Chapter Three
Jareth felt an excitement that belied the ennui he usually confronted. So much time spent with Goblins had left him needing something new. Someone young and with imagination. Someone like...Sarah.
He stared down at the dirty floor of his throne room. His minions scattered about, and he had little interest in their day to day intrusion. They simply were. He had grown bored of his rulership a long time ago. Goblins were such simple creatures.
He had little to occupy his time and his active mind. He was, and felt, so alone. He stood, the feeling tossed aside.
Sarah. He paused. Her name shouldn't be a setback or an instigation, yet he found it was. Her dreams. They called to him. After all, they were about him.
The last runner had cost him. Everything, in fact. Not that this mortal girl knew anything about how much he had sacrificed. He swore he forgot about the previous winner. She would have aged and become an adult.
So much he had forsaken when he lost to that whim of a mortal girl. His power. His dignity. What he wouldn't have given her: her dreams. His passion. He had betrayed himself, giving her more of him than she could have anticipated. All for what—Love? He wasn't sure he could even feel the emotion anymore, as restlessness and bitter whim settled in.
Solve his Labyrinth! How the female mortal erred. This girl named Sarah would never solve his maze.
He prided himself on being as unpredictable, as uncaring as his creation, the maze. He was, after all, Goblin King. The Labyrinth and his horrid Goblins were all he had. He ran his kingdom as the Labyrinth ran itself, cold and calculating.
She would come begging to him. Then, at last, he would have her. Weak. Defenseless.
His. The way it should be. The way it should have been the first time. He was haunted by the one he could never have—gone from him forever. Oh, how he would have loved to see her face fall when he had her at last. How he would love to have her.
Jareth threw back his head and laughed. This would be more fun than he had imagined. After all, it was time for a distraction.
"Hoggle, where are you?" Frustrated, she had gotten nowhere.
Sarah ran in her stocking feet through the dingy outer walls of the maze. She recognized everything and nothing. Like a circle never changing, swaying around and around in endless completion, her name bantered back and forth in the Labyrinth. As if she belonged there.
In this place, a name was as good as a haunt: a burden. She dared speak of the king only in her dreams, where her words couldn't be taken and plotted against her.
As if he heard her thoughts, she felt him behind her, his musky scent like dried leaves and spice. She wouldn't turn around, but it was no matter, since he sidled up to her ear with his seductive voice.
"Giving up already?" The king said. His amusement galled her.
"Never. Besides, I have time. I just got here."
He murmured in her ear familiar words, "It's longer than you think."
"Whatever," she retorted.
He beguiled her with a plea, a whim of mercy. "You can always surrender and be mine. The castle is at your disposal." He spread his palms wide, beseeching.
She said, a frown on her face. "And let you win? I think not."
He echoed her expression. "Win, my dear? It is you who are winning if you comply. I am simply your obedient servant." He lingered his gloved fingers near her bare throat, hovering but not touching.
"Yeah, right."
"My offer stands, precious thing."
"I am no one's precious anything. And I have to get going," she said.
Frustrated, she tried to block him out as she rubbed at her neckline. His touch had left a lingering tingle.
He watched her every motion, eyes dark with intent. He turned from her, but not before she noticed his deep inhale and throaty swallow.
He looked at her closely. "What is it you are wearing?"
"Like it?"
"Your stockings are filthy."
She retreated at the sight of his glittering eyes and aura of darkness around him. He was dressed in his Goblin armor, black vest and cape and obsidian leggings with tall black boots, just as he had looked when she first met him. He was devastating, and he knew it.
"That sort of happens when you walk in your socks."
He frowned. Her retort was little appreciated. He leaned in again, closer this time, abusing her senses.
"So Sarah, how are you enjoying my Labyrinth?" he said, the words kissing her ear. "You can give in anytime. I vow I will not fault you."
"Give in? To you? Never."
The king flinched as though she had slapped him. He regathered himself and stared at her. "You haven't even bridged the wall," he mocked. He sounded suspiciously as if he yearned to help her.
"It is only a matter of looking at it the right way, your Majesty."
"You must have something better to wear than those things."
"Do I offend you?" she said, not caring.
"Indeed you do." He grinned at the rolling of her eyes.
"I have worn nothing but pajamas for the last three years," She said, practical.
He drew a circle around his lips with his forefinger, contemplative. He splayed his fingers out, circling a threesome of crystals. He held one up to her eyes.
Sarah looked, guilty for her curiosity. Then she flinched: A ballroom. A shimmering girl in a gown of silver, with erotic dancing all around her. It was her dreams, the one he had bestowed on her all those years ago.
"No." Blunt.
He frowned and cast the crystal to the ground, where it shattered in a cloud of dust. "Who are you?" he asked. He knew her name. He didn't know her.
"I have told you. My name is Sarah." Obtuse.
He muttered, whisper quiet. "You will be the undoing of me yet." He perused her, then he spoke again. "I have a gift."
She knew gifts came at a certain price. "What do you want for it?"
"Come, come now. I cannot have you parading around my Labyrinth in those clothes."
"I'll take my chances."
"Sarah, don't defy me."
"At what price?" she said, asking again. Her voice softened. He seemed genuine in his attempt to clothe her.
"I give my gift freely." He paused. "Of course," he said, "A small token would be appreciated."
She felt a brush of air against her body. He had already gifted her. A gown of greenish gilt, layered with ivy markings and twining in her hair. It was exquisite, rich and royal. She gulped, uneasy.
"Why do you do this?" she asked.
He shrugged, powerful yet oddly defenseless. "I have a certain fondness for girls named Sarah. I expect very little," the king said. Very little. She wanted to scoff. Just all of her.
"It's hardly practical."
"It's yours. Take it." It was a command. He leaned in again. "I can't have you going through my maze in your sleepwear."
"What is my cost of the garment?" she said again. "The token that you speak of?" she said.
He looked at her momentarily, a dark bitterness spreading across his face. Then he grinned and placed his mouth gently to hers, his prize. It was a kiss for a child. She made a face, a fit of pique that when he kissed her for the very first time, she wouldn't thoroughly enjoy it.
He backed up, his eyes wary. She saw his fists clench and unclench. He had been affected by the touch, even as she remained cautiously steady.
"Such a shame," she said, "That your token does very little for me." She kept the quiver of her voice in containment.
He glowered, his face a silken flame. The words fanned him, dangerous. Before she could blink he wrapped one strong arm around her waist, the other tugging under her long hair at her neck, as he pulled her into his body. Intense, almost frightening in its quickness. She lay flush against him, his body hard. Unyielding.
He breathed shallowly and full of want. He had still not recovered by his last gesture. She felt desire, knowing her imagination had nothing on the truth.
He held her close, his mouth mere centimeters from hers. He didn't lower his lips to hers this time. He smirked, owning her without another betraying kiss. Their bodies flush, she inhaled him. So close. So very, close. It would be so easy to just reach up, ply her fingers through his thick, erratic hair and pull him back down to her. She licked her swollen lips.
"Is that all you have? I should find you easy to beat."
She smiled in triumph until she saw the anger that made her pause. He could be frightening.
He roared, incensed by her words. He pulled a clock in front of them, airborne, their bodies still inches apart. He heaved his arm up and swirled the hands round and round, parading his power in front of her.
"You have wasted almost two hours now, my Sarah." He acted like demanding time was of little effort. The king stepped back from her, pointing at his airy contraption.
"Ten hours and twenty-three minutes, precious thing," he said, warning her. "Then you will be mine." He started to fade and gave her a parting comment.
"Forever."
He meant it. Sarah stood stock still, a bit of disbelief that he still played dirty, unfair. But she expected it, even as she expected to win. After all, games were her forte, too.
Drawing up the skirts of her gown, Sarah continued her mission. Nothing would make her fail, now. He had put up too much challenge.