To Sarah's eye, their bows and curtsies were the only things that made them more than gorgeous mice scurrying to hide from a bird of prey.

Sarah watched could hardly hear Gwen's voice. "I'm really sorry, Sarah – I should have told you –"

"It's fine, Gwen – it doesn't even hurt anymore." She flicked her fingers in and out – easier than speaking, because her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Sarah felt herself sweating; the room was too warm. "It wasn't your fault."

If Gwen replied, Sarah did not notice.

"Not your fault," she whispered, to herself as much as to her friend. For was it somehow a fault – to crave, to want, to be in thrall to the whisper of a voice and the brush of feathered cloak? …

He has your favor, and she shivered at the thought. What does that mean – what if –

She had been warned. And she had still introduced him to her friends. And the story was set, from that point on … the memories splintered in her mind, like flashes of fire.

"Give me your favor," he had said, as he pressed a kiss into her hair, and gripped her upper arms, helping her slide further up on his body, so he could find her mouth and kiss her – and it was almost too much, after everything, and she could only make wordless sounds of want into his mouth …

"You kissed me," he murmured, then caught her mouth again, "You let me kiss you," again, and "Give me your favor –" Then he broke away, breathing heavily, "Give it to me."

"Say 'please'," and shit, she was falling asleep.

A hiss, his breath hot on her lips, and then, " Please."

"Was that so difficul'?" Sarah must have been asleep, for she was able to find one of her silver laces with the precision that comes with dreams … She pressed the lace into his hand, and kissed him back. "There."

Jareth made a strange sound – almost a rasping purr – and held her tightly. "And perhaps on Odin's day next, I may give you  my  favor?"

"No."

"Then someday?"

"Maybe."

"Tonight, when we return?"

"Dream on, Goblin King."

"My love …"

Sarah took a deep, shuddering breath, and opened her eyes.

Her friends had warned her, and had told her the stories: A sip from a bad glass, or a glance in a worse – the smallest favor taken unawares – and body or soul could be lost …

They had never told her a story of someone who lost both.

But, then, she had never asked.

All the more reason to ask Jareth, next Wednesday.

Sheer disbelief rattled through her mind. Everything's turning up Sarah, and she bit her lip. How's that favor working out for you, Goblin King?

And of course she felt the air around her turn chilly, and of course her gaze snagged on the feather cloak, some distance away. As though she could ever see anything else, now …

Was he staring back at her?

Even with the crowd of dancers between them, and the heat from the packed bodies – or was it magic? – shimmering in her vision, Sarah could swear that she saw a smile on his face. As if he would whisper an answer, if she would have one. Quite well, precious thing, or Much as it will for you, precious thing, or Why don't you dance with me again, and find out for yourself?

"Goblin King, Goblin King," she growled. "You don't scare me."

Besides, a dark voice whispered to her: He's yours, yours ... yours, body and soul …

"Mine," Sarah said, swallowing hard as her skin prickled - at what? At the idea of burying her face in the soft down and sleek pinions of that cloak ... of wrapping herself in his lace and velvet, pressed against the sharp points and angles of his bones ... Entwined by magic, caught by his kiss, forever? ...

Who knows? ...

But she did know that her friends were safe. He could do nothing to touch them, because she had paid for it already … And she was safe, for now, because she knew her own power. And just for a night, in that place of illusion and pretense, of fever dreams and sleepless fantasies, even if he whispered Sarah or precious thing … or my love, for all the worlds to know … Sarah could pretend that his voice was one of hundreds, that no one had ever knelt to the Goblin Queen, and that no one ever would again.