Chapter 1

Jareth had to be, without a doubt, the most sadistic bastard Rasson had ever had the misfortune to serve under.

Rasson stood in front of the desk in his study and glowered at the space where his monthly report should have been but wasn't, taking deep, even breaths to keep his temper in check. He had no doubts as to who had taken the papers. The poorly stifled snickering coming from somewhere behind him gave them away. Goblins. How Rasson hated them!

He whirled around. The noise immediately ceased. He thought he saw one of the books in his bookcase shiver, but when he stomped over and pulled it free, he found nothing.

Jareth was responsible for this. Goblins were mischievous but stuck close to the castle unless ordered to make trouble somewhere else. The king probably thought it would be great fun to have the goblins come mess with Rasson when he knew he didn't have the time for it.

He looked over at the clock on the mantle. Ten minutes late and counting. If only he had the power to stop time—but no, that little trick was the King's alone, which he knew, hence why his sovereign did it. It made the joke even funnier for him. Jareth, not Rasson. Rasson thought if he became any more furious his head would literally explode from it. His would be the third immortal death this year. He would skew the average.

From under his desk, claws scratched a frantic rhythm against the wood. Someone losing their grip, perhaps? Rasson threw himself on top of the desk, grabbed the edge, and ducked his head to peer beneath. A goblin with a smushed face and beady eyes screeched at him and vanished.

It didn't have his report.

The snickering was louder this time. Rasson cursed and pulled himself up, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. He was tired of this! Tired of such disrespect. When Jareth had announced his need for aid in collecting and analyzing certain information about the Goblin Kingdom, Rasson had leapt at the offer. The position had come with a title, land, and enough money to see him settled comfortably, things he'd never dreamed of having as the fourth son of a forgotten Fae lord. Even better, he would be working directly with the King. He would have a say in some of the most important decisions made about the Underground. That first day of work, Rasson had come to the castle with every expectation of becoming his king's most honored adviser.

It had taken little more than a month to realize that had been a joke in it's own.

A lump appeared under the rug, goblin-sized. It squirmed and without thinking Rasson pounced on top of it with a victorious, "Ha!"

It exploded in a cloud of dust and glitter, whooshing out the sides of the rug and coating Rasson from head to toe. The entire room erupted in laughter. Drawers in his desk rattled, books trembled and fell off the shelves. Rasson roared and threw the rug aside. No, he had not become the King's honored adviser. Half the time when he came with his reports—reports Jareth had told him to write up!—his majesty would fall asleep, or have the goblins come over with some excuse so he could leave, or… or this. Sabotage him before he could even get to the castle! No, Rasson was little more than a glorified secretary that Jareth only seemed interested in mocking, tricking, making a fool of. He'd had enough.

The lamp chain was swinging. Rasson eyed the shade. It was made out of frosted, green glass, big enough to hide a goblin under and then some. The lamp was by the door. Rasson got up and dusted himself off. Pretending to have given up, he sighed and made as if to leave the room. He reached for the door handle but, at the last second, turned and grabbed the shaft of the lamp instead. He lifted the whole thing up and swung it as hard as he could against the wall, past caring about damage or injury. Glass shattered. Papers fluttered amidst the debris and a dumpy-looking goblin yelped as it tumbled across the floor, vanishing mid-roll.

The sound of wind whispered through the room, though nothing blew, and Rasson knew the rest of the goblins had finally gone.

He scooped up the papers, now out of order, crinkled, and in some spots damp where the little cretin had drooled on them. He looked at the clock, cursed when he saw the time, and dematerialized in a rush, forgetting to properly ground himself first. He rematerialized in the King's throne room—as he'd planned—but behind his ruler's chair instead of in front of it, the proper spot for a subject visiting his sovereign.

Finding himself in such a strange spot had Rasson freezing up. He felt wrong-footed, like the time he'd accidentally gotten himself lost in the Escher room. Jareth was slouched against the throne's cushions with his back to him, his usual crystal ball balanced on the tips of his fingers. He hadn't heard or felt Rasson appear, revealing just how immersed he was in what he was watching. From this angle, Rasson could see over his King's shoulder and into the clear little object that held his ruler's fascination.

His breath caught.

The oldest and most fiercely debated rumors in the Underground all surrounded what it was their king was so obsessed with. No one possessed magic like he did. No one else could create those fragile spheres that were said to hold a person's dreams. What dreams did the mercurial, aloof, sometimes cruel Goblin King have? Now Rasson knew.

Jareth dreamed of a mortal girl.

Rasson knew she was mortal. It was obvious even at a distance. Though beautiful, she lacked the dazzling perfection of the Fae and the glow that came with immortal youth. She was also dressed like a commoner, in those heavy blue pants favored so much Aboveground these days, particularly in the west. She was reading a book.

Jareth must've heard his gasp. The crystal vanished without so much as a pop as the Goblin King flung out his hand, sending Rasson flying in one great sweep of glittering wind. He smashed into the stone wall and crumpled, though somehow he managed to keep ahold on his report. He clutched it to his chest as pain pounded from the backs of his heels to the back of his head. At least there were no goblins around to witness it. He couldn't have stood to listen to any more of their manic giggling.

Jareth rose, turning gracefully to face him. He tsked Rasson with a waggle of his finger. "Appearing behind your king like that, and without announcing yourself? You know better, Rasson. Was I of a mind, I could have you charged with attempted assassination."

Rasson laid there, trying to convince his lungs to take in air. "I would never… you know I wouldn't…"

"Yes, yes, but this is why propriety must be upheld, is it not? To avoid such dangerous misunderstandings?" Jareth's lips quirked upwards into that mocking smile he wore so well. Rasson fought not to scowl. They both knew he didn't give a damn about propriety. This was just another chance for Jareth to amuse himself at his expense.

Anger bubbled up and Rasson thought of the girl in the crystal. Either the Goblin King didn't think he'd seen, or was using this lecture as a way to warn him that questions would not be tolerated. Rasson didn't need to ask questions though. There was only one reason why Jareth would be spying on a mortal girl: he wanted her.

Rasson didn't know for what. Simple lust? Maybe she had some secret power that the Goblin King planned to steal? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Jareth wanted her. Badly, if the amount of time—years—he spent gazing into his crystals were any indication. And wouldn't it… yes, wouldn't be only too funny if Rasson got her first?

Rasson hid his smile behind his armful of papers. The Goblin King didn't realize it, but Rasson could play jokes too—used to be quite good at them, in fact. It was time, he decided, that he show his majesty that.

And this time, the laugh would be on Jareth.