The dwarf was nearly bowled over by the figure of the Goblin King, striding forcefully down the hallway towards his study. One glance at the King's face told Hoggle, in sickening clarity, what had happened.

Not that the King was at all unclear otherwise about his state of mind. The door of the study slammed with such force a painting in the hall fell right on top of a passing goblin. "OUT!" he roared, and a flurry of goblin servants came scurrying out of the study. One of them frowned fearfully at Hoggle and shook his head urgently. "Don't get near that one! Him's in a mood to kill!"

No one would dare to disturb the King in such a mood. Hoggle, of course, was hardly going to break from common wisdom now and go charging in to see Jareth at his worst. But he knew the Queen would be in a state as bad as her son's if he didn't get some answers for her. So he clenched his jaw and slid against the wall to the dreaded door, which had bounced off the doorframe when the King had slammed it, and thus was left cracked open—just open enough for a dwarf to peer in.

* * *

It was dark in the study—the curtains had not been fully opened and with the sun not yet on that side of the castle, the room had the gloomy, dust-mottled aspect of a house left shut-up for years. In one muted beam of light, however, the seat of the king was visible, as was the silhouette of the man in it. He was sitting with one boot braced against the top edge of the desk, the other left sprawling out before him. One arm hung carelessly over the arm of the chair, while the fingers of his other hand were tapping his tightly pressed lips relentlessly.

"I should kill him," the dwarf heard the King's voice slice through the air into the stillness. His free hand lifted up, a crystal now twirling on the finger-tips. Various faces flickered in it, all young men dressed in the baggy sweaters and light shirts Sarah always wore Aboveground. The King's voice sounded raw, uneven, and strained, as if he had been shouting for a very long time—but that was not possible, Hoggle thought, frowning; the King had just been to see Sarah for less than five minutes.

His voice came to Hoggle's ear again, rough and hoarse. "So which one would it have been? Or were you not one of her insipid little schoolfellows? Her unthreatening fool boys?" His lip curled in a snarl and in a sudden movement, he hurled the crystal into the wall, where it exploded into a shower of glass shards. The King's eyes slid shut, his face hidden behind his hand in the darkness, and Hoggle crept away.

* * *

She sat alone in the King's quarters for a good half-hour before a goblin popped his head in to inform her that her own room was ready. In that time before she followed him down the hall, she'd had a good deal of opportunity to go over her previous conversation.

Lovely. I've pissed off the Goblin King yet again. Am I not having the luckiest year or what? She snorted and rubbed her forehead. And now he's so angry he all but said I'm his prisoner here. Her skin crawled with a brief, horribly delicious, vision of what sort of prisoner she'd be. She blocked out the skin-warming image of Jareth and handcuffs desperately; this wasn't for pleasure, she reminded herself. So now it's not some supposed effort to make sure I'm safe, but just imprisonment because he wants to show me who's boss.

And to make sure I don't have sex with the nearest human guy, I guess, her brain added reproachfully, and she laughed with bitterness to herself. "The irony is, I'd have been doing it just to stop thinking about him."

The little goblin came for her then, drawing her eagerly down the hall to another bedroom, this one a replica of Jareth's but done in a feminine style. She was in no mood to appreciate her surroundings, however; she hurled herself angrily on the bed and promptly let loose her frustrated tears. And tried desperately to forget what had made her weep in the first place, when he had turned away from her.

* * *

"Geddoff," mumbled the goblin as Hoggle hauled him down the hallway. "I'll do it for 'im, no need to rip me fur out."

"Hurry up, or I'll be ripping your neck out," hissed the dwarf, anxiously glancing at the time. It was a terrible plan, but he had the feeling immediate, if pathetic, intervention was required.

They came to a halt in front of the King's door, Hoggle stopping so quickly that the goblin in tow promptly fell to the floor with a surprised squeak. He glared and the goblin staggered back upright.

"Evenin', Pip," he grumbled loudly, hoping he didn't sound too damn cheery.

The goblin looked briefly confused, as if he'd forgotten his own name, before nodding eagerly. "Right, EVENING, Boss! Good EVENING!"

Hoggle winced and glanced to the ceiling before resuming. "Have you heard anything o' Sarah? You worked in that wing, don't ya? I went to her room but it was locked—I hears she didn't come out all day." He spoke with an awkward slowness, as if he were declaiming to a room full of goblins, but if it made his voice clear enough for a listener in the next room, that's all that mattered.

The goblin frantically gestured, obviously forgetting his line, so Hoggle groaned in silence and scrubbed his eyes pointedly. "OH, RIGHT! I means, RIGHT, right, Boss. I been up there. No, that one, she's been cryin' all day." Hoggle made a lifting motion with his hands and the goblin, dimly comprehending his point, raised his volume significantly. "CRYING HER EYES OUT, I saw it myself. It's a wonder they didn't roll right out."

"Oh, no!" Hoggle knew his exclamation was completely unbelievable but characterization was beyond him at this point. "What'd she be cryin' about? I thought she was so HAPPY to be visitin' here, you know, to see the Goblin King…She seemed right excited this morning…"

"Dunno," answered the goblin enthusiastically. Pip likes this too much, Hoggle grumbled to himself—before they knew it, he'd be trying to crash the Underground theater troupe and then the Gods help them all. "She said somethin'…" He scratched his nose in confusion and Hoggle kicked him to get his attention, then drew a heart in the air with his fingers. The goblin 's expression was blank at first, and then shocked. "You means she might be sweet on HIM? After he took—ow!"

Hoggle ignored the goblin's glare and the paw he rubbed against his shin. Serves him right, little bugger. "That's what I guessed, after what you heard her saying!"

The goblin grunted. "Oh, YEAH, she said she was afraid of him but he ain't lovin' her like she wants." He grinned triumphantly at the close of his lines.

The dwarf sighed. Fool couldn't get it right, but close enoughs, I thinks.

Part of the plan or not, he couldn't help but leap aside as the door flew open and the black-clad figure of the King stood there, studying them both severely. "This kingdom is a disaster enough without a king who cannot work. For what reason are you two plaguing me?"

The little goblin piped up as Hoggle knew he would. "Oh, time for din, Majesty."

He nodded and started to head down the hall, towards the dining room, when he spun back around to them. "Hoggle!"

"Yer Majesty?"

He spun away again before the dwarf could see his face. "See to it Sarah is brought down immediately for dinner."

* * *

Damn it, they're as obnoxious as alarm clocks. How does Jareth stand them? Sarah's brain was groaning as two goblins mercilessly dragged the bedding off of her. She'd cried herself to a deep sleep and, from the looks of the sky through her windows, she'd spent most of the day in that dreamless sleep.

"No damn peaches, at least," she mumbled under her breath, but then rethought her comment—it probably would have been better to have had another peach-induced dream of Jareth, when he was at least happy with her and not threatening to keep her prisoner forever. Yes, that was much nicer than her current reality.

Grumbling, she allowed the goblins to pull her from the bed and accepted the clothing they pointed out between giggles. Anything was better than the rumpled old ball-gown, which only reminded her horribly of how it felt to be locked in Jareth's arms, against his ravishing lips.

She tried not to notice the goblins as she grabbed the outfit and headed for the bathroom to change. Yeah, that's really family-friendly, Sarah, getting turned on right in front of the goblins. What kind of sick person am I?

The outfit was a simple dress, obviously well-made but not excessively lavish, thankfully comfortable (no corset required, she was glad to see) and warm. She wriggled into it without difficulty and followed Pip and Gip downstairs.

Not exactly the same as my kitchen, that's for sure. The dining hall was about the size of the auditorium on her campus, with a giant, horse-shoe shaped table placed before a slightly raised dais.

She gulped and dared to peek under her lashes at the figure who rose from his seat at the dais table at her entry. He had changed to a more casual outfit of white shirt and gray breeches, but the effect was the same as if he had been wearing full-length black: a storm about to break. Two thoughts burst into her brain at the sight of him:

Damn, he's fine.

Damn, he's pissed.

Well, what was she expecting? Him to rush down there and hug her enthusiastically? No, but it'd be great if he'd do something else enthusiastically…Williams! Get your mind together. She bit her lip. At least he was going to give her food—with the extent to which she'd ticked him off, he could have stuffed her in an oubliette.

The goblins halted, apparently surveying the table for a spot for her. A dark-haired man at the end of the table jumped to his feet, flashing a charming smile at her. He bore an unfortunate resemblance to Colin Farrell, she noted.

"That gorgeous creature may sit here." He slid the chair next to him out and Sarah hesitated before his outstretched hand. She glanced up to the dais, frowning to see it suddenly empty, but before she could take in what that meant, a cool leather hand encircled her wrist.

"Sarah sits with me," that familiar yet always exotic voice snapped.

She glanced up tremulously at him, but he was looking at the dark-haired man, not her. The Colin Farrell look-a-like's face registered very un-Colin Farrell fear; he nodded and said, so quickly Sarah could barely hear him, "Of course, of course, I apologize for the misunderstanding, Your Majesty."

The Goblin King registered the apology with a curt nod of dismissal, taking them both away from the dark-haired man before he even resumed his seat. Sarah was aware of the sudden silence in the room; she was hardly an expert on noble behavior in the Underground, but she gathered reigning kings did not generally go about acting as ushers on a regular basis.

He didn't speak to her, however, either as he marched her to the dais, as he pulled her chair for her, or even after he took his own. Instead, he was quiet throughout the meal, watching his guests (other than herself) and occasionally speaking to them (but not to herself.) Even though he clearly was still angry with her, a part of her sulked at his silence.

Grrrrreat. So I'm obviously his little pet still, but still I'm in the doghouse. Great. She glanced over at him periodically but he never turned his head to look back. Her thoughts filled the silence between them.

Why won't he talk to me? He's just beating his fingertips on the table. You'd think he was into the drums or something from the way he's always tapping away. Or maybe he's got ADD or whatever and he can't stay still. Oh, hell, why do I care? What the hell is wrong with me?

Her eye caught that of a blond woman down the table who was licking her lips and admiring Jareth with a smoky, come-hither gaze. Sarah nearly gasped aloud. The ho! Granted, she had no relationship with Jareth, and God knows she didn't want one, but the blond woman didn't know that, and it was completely tacky of that wench to be salivating over him in public. Bitch. Sarah gritted her teeth. Jareth, she noted from the corner of her eye, was oblivious to the fact he was the choice dish for that woman. Actually, she thought, surveying the table, for most of the women—most of them were attempting to give him flirty looks, but other than a reflexive smirk here and there, he was ignoring them. Thank God. I'd have to dump this plate on his lap if he started licking his glass at the tramps.

She flicked a glance over at him again. No more drumming, I guess. Now he's bopping his leg. Oh, dear God, those pants don't hide those quads. Those legs are like works of art. And never mind the rest, oh, God…

Quit looking at him, Williams! What the hell is wrong with me? Jesus! Did he see me? Oh, thank God. DON'T LOOK AT HIS THIGH! And God, do NOT stare at THAT. Jesus, I'm the prisoner of this moody creep. I'm not supposed to be sneaking looks at him.

She sighed.

But I am.

She forced herself finally to train her eyes on her plate and let herself doze off, since nobody was talking to her. And certainly not the lord of lust next to her.

It was thirty minutes into dinner before she heard his low voice murmuring to her:

"Eat your dinner."

She jumped and some of the potatoes slid out onto the tablecloth. She tried to scrape them back subtly and, of course, ended up smearing them still further into the cloth, leading her to emit a very unladylike curse. Blood-red, she turned her face back to her plate and hissed back out of the side of her mouth, "I'm not that hungry."

"I said, eat your dinner, girl." It was like ventriloquism: he faced his subjects and his lips barely moved, but his voice still drifted to her.

How is he always so damn good at everything? "Why don't you eat yours and quit worrying about mine?"

He touched his long-abandoned fork and she could swear one-third of the plate's contents disappeared just after her taunting line. "I have eaten more than you, and if I choose not to eat more, it is because I don't care for the meat, not that I am sulking like a child."

"Yeah, that's why you've been pushing corn around on your plate for the last fifteen minutes! And don't think I didn't see you just get rid of some of your food, like you'd eaten it! Toby does that, for pete's sake. What, is Ambrosius lurking under the table with a full belly now?"

Now the regal golden head swiveled to regard her, the eyebrow arched. "At least he, Madame, eats. He is in no danger of starving himself to death out of spite."

"Spite? I already told you, I'm not hungry!" She sat back, folding her arms with determination.

His eyebrow arched again. "Perhaps you require a more appetizing meal?" He raised a hand gracefully and her food transformed into a giant peach.

"Oh, like that wasn't predictable," Sarah snorted. He grinned slowly. Well, at least he's smiling, even if it is just over tormenting me.

"Perhaps, but what about this?" And with a shimmer, the peach was topped with a swirl of whipped cream. As she stared at it, a spoon appeared before her eyes with a slice of peach and cream on it. Her eyes shifted along the stem of the spoon, to the gloved hand holding it, to the wicked, dancing eyes on the other side.

"Don't tempt me into making this a piece of cake, love," he said, smirking.

She started to stick her tongue out, but the edge of the spoon was suddenly sitting on her lower lip, slipping forward between her parted lips. "Always so contrary, aren't you?" His voice was distinctly amused. She glared at him, was rewarded with a twitch of his cheek, and then reluctantly opened her mouth.

She really wanted to hate it. She really wanted to hate him for putting her through this ridiculous, childish display. Unfortunately, being fed cream and fruit by the sexiest man she could even imagine, let alone meet, didn't rank terribly high on the United Nations' list of known tortures.

So she closed her eyes, allowed the cool cream to slip slowly about her tongue, permitted herself to curve her tongue beneath the scoop of the spoon before it retreated, let herself lap juice delicately from her lips and savor it, and swallowed with deliberation. But better than the chill of the spoon against her tongue, beyond the sweetness of the peach and the cool of the cream in her mouth, was the scent of Jareth, leather, spice, magic, and man. And just as nummy, her brain supplied above the bliss experienced by her senses. "Mmmmmmmmm….."

A metallic clatter made her eyes spring open. Horrified thoughts suddenly flared in her mind. Oh, God, did I just sound like Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally?"? Is he disgusted with me for letting myself get carried away? He gives out dances in peaches, not turn-ons! Oh, my God! She glanced at their neighbors—who didn't appear shocked, thank God, by any hormonal responses to the dessert—and finally over at Jareth.

If he was horrified, he didn't appear to her paranoid eye to be so. His face, suddenly but an inch from hers, had gone whiter than its normal porcelain shade, and the pupils of both eyes were startlingly large, pools of darkness. Beneath them, his mouth had opened slightly, and she could hear his breathing, rough and short. His lips seemed very, very close to her…

"Sarah," he breathed. A hand brushed the side of her face gently and she blinked. His eyes were so intense—as dizzying as when she'd said goodbye to him that first time in the Labyrinth…Her hands clutched the tablecloth to steady herself.

"Jareth?" she heard herself whisper.

She thought she had fainted for a moment—but no, there really was a swirl of gray and white in front of her as he shot to his feet and vanished in a spiraling column of glitter.

* * *

The dwarf's room in the castle was dark, small, and warm thanks to the fire glowing softly in the fireplace. He had been ordered to move into the castle to assist Sarah during her stay and though he missed his home, life in the castle had its good points. Including a winter without the huge bills of heating. In sleep, his face mashed into his pillow, Hoggle grumbled in memory of years past.

It was the third or fourth time that his name was called when he finally responded, lifting his head groggily from the bed. "Whaadda? Who's there? Sarah?"

No, it wasn't Sarah. It was worse, the Queen, or at least, her image in the crystal ball she'd left in his care.

"Goodness, I thought you'd never awaken," she commented, but her tone was not as light as it normally was with him. The dwarf groaned inside—she must have heard.

"Hoggle, what is going on? Tell me at once. I just looked in on Jareth and the poor boy is in a state, and you know I cannot endure that. What is happening in the Goblin Castle?"

What, indeed. He sighed and gulped a bit of the ale he'd left on the nightstand. The entire castle, actually, wanted to know what was going on. It had seemed promising, that first night she was here—Hoggle had been slightly alarmed at first by the appearance of the peach, but the subsequent exchange between the two didn't seem hostile; Sarah even seemed to right enjoy it, actually. And to Hoggle's astonishment and joy, it had appeared as if the King might kiss her, then and there. He'd certainly been praying; he of course wanted Sarah to be happy, but he also knew his life depended on Jareth being in a pleasant mood when he discovered how Sarah had received that bump on her head.

But then, instead of stealing the kiss, the King of Goblins had abruptly disappeared from the girl's side. Since then, he'd barely been sighted anywhere in the vicinity of Sarah, limiting their time together to silent dinners in the public dining hall. Scared again of saying he fancies her, the dwarf thought.

Sullenly, the dwarf adjusted his night shirt to ensure his decency, flipped the ball of his night-cap out of his face, and lifted the crystal in his hands. "Dunno, Yer Majesty. We got here and he was started actin' all jealous-like and nasty, and then theys fought, Sarah said."

"No!" she said again, slapping her hand against the arm of her chair. "How can this go awry? I put her in the same hall with him, dressed appropriately for a romantic engagement, left them alone—and you say they've only been quarreling again? What could have happened this time?"

"Sarah said somethin' like she maybe kissed some boy at home, 'fore we got her."

The Queen gave a growl of frustration rather like her son's. "Silly child! She always was far too quick to say precisely what was on her mind." She waved a hand as Hoggle began to open his mouth. "Now, now, Hoggle dear, let's not argue over defending her. Tell me this, I can well imagine what he's thinking, but what of her?"

The dwarf shrugged. "She's bored and wants to go home. She feels bad, that he's mad at her."

"How bad?" The Queen's eyes lit. "Has she admitted she's in love with him yet?"

"Nah, nah, but she's always watchin' him at dinner. An' he's peekin' at her, too." Hoggle chose not to inform the Queen that the Lord of Carondan had fallen very ill immediately after the dinner at which he'd tried to give Sarah the seat next to him.

The Queen beamed. "I have trained you well, my dear boy!" She sighed. "They sound perfectly adorable." He grunted, not sure if the murderous silence that hung over the two was quite "adorable" or not. She ignored him and paced in the ball for a few moments before spinning back to him. "Hoggle, my darling, we have been concentrating on the wrong side just now. He is ready; now we need to work on her. I want you to fetch me the goblin ladies, and when they are ready, you shall give them this. I cannot have them losing it." In his palm a fat peach materialized. "No, no, don't protest, my dear! If she's thinking of him, as I know she is, she will find the temptation irresistible."

"And then what? They're as liable to sulk at each other at a party as at dinner here, I thinks."

She shook her head and laughed lightly. "No, Hoggle, this won't take her to a ball again." She smiled. "It will only make her…more inclined to pursue any wishes she might have. She worries too much about consequences; we shall solve that little problem."

Hoggle stared at the peach as if a maggot would crawl out and attack his hand at that very moment. "I dunno, Yer Majesty…"

The Queen gave him a frosty look. "If she harbors no feelings towards my son, she will have nothing to act on, will she, my dear? You need fear no harm to her, nor any magical changing of her mind. Anything she does or says will be of her own free will, I assure you." She sighed again. "This is clearly a women's situation. Fetch me the goblin ladies, Hoggle!"

* * *

"I'm in a freakin' fairytale castle. You'd think there'd be more to do. Why don't they mention things like this in the stories?"

In her room, Sarah was idly walking by the row of cathedral windows overlooking yet another fantastic, maze-like garden, with the Labyrinth curling beyond them. Every window in the castle seemed to have a gorgeous view; at first, she stopped and gaped at every window, but the beauty quickly became dull to her eye. There was only so much interest in a rose, magical or non, after all.

That's the way it really was with everything in the castle, she decided. After a few days of being virtually ignored by its king, she lacked a favorable impression of the place. Beautiful, but dull and lifeless, with no company but her own to enjoy it all. The library was enormous but there was no one with whom to discuss the books. A few magazines from the Aboveground appeared in her room, but Hoggle hardly appreciated her triumphant laugh at J-Lo's break-up with Ben Affleck, and the goblin maids who looked after her tried but didn't understand. ("Witchy, is she? Like that princess of the orcs who was after all the kings, 'cludin' ours.") She could play with the kitchen cat and the dogs who wandered the castle, all theoretically strays but well known to be the indulged pets of the Goblin King. She was a city girl with not even a pastel-green thumb, so the royal gardens were merely beautiful for her, not a hobby. And there was no one, really, with whom she could go walking there. The Fae men of the court avoided her, and the women stared at her suspiciously from afar.

"I need to go home," she groused to the goblin maids as they entered her room. She threw the book she'd had on her lap down on the floor; it landed with a satisfying thump. "I'm actually considering doing schoolwork. That says something, doesn't it?"

The goblin women shrugged and scurried around the room. The larger one, with whiter hair, spoke up---Sarah tested her memory; yes, this one was called Magda. "Dearie, you ain't gonna have to do much of that here, I'm thinking."

"No, the King wants you to be fixin' your head on something else," sniggered her sister, Lippie. Sarah groaned and tried to ignore the snickering. Goblin humor had a tendency to the bawdy, she'd found out early on.

"I just wish he'd let me go home already! I don't see why he's keeping me here!"

Lippie shoved her away from the blankets and took Sarah's spot opposite Magda, tucking in the sheets. "Girlie, we all knows that."

She threw herself irritably in the chair as the goblin maids continued their work. "Oh, please. He's got me in the silent ward, for God's sake. I'm the castle social leper, apparently."

Lippie chortled and beat a paw into the pillow to plump it up. "He's got you in here, and that's sayin' something."

"I know why he brought me to—"

"No, here, I said. These rooms, the Queens' rooms. His girls might come 'round, but they never stay here. Sign of 'spect, this is."

She rubbed her face tiredly. "Whatever. I just wish he'd let me go! I wish I knew what to say to get me out of here."

Magda glanced over her broad shoulder at her. "You ain't sayin' you don't know how to get somethin' from a man, are you? At your age, girlie?" Lippie joined Magda in a salacious guffaw at her expense.

Sarah gaped at them. "Excuse me? Did you just mean—" and she fell silent, shocked, as Lippie's hand motion indicated that she and Magda meant absolutely what Sarah thought they meant.

The goblins was unphazed by her shocked reaction. "Give him what he's wantin' and he'll give you yers." Magda giggled to herself, and her partner glared at her before looking back at Sarah. "Works with me hubby all the time, dearie." Lippie nodded eagerly at Magda's advice, winking at Sarah as she wiggled with her arms to lift her chest higher, and Sarah continued to gape at them.

"I'm sorry," she stammered finally. "I guess I'm just tired and not hearing properly. I think I had better take a nap."

"Course, get a bits of shut-eye for him," Lippie agreed. Magda peered at the tray by the bed, however, and frowned at Sarah. "Best eat your peachie now, though, or you'll spoil your appetite for sup and then he'll be sore as can be."

As if he can get madder than when I've seen him, Sarah snorted. Then she blinked. Eating to not spoil one's appetite? For a moment, she stared suspiciously at the peach, then shrugged. It was the Underground; logic had no reason here. And as for the peach, they were all over the castle; she shouldn't be surprised. And she'd had others here that weren't enchanted. Unless you call hormonal overload thanks to being spoon-fed one by a hot Goblin King enchantment…Arrgh!

Smacking her foreheard lightly, she picked up the peach and began to nibble gently on its sweet flesh.

"That's a good girl, miss…"

She was dimly aware of the maids slipping out of the room quietly as she flopped onto the newly made bed, staring up at the ceiling.

How do I get out of here, she thought for the millionth time, examining the paintings in the ceiling. They were of lovers, she realized with a blush, and rather graphic. She hated to think what paintings were in the King's rooms if this was how they saw fit to decorate the Queen's. They're probably all done in images of Jareth, for God's sake.

She bit her tongue as her brain wickedly superimposed Jareth's face on the man's in the painting above her. She shook her head lightly. How to get out of here…

Give him what he's wantin' and he'll give you yers..

A slow warmth began to build in her center and spread outward, like a heated liquid poured into her from above. She could hear her pulse ringing in her ears as it sped up.

This is impossible.

But what if it worked?

I can't believe I'm actually considering this.

But somehow, in the lulling warmth of her room, the contented sigh she heard escaping her own lips, it seemed not just possible, but easy…very easy…and God, so sweet…

The wonderful, silken warmth of his bare chest beneath her hands.

…Every pleasure shall be yours…

The firm and tender motions of his lips on hers; the sweet invasion of his tongue.

…Asks him…

The sweet, spicy scent rising from his skin.

…As you wish…

His naked body in the moonlight.

I would have killed them.

His lips brushing her hair.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, catching the last of the peach juice, as the idea finally seized her.

There was one way to convince Jareth to let her go.

If he thought he could get her back.

There was one possible answer to her problem, something she could do to remedy her situation. And it had the possibility of being the most enjoyable desperation strategy in history.

Seduce Jareth.

* * *