Chapter Four

The goblin wouldn't speak to her.

Down hallways, around corners laden with tables on which flowers adorned, Sarah's awareness that a woman lived in the castle, made her lurch inside. The stone structure had been meticulously cleaned, the passageways littered with paintings and elaborate artwork, all in an attempt to feminize the building. Jareth had lived in squalor. Ain's presence changed that; possibly she had changed him as well.

That scared Sarah more than the fact he had kept a companion. She liked the old Jareth, the one that blustered and frowned and threatened and persuaded. If he had changed, she wanted no part of what he had become. Sarah frowned, rueful. He didn't seem so different; he propositioned her as he had before. Only now she was a woman grown and not a naive youth. If she gave in now, she did it of her own initiative.

Jareth and Ain. The image made her sick. His fiance appeared kind. Surely her attention had made Jareth happy, for he had arranged to marry her. Jealousy bit and clawed inside the depths of her. When she left, they would marry, and Sarah would still be alone. She hadn't won anything at all.

She smiled at the dark creature leading her through the meandering hallway. He had to know something, anything, about his king. He grunted as if her sly attempts couldn't sway one such as him.

"The castle is different," she said, deceitfully careful with her speech.

Grunt. Silence.

"The flowers are a nice touch." Even if the mingling scents gave her a migraine.

Grunt. More silence.

Sarah fumed. How was she to gain information if no one would speak?

"Look," she said, her tone pert. "I know that my being here is sudden-"

The goblin halted, making Sarah ram into him. He turned, his face a mask.

"You are the Champion," he said. "You have no need for worries."

"I'm not worried." A lie. She fidgeted with her gown, not looking at the ugly warrior.

He grunted and resumed walking. She followed, his words making her question her sanity. Worry? She was covered with the emotion, quicksilver in the mold, shaping and forming her thoughts in an erratic pattern. She had to worry, for her presence in the Goblin Kingdom had no future. For that, she mourned. She wanted another taste of Jareth. One more quick devour, and then she could go, replete and honest with herself.

The goblin warrior stopped before an entrance. Plain, unassuming double doors that led into the innards of the castle. Her room, commanded by the king. She paused.

"Your room, Champion."

The door swung open and she entered, cautious. Her timidity came from apprehensions of her last time in the castle, embraced by the Escher room. Emboldened by Jareth's last words, only to fall flat when they revealed nothing to her. Jareth wouldn't be forthcoming; he was king, and Sarah the pawn in his pretty game.

The door shut behind her, sealed with a force she recognized. She felt simultaneous joy and a scream want to burst from her. Now she couldn't go. Now she was powerless. Giving into Jareth's whim felt glorious. She basked in his decree. A room, but so much more. An invitation to stay.

The room, darkened by heavy curtains, burst with light as she stepped within. Fire lit from the massive fireplace, the wood giving crackle and pop. Sconces on the wall dimmed in halo as she walked around, touching the bed covers and the thick bedpost. Mahogany. Someone had exquisite, rich taste. The covers were black velvet, the pillows clustered on the bed, puffed and purest white. Sleep would come easy with such comfort.

She lifted her gown to the side as she climbed onto the edge of the bed. Her legs crossed and she leaned back, swinging her arms wide as she lay on the feather ticking; so soft. Her eyes closed, and she smiled. A hum filtered the air, but she didn't move or open her eyes. Magic lingered throughout the castle; she had expected to feel vestiges of it, though to have it so near made her blink with pause. The voice near her ear made her jump into readiness, giving a small squeal of surprise. He came; she wanted it. She hoped for it...wished for it.

"How I enjoy looking at you basking on my bed." Warm silk, encasing her, making her heart staccato in response.

"Jareth." A filmy breath. A pant. She tried to leave, but his hand braced her.

"No. I like having you at my mercy." Whimsical heat.

"What are you doing, Goblin King?"

He smiled, a half quirk of his lips. His glorious lips.

"Keeping you," he said, touching the shell of her ear with his mouth.

She broke free. "This is your room?"

He grinned. "Of course, my dear Sarah. Did you expect me to put my Champion far away from me?"

"My own bed would have been nice." His smile grew rapacious at her chicanery.

"Tsk, tsk," he said, a sultry coo. "You lie horribly, my sweet." Fingers stroked her skin, the leg nearest him administrated with his fiery touch. He leaned in, his mouth hovering over hers.

"Tell me again how you wish for your own room. I might be obligated to obey."

She pouted. "You are so full of shit, Jareth. You would never bow under to anyone's command."

He leaned back, chuckling. "I bow under yours, and gladly." He gave allegiance to her, but she knew it to be false. He played to win; he toyed with her, and she was letting him. He continued, his ministrations intense. "I want us, intimately, on the same page—my kingship, your acquiescence, my dear Champion. Wouldn't that make things so much nicer for us both?"

She gasped as he ran a palm along her side, whispering coy near her breast. Instigating, perusing her answer. He moved, a warrior stealth. The side of the bed dipped as he lounged beside her. "Ah," he said, "This is exceedingly nice of you to share." The words lush, promising with insinuation.

"Share?" Sarah sat up, slid off the bed to glare at him, her arms crossed in anger. "How dare you? You have abandoned your bride and shame us both by putting me in here with you. What are you thinking, Goblin King?"

"Shame..." Jareth's voice hardened, his tone making her shiver. Her demand, his conquest. "I feel no shame." He stretched leonine, analyzing her with narrowed eyes.

"That is obvious."

"And neither should you feel any shame or guilt, my sweet." He removed from the bed, coming to stand before her, a weighty presence of muscle and magic. He crowded in, his scent musky and warm. "You have desires, the same as I do." Practical. Dismissive.

"I also have a conscience." She folded her arms tighter against him.

"What is conscience but a denial of need?" His head lowered, his hand gripping her chin. "Look at me, Sarah." He made her obey. She yearned to obey.

"Sarah." His voice mellowed out as he looked at her. His eyes darkened. She recognized his lust. Her body shivered with response.

"Sarah," he said again. "I want you. You want me." He stroked the skin under his fingers. "Ain understands."

She gulped. Jerked away, releasing herself from his powerful pull. "Very kind of her. I don't understand. What are you up to, Jareth?"

He sighed, moving away so that he could pace the room. His mood made the lights dim and flicker to near blackness, cognizant of the king's foul spirit. The castle mimicked his emotion; it hungered as he did. It thirsted for her; it would make her pay for her departure and quick return.

"You came back." He shrugged, as if the answer explained. Sarah stared at him, unsure about his sudden pensiveness.

"You returned, and I am...lost." He gave a wan smile, his underbelly exposed. "Sarah-" He held out his palm, grasping for her. Missing and touching air as she darted away.

"No." Her arms hunkered tight along her body. "I can't accept this. A fiance that understands? A king that always gets what he wants, more like. You think you can command and all will obey."

"Do they not?" His smirk returned. "Will you, my dear Sarah-" he said, his muscles taut as he turned to her, "-Obey?"

She snorted. "Of course not. Have I ever?"

Jareth came into her shadow. "That is what I crave about you." His mouth quirked. "Your unswerving ingratitude. I will steal that precious flaw, my sweet, and enjoy doing it." He paused, looking at her in depth. "Immensely."

The word held connotation of want. Of power...

He grinned, stalking her with his gaze. He penned her in, against his muscled body and the bed, a planned calculation. Sarah tucked under his outstretched arm, back into the openness of the room. He frowned as she evaded him.

"Is that all you want? To make me into what you want me to be?"

His eyes flickered. "One would think you didn't care for me, dear Sarah." Hurt, in denial. He nudged his body against the bedpost, leaning casually, his tension predatory. "You should know better."

She smiled, cold and unamused by his tactics to lure her in. "Ain certainly knows better."

He shrugged away, his position tight and angry. "Yes. She does." Flatline. Unwilling to seed the jealous questioning by a response.

He touched Sarah's hair, stroking it within his fingers, a pointed caress. A hungry devouring. "You seem to enjoy making me a monster. Ain knows what I am and doesn't refute it. Why do you fight me so hard, dear Sarah?"

"You admit to being monstrous?"

"I do." He smiled, a heady smirk. "I also admit to wanting you, desiring you in my room and in my bed, where you belong. You returned, my sweet, and I will never let you go." His words were light, in spite of the craven intention.

"We are back to that." She sighed.

"Yes. We are back to that." He frowned. "Sarah. I cannot understand your dismay. If Ain is willing, why are you not?"

"I'll bet she's willing. You have her under your thumb, I imagine, with no choice at all about what she says and does."

"That is unacceptable nonsense," he spat. "I would no sooner harm her than I would you."

She worried her lower lip. Why was she fighting him so much? She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They were adults, and if his fiance didn't mind, why should they? But she did mind. If Ain had been a jealous, nasty bitch, it would have been less a struggle.

Jareth seemed to read her thoughts. "You like her, don't you?" Boyish anticipation of her answer, his hair flicking down across his dark, dilated eyes. Eyes that held nothing childish in them.

"She is not what I expected." Honest. Hurt.

He mouthed, careful and meticulous. "No. I imagine she is not." He waited.

Sarah pondered her choices. Go or stay. Give into lust and betray, or find redemption and leave. Neither choice seemed compelling.

She clutched at the silky fabric of her dress like a lifeline. A faulty, flimsy, lifeline. Jareth watched and waited. The decision, ultimately as always, was hers. Her answer spilled over treacherous lips. "A waste, getting dressed for a wedding that is postponed."

The fabric clung, rubbing her sensitive skin raw. Her breasts puckered under his scrutiny, her flesh prickling with want. Nothing would please her more than to have his Majesty rip the damned fabric from her body; clawing and inhaling with desire. Her eyes stared up at him. Let him...

He preyed and inwardly she swooned. "Not a waste."

His fingers stroked her, cautious at first, then insistent. Sarah bowed under his touch. She needed. She craved. Morality, she tossed out into the wind along with practicality. Neither made much of a difference around Jareth; in honest haste, it made little difference to her.

When he kissed her, she gave in. She didn't want to fight him anymore.

So-

She didn't…