Chapter 1

"How go the preparations?"

Jareth looked up at his mother's voice and shrugged. "Well."

Mirielle frowned at her son. "You do not seem at all enthusiastic."

"Should I be?" Jareth asked her, sitting down in his chair and reaching for his goblet from the table.

"I would have thought you would have been looking forward to choosing a bride," she said pointedly, "Or had you forgotten our agreement?"

"How could I forget?"

Mirielle took a sip of her wine. "You will be pleased with my choices, I think."

"One can only hope," Jareth muttered, gazing blankly at the seating chart.

"And you will meet my heir tomorrow," his mother went on, "I shall introduce you to her."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "I fail to see how I could not have been your heir – I am your son."

"You forget, dearest, that Fallonia is a matriarchal kingdom. There has always only been a Queen. Your father was never the king; he was my consort. And since we were only blessed with the one child," Mirielle looked over at her son and smiled fondly, "It was fitting that I should select a candidate myself, rather than have girls forced upon me from every corner of the kingdom. You will like her, Jareth; I am very fond of her, in spite of the concerns of others."

"Concerns?" Jareth asked, interested now in this girl he had never met, "Why should there be concerns?"

His mother flushed a little and looked away. "The girl was mortal, human, until she arrived in my lands."

"You chose a mortal to be your heir?" Jareth's tone was incredulous and his mother bristled.

"As is my right," she snapped, "I am entitled to choose whomever I please. Besides, the girl has passed every challenge given her, solved every problem she has been presented with, and fully proven herself amongst the court. They have all sworn their allegiance to her – it is only the younger girls who whisper against her. She is strong and powerful: did I not know better I would think that she had been born to this life. She far surpasses my own magical talents – I have never seen anything like it. She will be well able to defend her claim to the throne if need be."

Jareth paled a little at the thought of a girl being more powerful than his mother, the Dowager High Queen of the Underground.

Mirielle went on, her eyes narrowing slyly at Jareth's reaction. "She is also one of your potential brides."

Intrigued by this, Jareth leaned forwards. "You would wed me to your heir? Give me power over your kingdom?"

Mirielle laughed a little. "Heavens, no; should you choose to marry the girl it would be her choice and hers alone how much power to afford you in Fallonia." Seeing her son's calculating expression, she continued, "Of course, I shan't introduce you to the girl until you have informed me of your choice of bride, lest your decision making skills be affected by your zealous designs on my kingdom."

"Who will the crown of the High Queen fall to?" Jareth wondered, leaning back in his chair, "My bride, or your heir?"

"Your bride," His mother said with a sigh, "As is tradition. You are already the High King of the Underground, Jareth; my rights to the High Queen's crown are nil and have been for four centuries. My mother was the Queen of Fallonia, not the High Queen of the Underground. I was simply lucky enough to be chosen by your father as his bride. Your bride shall wear the crown. I will anoint her myself."


Sarah opened one eye and groaned at the light that flooded into her room. She sat up and rubbed her head, regretting now the amount of wine she'd consumed the previous day.

The Solstice festival was consuming the court; making their attire more provocative, their attitudes heavily influenced by the wine that flowed all too freely, their already-loose fae morals being altogether forgotten in the summer heat.

She blushed at the thought of some of the antics that had taken place. Skirts pulled to waists, breasts released from corsets, stocking-encased legs wrapped around silk breeches, heads thrown back, voices crying out with pleasure.

She'd been glad that the High Queen had kept her close. It wasn't that she wasn't comfortable with public displays of affection, no; it was that her virtue was to be protected and valued, used as a pawn in Mirielle's matchmaking, and it would do her no good to get caught up in courtly revels and throw away her innocence.

Sarah raised a hand in the direction of the curtains and twitched her fingers, smiling when they slid closed and blocked out the bright sunlight. She'd slept late and would have to commence getting ready for the ball soon, but she just couldn't bring herself to part with her luscious bed just yet.

She rolled over and toyed with her necklace, wincing when her chamber door was thrown unapologetically open.

"Good morning!" Mirielle called out, flicking her own fingers at the recently closed curtains and opening them. "Ah, still in bed at two in the afternoon - how noble of you."

Sarah blushed. "My apologies, my lady." She climbed out of bed and stretched, glancing warily at the sly smile on Mirielle's face. "Is there something wrong?" she asked her cautiously, tucking her hair behind her ears and biting her lip.

Mirielle's eyes narrowed. "No, no." She waved a hand carelessly in the air. "Now, come. You must eat something."

"I am very hungry," Sarah agreed, "And I have a bit of a headache."

"That will be all the wine," Mirielle said with a smirk, "Perhaps it would be wise not to consume so much tonight." A tray was wheeled in and set in front of Sarah, and Mirielle watched her with interest. "You will wear purple," the Queen went on, "And we'll dress your hair with diamonds and pearls."

Sarah nodded silently. Purple. Mirielle definitely wanted to make a subliminal statement before the announcement of Sarah's upcoming ascension to the throne.

"You will be a model of class and elegance," Mirielle continued, "You will dance and smile and be merry, and you will tell no-one of your status. I will announce your news after my son has announced his choice of bride."

"What if he chooses me?" Sarah murmured, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, "Will that change anything?"

Mirielle shook her head. "I have sworn that you will have the Fallonia crown after my death. The nobles have pledged their hearts and swords unto you. You will be the next Queen."

Sarah bit her lip. She had lost count of how long she'd been in the Underground for; she was certain that this was her second Solstice festival and she knew she'd spent three winters away from the Above, but she'd never attended an official function outside of Fallonia. She had yet to meet Mirielle's elusive royal son, and was nervous about the concept.

"I hope your son finds me agreeable," Sarah said quietly, fiddling with the hem of her nightgown and avoiding Mirielle's gaze.

Mirielle placed a hand under Sarah's chin and turned her face upwards. "He will love you," Mirielle promised, smiling a deviant smile.


Jareth took a deep drink of his champagne and sighed.

The women he had been introduced to thus far by his mother were all pretty in their own ways, all unusual and probably very interesting... but he just wasn't interested about getting to know anyone who wanted to be his bride. The Sarah-shaped hole in his heart was too hard to fill, and he feared that his mother's quest to get him married before she abdicated would be a futile one.

That was until a beautiful fae woman with long black hair stalked past him, her purple tulle gown trailing along behind her. Her hair was pulled back from her face by pearl pins, but flowed down her back in a cascade of ebony curls, reaching her tiny waist. She wore a dainty mask that covered the upper half of her face, and he longed to remove it and gaze into her eyes.

His mouth went dry and he leaned forwards, her scent catching in his nose. It washed over him; a mouthwatering mixture of lilies, vanilla and a splash of cinnamon. There was something familiar about her, something in her scent which tugged at his heartstrings. His teeth ached with a longing to bury themselves in her flesh, his fingernails longed to rake bloody lines down her flawless back as she rode him, and he groaned at the images in his mind.

Unable to resist, Jareth followed her, his eyes focussed on the pale skin of her bare back. He wanted this woman, he realised with shock, he wanted to possess her heart and soul and body. He wanted to make her love him. He felt a twinge of guilt; it was the first time since Sarah that he'd felt such a desire, but he was powerless to it.

The agreement with his mother be damned; this was the girl that he wanted.

He reached out and gently grasped her upper arm, turning her to face him.

The woman's emerald green eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "You," she breathed, "You."

"Me," Jareth replied easily, smiling at her adorable expression of awe. He clasped both of her hands within his. "Tell me; are you one of my mother's choices?"

She gaped at him for a moment and then her eyes flashed. "I am afraid that yes is the answer," she said in response, smiling at up at him. "But I must beg your Majesty to excuse me for a moment."

...

Sarah grabbed a full glass from the drinks table and gulped down the contents. She glanced around and sighed in relief when she saw that nobody had glimpsed her moment of weakness.

She placed down the glass and crossed the room, smiling back at those who gave her polite nods.

She had almost reached her destination when a gloved hand loosely gripped her upper arm: she froze, the soft touch all too familiar to her heated skin. She turned and gasped at the man stood before her.

Her lessons in courtly confidence flew from her mind and she gaped at him. "You. You."

All coherent thought died and Sarah felt her heart start to pound. Jareth grinned back at her - he, clearly, had no idea who she was. It was that which steeled her resolve, allowed her mind to start functioning properly again. His arrogance was almost unbearable, but he was still the same devastatingly beautiful man that he always had been.

Tall and lean, with sinewy muscles and a feline grace in his movements. The mismatched eyes which had haunted her thoughts. Long, leather encased fingers. Silken leggings clinging to his thighs, emphasising the size of his manhood. The poet's shirt, open halfway to his navel, revealing the chiselled pale skin of his chest. The hair; blonde and wild. His teeth pointed and sharp, like a predator's. The markings above his eyes - because of course he would be much too special to wear a mask like everybody else - now matching her own.

Her lust glowed in her eyes; in that moment it was all she could do to keep herself from pouncing on him. She wasn't sure whether it was the magic in her blood, the fae within, or her own heart's desire, but she desperately wanted to claw off their clothes, climb atop him and claim him as her mate with a bite to his inner thigh.

Definitely the fae within, then, Sarah concluded with a flush.

"Me. Tell me; are you one of my mother's choices?" His expression was hopeful and longing, and Sarah smirked, regaining her senses wholly now. He wanted her back.

"I am afraid that yes is the answer," she replied, batting her eyes at him. "But I must beg your Majesty to excuse me for a moment."

"Of course," Jareth said with a smirk, one of his thumbs rubbing small circles into the back of her hand. Sarah blushed a little at the tender touch and gently removed her hands from his grasp.

She turned away from him, seething with the turn of events. Of course Mirielle had known about their history, the woman was fucking omniscient.

Spying the offending female not three people away, Sarah stalked over to her. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she hissed into her ear, all sense of propriety and respect momentarily lost in a cloud of rage. "Now." She looped her arm through Mirielle's and drew her away from the conversation, tugging her out of the ballroom and onto a balcony. She closed the curtains behind them, shutting them off from the rest of the room, and Mirielle frowned at Sarah's behaviour.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Sarah laughed in disbelief. "The meaning? The meaning?! Mirielle, I must apologise, because I have clearly underestimated your skills in manipulation."

"I beg your pardon?" Mirielle replied angrily, drawing herself up to her full height. "How dare you speak to me this way? I am still your Queen, Sarah, regardless of any priveleges I have awarded you."

"Priveleges?" Sarah repeated incredulously, "Priveleges? You call it a privelege to be dragged from your bed in the middle of the night on your birthday? To be taken to another plane of existence and told there is no way back? Do you call it a privelege to be told that you're going to be a Queen? I never wanted any of this, Mirielle, you forced all of it upon me, and yet I never said a word against it. I sat back and allowed you to play God with my life, I even agreed to marry your fucking son - who we'll come to in a minute - should you ever request it. And you might be the Queen, but it is I who holds the loyalty of your court, I am the one with the fealty of your people. Your subjects are loyal to me, Mirielle; you saw to that yourself. I am the Queen of your realm in all but name, so the only real power you have here is your own name, your own magic and your son."

Mirielle opened and closed her mouth for a few moments and flushed. "Sarah..."

"No, I'm still talking," the younger girl went on furiously. "You turned me into a fae - without my consent, I might add - and fed me with your own magic. You kept me from the men in the court for fear of me falling in love and 'giving it all away'. You have controlled my life for the past two and a half years and I am sick of it."

"You're right," Mirielle said softly, looking away from Sarah's angry gaze, "Of course you are right."

"And then, to top it all off, you bring me to a masked ball held in honour of your son, and forget to mention that your son is the Goblin King. The same Goblin King who I defeated - by myself - at the age of fifteen. You wanted to dangle me in front of your son's eyes like a piece of meat and offer me up on a platter. What was it, Mirielle; revenge against the girl who beat your little boy? Or did you want to use me to get a hold on his kingdom? Did you want to get me into his bed so you could control him, is that it?"

"No!" Mirielle cried, finally having heard enough. "I will not hear this, Sarah. You are wrong."

Sarah scoffed and narrowed her eyes. "Do tell."

"Time works differently in the Above. You defeated the Goblin King at the age of fifteen - my forces brought you back when you were eighteen. What seemed like three years to you in the Above was actually thirty years to us in the Under. Jareth has pined for you for thirty years. I could not see my son suffer any longer."

"And what about me?" Sarah hissed, "What about my right to a choice?"

"You have been given near-immortality, magic and a crown. What else could you possibly want?" Mirielle scoffed.

"A choice!" Sarah cried, "I want someone to go back in time and ask me what I wanted! You know, I missed him too," she admitted quietly, "I turned him down out of duty to my brother, not because I didn't love him. If you had asked me... I might have come anyway. But you didn't ask - you took."

"He searched for you," Mirielle interjected softly, "When you were taken. He searched for you."

Sarah shook her head and brushed off Mirielle's comment. "You will announce your abdication and name me as your successor," she instructed, her green eyes narrow and glowing with barely contained rage. "You owe me that much. You brought me here because you wanted me to fall in love with your son, marry him and so join the kingdom of your family with the kingdom of his without a thought for me, my life Above or my own personal choice. And I will deal with Jareth - I don't want you to do any more meddling. You owe me at least what I was promised."

Mirielle's hands shook. Sarah spoke the truth, and now that the Dowager High Queen could see just how angry the situation had made her powerful little protégé, she was really quite afraid of her. She was fond of Sarah, thought of her as an adopted daughter, and so mixed with the fear was a tremendous sense of guilt. "It is not the time..."

"You will announce it now."

Mirielle nodded wordlessly and swept open the curtain. Sarah gestured that Mirielle should walk through first, not wanting to leave her back exposed to her predecessor.

...

Jareth spied his mother re-enter the ballroom with the beautiful woman in the purple gown and immediately commanded her attention.

"I have made my choice."

Mirielle smiled at him and reached up to cup his face in her palm. "I know."

"The purple gown," Jareth told her softly, "With the dark hair."

"You don't even know her name," she chided her son, and Jareth laughed.

"I don't need to know her name to want her. Before you, mother, I pledge my heart, sword and troth to her," Jareth said vehemently, his fae brain clouded with lust and a desire to claim.

"You must cherish her," Mirielle whispered, "She is precious to me."

...

Mirielle walked straight to the stage, smiling sadly at those who curtsied in their deference, and elegantly climbed the steps.

Once at the top, she caught the attention of the fae gathered in the room and sighed. "My friends; forgive me for the interupption, but I have two important announcements to make that cannot wait."

...

Sarah stood off to one side, watching as Jareth spoke to his mother. Her fae eyes made out the words that were said and she smirked at the lust in Jareth's eyes.

As Mirielle approached the stage, Sarah was drawn away from the crowds by gloved hands. She felt a body press up against her and shivered at the feel of his hair trailing on her skin.

"We are to marry," a familiar voice purred in her ear. "My apologies for not formally asking for your hand."

Sarah turned in his arms and looked up at him from under her lashes. She only had to wait until after the announcement of her ascension and then she could take off her mask and reveal herself to him. "You are forgiven, I suppose," she replied huskily, her fingers ghosting a path down his chest. Jareth inhaled sharply as one of her nails lightly grazed his nipple.

"There are worse fates than to be married to a King," Jareth murmured, pressing her against a marble column. "Is it so terrible to be betrothed to me?"

Sarah licked her lips, her eyes subconsciously flickering to his mouth. She traced her hands down his frame, unable to resist his pull. "No," she admitted coyly, "I imagine it could be quite a pleasurable experience."

Jareth's gaze was fixed on her lips, on the way her mouth wrapped around the words, the way her lips almost brushed against his when she spoke. His mind was reeling; he felt he knew her from somewhere, was almost certain of it. He swallowed thickly. "Have we met before?"

Biting her lip, Sarah tilted her head and looked up at him. "Perhaps in a dream," she murmured, holding his eyes for a moment longer before sliding out from the pillar and walking back to the main room.

...

"My friends; forgive me for the interupption, but I have two important announcements to make that cannot wait."

Sarah glanced up towards the stage and took a deep breath. She felt Jareth's presence behind her again and shivered as one of his hands ghosted over her hair. She felt her hair being lifted to the side and a soft kiss on the side of her neck.

"So impatient," she chided him, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She felt as if she should be bewildered by his behaviour - after all, for all he knew she was a strange girl that he'd never met before and he certainly wasn't thinking of 'his Sarah' whilst he was pawing at her, but she was too used to fae displays of affection, too eager to accept his attentions on her person.

"...First and foremost, I must announce my abdication of the throne of Fallonia, and the ascension of my previously named successor; Lady Sarah of the Labyrinth..." Mirielle looked around and couldn't see Sarah, so she went on, "My apologies, I don't know where she's gotten to..."

Sarah felt Jareth stiffen behind her and couldn't help but smile. He clearly still hadn't made the connection.

"...my son's betrothal. Jareth, could you come up here for a moment?"

Jareth gave her a tight smile and made his way through the whispering crowd of courtiers. He clenched his jaw and glared at his mother. "Lady Sarah of the Labyrinth is your successor, is she?" he asked her in a scarily polite tone, "How quaint. And where might Lady Sarah be hiding?"

Mirielle's lips twitched in a smile. "Where is the lady that you have plighted your troth to? I assume you have told her of your plans."

Jareth looked around and he couldn't help but smile when his eyes fell on Sarah. He reached out a hand to her and the fae seperated to form a pathway between Sarah and Jareth. She walked slowly to him, trying to fight the smile from her face.

"Yes," Jareth replied sharply, still angry and confused. "Though I have yet to discover her name."

Sarah ascended the steps to the dais, curtseying demurely in front of Jareth and then in front of his mother. Mirielle moved around to untie Sarah's mask and Sarah reached up to hold the mask in place until the last possible moment.

"Jareth," Mirielle said, casting a worried glance at her son, "May I introduce you to your betrothed and my successor; Lady Sarah of the Labyrinth, Queen of Fallonia and the future High Queen of the Underground."

Sarah let the mask fall and turned to face Jareth, her eyes ablaze with an emotion that he could not name.

Jareth stared at her, taking in her more angular face, the markings over her eyes, her sharper teeth, her brighter eyes. He thought back to their brief conversation and could not believe that he hadn't noticed the accent, the hair, even her scent suddenly provoked memories that he'd locked away in a chest in his mind. He opened and closed his mouth, and some of the guests 'aww-ed' at his ogling of his betrothed.

He was having difficulties combining the two personas; his mother had described a mortal turned powerful fae heiress, named her as 'Lady Sarah of the Labyrinth', and yet here stood Sarah, his Sarah, but with fae markings on her face and a more womanly figure. (And what a figure it was. A delicious bosom offered up to the eyes by the corsetting of her dress, a narrow waist, hips that fitted the hour-glass of her body perfectly. Other than her feminine attributes, her frame was thin and willowy; long slender arms, a perfectly flat stomach... He couldn't see her legs - the tulle of the dress covered them - but she seemed four or five inches taller, leaving her overall appearance rather elfin.)

He just couldn't process it.

"All hail Sarah, Queen of Fallonia," Mirielle called out, her eyes also on Jareth.

"Hail," Jareth ground out, his eyes never leaving Sarah.

The blessing was called throughout the ballroom and Sarah blushed prettily, lowering her eyes and curtseying again to the nobles.

"I thank you," she began, a nervous smile dancing around her lips, "I am sure we shall all meet again soon - after all, there is a wedding to plan."