Co-authored by LadyOfTheCelticLand and Quaintlullabies

Hi. So, it's been a while. We'll try to avoid that in the future. Please know that we read every single review and take note when we're followed, or favorited. We appreciate it. We will be reworking this story from the beginning on a new profile once it is completed. No new chapters will be added there until it is complete here - we don't want you to think you're missing out. That being said, if you follow our new, combined profile at LadiesOfTheLabyrinth, we will occasionally post some outtakes over there. There will be a smutty one posted over there shortly. And there's already one there if you're interested. As always, thank you for your kind words (and threats? The threats upon our person for not updating were also sweet in their own way. I think.), your reviews, follows and faves. We sincerely appreciate it.


Despite her newfound focus on embracing the role of Goblin Queen, Sarah wasn't entirely sure she would ever get used to the rituals and pomp of court etiquette; it was with a blend of amusement and envy that she understood that, by contrast, Jareth wore it like a second skin. He was naturally at home in this world of minutiae the way she, an American from Connecticut, could never be. If she was greeted by name rather than by title, it was no fuss to her; to Jareth, it was a grave insult. Even if Jareth had been completely human, the differences in their upbringing alone would have made him seem like an alien being. Being in a position of power was as much a part of his identity as his personality.

She found herself bemused and flummoxed by this difference of perspective now. The castle staff was packing their monarchs' luggage in preparation to Grianan Castle, and Sarah had entered her rooms to find Aine the epicenter of a whipping hurricane of fabrics.

Ducking under an animated ballgown she'd never before seen, let alone worn, Sarah called out, "Aine, I wouldn't want to tell you how to do your job, but don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?"

"Then don't tell me how to do my job," Aine sang out, blithely tossing out more corsets from the wardrobe like a carefree girl might toss seeds on a soil patch. Sarah wildly wondered if the wardrobe opened to another dimension, and suppressed a giggle at the thought of Narnia being used as the Goblin King's personal closet.

"Seriously. I doubt we'll need all of these," she insisted. "We'll only be there for a week, and-"

"For the final time, Sarah, I know what I'm doing," Aine answered with a huff, throwing up her hands and cursing in a language Sarah only partially recognized. She thought she heard the base of the word for "ignorant" in the string of consonants.

"I don't mean to be rude," the human replied cautiously. "But I don't understand. Am I going to change gowns every hour? There's no way I need all of these —"

"You need them," came a low baritone from the adjoining doorway, "because you need to be prepared for everything, pet."

Even if Sarah had somehow hit her head and magically forgotten what Jareth's voice sounded like, she would have known it was him based solely on the alacrity with which Aine vacated the Queen's Chambers.

"She doesn't even bow anymore, let alone wait to be dismissed," he observed, leaning his hip against the door frame. "You're a terrible influence on her."

"It's not me," Sarah said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You scare her."

"I 'scare her?' Oh, come now. I've been nothing but benevolent to her, despite her lapses of protocol."

"No. You've been nothing but polite to her. And don't forget the number of times she'd walked in on us…uh, less than presentable."

"Fae are not squeamish about passion," he said, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion. "And I fail to see how me being 'polite' to a servant warrants terror."

Sarah laughed. "No, it wouldn't warrant terror - from anyone but you," she said as she approached him. "All my human is rubbing off on you." She stood on her top toes and placed a quick kiss to his lips.

"There are other parts of you I'd like to rub off on me," he said, looking down at her with an arched brow.

That prompted an eye-roll so hard, she was mildly surprised her eyeballs didn't roll out the side of her head. "Are you here for a reason? Or do you just take pleasure in scaring off my friends?" she asked, deigning not to dignify the crude innuendo with a response.

He studied her for a long moment before pushing himself off the frame and offering his hand to her. "There are some things we need to finalize," he simply said.

"Now?"

"Is there somewhere else you need to be?"

"I was going to try to find my soldier-tunics and make sure they made it into the suitcases," Sarah muttered. "I wouldn't put it past Aine to decide they 'aren't necessary for the occasion.'"

"I'm surprised, Sarah: I seem to recall that you had fancied playing the part of sumptuously-clothed royalty. Do you not enjoy it now?" he taunted.

"I do," she admitted. "Sometimes. But I don't like it all the time. Sometimes a girl just wants her yoga pants," she explained with a shrug.

Jareth's hand tightened spasmodically on hers. After a quick glance at the adjoining room and servants within, he growled quietly, "I have told you what will happen should you don those painted-pants outside of this room."

Sarah couldn't help herself: she laughed. His ability to scare her by looming over her had lost its potency long ago. Or, at least, she no longer felt fear with him so close. "So let me get this straight. According to Underground protocol, I have to wear gowns - proper gowns - like, all the time -"

"Nonsense," he interrupted, narrowing his eyes at her. "You have kept and worn many Aboveground items. Do not so flippantly erase my generosity."

"I'd like to wear more of Aboveground clothes."

"Well," he said with a shrug, "heavy is the head that wears the crown."

"I'm not wearing a crown," she said with a smirk.

"Yet." He strode through the door of his chambers. Trailing after him, Sarah was struck by how many fae were bustling around packing his things. He had double what Aine was packing for her.

Jareth returned with a few velvet boxes. "I trust no one else to care for these," he told her. "They are normally locked safely away. However, we will have need of them for this occasion."

By association alone, she could swear that the boxes' contents were going to be ostentatious. "All right, consider me forewarned. What are in those boxes, Jareth?" she asked. "And how unnecessarily sparkly are they going to be?"

"Most women would be struck silent by what I'm about to give you," he murmured, placing the boxes gently on the table.

"I'm not most women, Jareth," she replied blandly.

"A truth of which you remind me daily, in an endless array of tedious, taxing, and tenacious - if not treasonous - mannerisms," he said, now rolling his own eyes. "To begin, you will not be wearing the circlet I presented you with before for this excursion -"

"-which is good, since Lavena seemed about to chew her own tongue when she saw me wearing it," she interjected. Jareth merely raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He nodded. "You'll be wearing this instead," he said, removing the first item from the box and presenting it to her. When she gaped soundlessly, he added with a grin, "I assume this is satisfactory?"

He knew damn well that "satisfactory" didn't begin to cover it.

It was a full-fledged tiara, and she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips when he carefully it set in her hands for her perusal. Thirteen glowing sapphires were each set in diamond-encircled fronds, which spiraled up around the base towards the front in a pattern almost reminiscent of a diagonal peacock feather. Each blue "eye" winked preternaturally in the light, and Sarah felt the hum of old, deep magic in her hands where she touched it.

"Do you like it?" Jareth asked, and Sarah's eyes snapped up to his. There was something in his voice that she wasn't used to hearing. Uncertainty, maybe?

"Are you trying to blind me?" she asked with an unbelieving laugh.

"It is to your satisfaction?" he repeated.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she whispered.

He exhaled as though he had just been compressed by bellows, but quickly recovered. "Now I'm offended," he said with a wry smile.

"My statement stands. You're not a 'thing'," Jareth. You're a person," she bantered back.

"Am I?" he countered, grinning. Then, without giving her time to reply, he moved forwards and gestured towards the tiara. "May I?"

Sarah dipped her head so that he could place it there gently; she was stunned at how light it was.

"It looks beautiful on you," he whispered.

"It is beautiful," she said. "But why - why now? Why this?"

"It is part of a collection of gems - your circlet included - that is owned and worn only by the royal ruling family. These gems are crafted by the blood of Fae High Kings and Queens, a contribution to the family line. A few of my mother and father's gems are in the King and Queen's Crowns, but I fashioned this one myself, out of me… and out of my mother's smaller gems," he finished quietly. "It was my hope that whichever fae wore this would do honor to my mother's memory. With you by my side...I now find myself confident that when they see you, the kindness and equality of my mother's legacy will be your forerunner."

Sarah choked, trying to fight back the sting of tears at her eyes.

Seeing her face in the mirror, Jareth quirked a smile. "That," he said lightly, "and it fills me with an admittedly low-brow delight to think of my family jewels on your lovely visage."

In spite of herself, she snorted. "Classy."

"Indeed. May my own remain unsevered long into our rule." He allowed himself a chuckle, then continued. "This, and other matching items from the Royal Collection, will be the only gems you will wear on our trek. While there are baubles and trinkets aplenty for the masses, each of these gems is worth a kingdom's ransom. Let others drape themselves in jewels and glitter: none but you and I will be wearing these, and as such, we will be wearing a multitude of kingdom's ransoms in a few pieces."

Sarah hesitated. "This is beautiful. Really, it is. And I… I would be honored to wear it. But - Jareth…. Are you sure it's enough?"

Jareth shook his head in amusement. "We Fae live for millennia, if not...longer. The best of us value quality, not quantity. Those who do not understand what you wear are not worth your regard. Those who do will understand the significance, and they will understand what I have named you. Certainly," he added, "Lavena will understand what I am about, and will know to cease any… misinformed… attempt at rivalry."

"And what are you about?" Sarah asked finally, turning in the circle of his arms.

His eyes flicked from her face to the gems above, down to her mouth, and settled again around her eyes. "I am claiming you as mine, not only as my lover, but as my equal." His voice was deep, a low tendril of heat through her veins. "And the sight of you willingly draped in my family's treasures inflames me."

Sarah glanced down to his leggings. "Apparently."

Jareth laughed without a trace of shame, and snapped his fingers. The servants vacated the room, and the doors slammed themselves closed and locked behind them.


Even being prepared and her confidence buoyed by Jareth's enthusiasm, Sarah still found herself flabbergasted to find herself waiting to be announced at Grianan Castle, home to King Angus's clan Aileachs.

Jareth had already donned what Sarah privately termed as his "Fae King face," the faint sneer of condescension lurking in the corners of his mouth. Even though she knew it was a mask, a persona like a gate-pass to interact with the world beyond the doors, she hated it. Would she have to make her own Queen of the Goblins mask to accomplish her goal? She hoped not. She hoped she could convince Lavena to become her Regent Mentor out of simple human decency and shared goals. Well, what passed for human, anyway.

The carriage ride had been pleasant, and Sarah was grateful for Jareth's distracting commentary while they'd traveled throughout the countryside. Sarah always found herself breathless listening to how proud he was of his kingdom, how he could spin even the most mundane of things into fascinating narratives. It was clear how much he loved the Underground, and how much pride he had in its inhabitants. It wasn't just haughty pride or a need to show off and be seen: it was a genuine joy in interacting with his people.

Several times along the trip, Sarah looked out the window to see crowds of people lined up along the roadway to catch a glimpse of them, and though she oughtn't have been surprised, she was startled every time Jareth asked that the carriage be stopped to allow the people to greet them. Of all the spectacles she encountered whilst returning to the Underground, despite the fact that there were more creatures, Fae and non-Fae alike, than she could have ever imagined, this seemed the most intimate.

This was not rehearsed formality.

This was a monarch, not demanding attention and adoration, but humbled to be among the people that called him King - and she'd never loved him more. They further they went, the more people seemed to appear. Word traveled quickly, and Sarah was breathless at the sheer number of people that wanted to see them.

No, not just him.

Them.

It brought back memories of the first time that Jareth had stopped the carriage and stepped out; when Sarah craned her neck to see why, he motioned for her to join him. She had flinched in surprise at the collective gasp from the crowd when they saw her. Nevertheless, with a deep breath, she laced her fingers in his offered hand and followed him to a little gathering of children who were in vain attempting to push through the adults.

"I believe they're here to see you, precious thing," he'd whispered in her ear as he moved her in front of him.

They were young, though Sarah had no idea how young - the Fae aged so differently from humans - and she couldn't help but kneel down to their level and greet them. They offered her bouquets of flowers that they had obviously picked from the field right behind them, laughed as they came forward in a group of five, some bashful, some overly-polite, and one so outgoing that Sarah couldn't help but giggle at her enthusiasm. As Sarah stood to leave, one of them threw their arms around her waist in a hug; the crowd gasped, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see two guards moving forward, and Sarah immediately locked eyes with them and shook her head infinitesimally. She couldn't care less what procedure was: there was no way she was allowing Jareth's henchmen to scare the little fae.

To his credit, Jareth's posture never shifted, and he seemed as relaxed as she was, even if Sarah knew Jareth had already assessed the situation and was prepared to act if necessary. She kneeled down again and hugged the girl back, and as if it were a sign of permission, the other girls followed.

Send them love.

Sarah pushed her magic out, just a little, to let them know how happy she was, how honored she was to see them, before standing and waving the crowd good-bye.

Back in the carriage, she caught Jareth just looking at her, something dancing in his eyes that she'd never seen before.

"What?" she'd asked him, but he just shook his head as if it were nothing. A moment later, he resumed his commentary on the landscape.

So the fact that she was about to be greeted by King Angus shouldn't have bothered her - she'd already met him - liked him, in fact - and knew what to expect.

The problem was Lavena and her court of peacocks, as Sarah had taken to calling them. Her objective was to turn an enemy into a friend, and while that strategy had earned her victory in the Labyrinth, even Jareth was skeptical in its odds for organic success with Lavena as the target. When King Angus greeted them on the doors thrown open for the welcoming feast, Sarah's eyes immediately sought out Lavena's.

It took a long moment to find her. The sea of expressions that met her amongst the assembled fae were as though she was a walking contaminant: disgust, horror, disbelief, and repulsion. Though more neutral expressions popped through the tableau of politely revolted visages, Sarah felt her knees turn to water.

Once she was able to focus on the woman clothed in silver, Lavena's face outshone them all. She was several paces behind Angus, defiantly embedded within the crowd, rather than fulfilling the custom of being at her father's side as the hostess of the fortress.

Her face was tight with control, her eyes flashing. The delicate muscles at her collarbones stood out in vehement protest, her fingers glued together as though they were rigid popsicle sticks. Her gaze was fixed on the tiara on Sarah's head.

Oh boy.

All protocol was carried out, all courses tasted and served with fastidiousness. That's what made it worse: there was nothing Sarah could pinpoint as objectionable. It was all sidelong glances, a distancing of chairs next to her, a quiet dissolution of conversations whenever she ventured nearby. Sarah was an outsider, a being who had resulted in their precious princess being spurned and discarded as used goods. Whether Lavena had been criticized for having lost the crown of co-regent through her own fault or sympathized with for having to abide by the whims of an impulsive monarch, it was clear that the majority of the nobles who merited nearby tables viewed Sarah as the catalyst for the present tension.

Only Angus seemed oblivious. He enjoyed himself thoroughly, gabbling about hunting game patterns and new weaponry technologies while the serving staff kept his wine goblet full. Jareth, who had requested watered Pixie Whiskey, kept up an amiable conversation which revealed nothing.

In contrast to Lavena's initial hawk-like glare, the pale princess now would not meet Sarah's eyes. Even when sitting directly opposite her, the hostess always found another place more captivating than the guest of honor. By the dessert course, Sarah was so anxious and fed up with frustration that she could bear it no longer. "Are you blind?"

When the other woman didn't look up, Sarah reached out and clanged her amber-filled goblet partway across the table in Lavena's direction, sloshing liquid over her fingers and staining the azure tablecloth. "Hey, I asked you a question!"

She looked up, then. Her sapphire eyes were hot. "I apologize. My ears must have been filled with inconsequential babbling."

Fueled by burning hobgoblin liquor burning through her veins, Sarah felt her nerves ignite. At long fucking last, I get a response. Aloud, she said, "I would have expected a princess to know the difference between babbling and conversation."

Lavena looked down at the perfect curls of chocolate decorating her plate rim. "Yes," she murmured, "a trueborn princess would understand refined behavior and respond accordingly to it."

Aha! The ice queen has claws. Let the games begin.

"Well, I forgive you for the lapse of protocol. Gods know I've been fucking tutored in it day in and day out for the past year. As it's said, 'to error is human. To forgive is…' well, I'm sure a well-cultured woman knows the remainder of that Aboveground saying. Y'know, seeing as though your own education has been so thorough."

Angus choked mid-sentence, and even Jareth turned his head fractionally towards her. Casually, he slipped a hand beneath the table cloth to grip her knee with bruising force. His meaning couldn't have been clearer: Control yourself!

Fuck control.

"I've been taught," Sarah continued casually, "that being a hostess was a pride of the fae, even if the company was not to their liking. Dignity does the host honor, to highlight the stupidity of the brutes. Should I count myself as honored that your etiquette is even more….relaxed….than my own? Here I have been on my best behavior!"

The couples around them fell silent.

Sarah stung Jareth's palm with a plunge of magic. Trust me how to do this my way, or not at all. This is how I rule.

He withdrew.

Lavena pushed her plate aside. "What is the little saying your sanctimonious species has…. 'It does not do to cast pearls before swine?'"

"Lavena!" her father gasped.

"No, no," Sarah interjected. "It bodes well to know that her highness is learned! It gives me the background to understand the depth of her….regard."

"Perhaps we might retire, my Lord Angus?" Jareth suggested. "It has, after all, been a strenuous day for both of our ladies. Suffering the endurance of a carriage is no great feat in comparison to a lavish banquet such as this."

"To which lady of 'yours' are you referring?"

Lavena hadn't looked up from her forkful of dark chocolate mousse and sugared violets. She'd given no indication that it was her who'd uttered the taunt, but there it was. Her words had been less than a whisper, nothing more than a tiny exhale, but to Sarah's magically-enhanced senses, it was loud and clear - as it was to everyone surrounding.

Oh, bring it, bitch.

Sarah pushed back from the table and slouched in a way that would have made Aine and Earnon faint, draping her arm over the back of her chair towards Jareth, and cradled her goblet in her other palm. "Well, one of us is acting the lady. The other is not. Draw your own conclusion."

The fae woman shoved her chair back as well. "Pardon me," she said coldly. "Something has seemed to unsettle my stomach. I shall excuse myself."

She began to walk away, silver skirts glistening like an evening-gilded creek, when Sarah called: "The Abovegrounders have a little thing called Pepto Bismol. It helps with overindulgence in food and drink, along with….indigestion. It's pink, a pretty color for children. Though perhaps more fruits would help you unclench whatever blockage you have."

Gasps were heard throughout the room - along with several hastily-hushed giggles. Lavena whirled around. "How dare you bring unmentionable subjects to the refinement of the banquet hall!"

"As long as we're airing out unmentionable subjects, perhaps you'd like to remove the scepter up your ass and behave with civility. I offered you no offense up until now except my own inescapable humanity, though you have insulted me on countless measures with your own 'superior' blustering. Shall we behave like adults?"

Sarah, of course, had no expectation that Lavena would simply laugh amicably and return. However, the dark-haired human was unprepared when the fae woman turned and screamed, a sound force that vibrated utensils and glassware off the tables and trembled the tapestry walls.

"You humiliate me in front of my king, my father, and my subjects? You insolent wench!"

"You do yourself no honor," Sarah spat back. "I expected a woman to know better!"

"You know nothing of me! You are a pampered pet, a - a- kitten in a man's lap!"

"A lap which you long to be in with such painful obviousness that - no, stop, Jar- Your Majesty, I have this!" Sarah swatted his hand away again. From the way that Jareth stiffened, she knew there would be hell to pay later. Whatever. She'd undergone torture, PTSD, therapy, and a freaking change of universe. A cat-fight, she could handle. Even when tipsy and bungling words. "Be a warrior," she taunted at the silver-haired woman. "Say what you mean instead of hiding behind peacock feathers and gold leaf."

"Very well." Lavena strode forward and gripped the back edge of Jareth's chair as if it were a podium. "You are reckless. You are blatant. You are simplistic. You are inadequate. You are superficial. You have robbed my honor and my dignity. You rub your brutishness in my face and expect me to thank you for it."

Sarah laughed. "At least now we're being honest."

"You are a slimy toad beneath my shoe," Lavena hissed. "And we must bow over you and give you goldenware. Well, guess what, little human? You are nothing - nothing - but a dizzy mortal who happens to suck sausage well enough to amuse the high king for a few decades. In the meantime, you'll have destroyed this nation, its political alliances, and its protocol for millennia!"

Jareth jerked as if to move, but Sarah had already stood, shoving the white-haired princess away from the chair and breathing heavily. Lavena stood her ground, her chest heaving inches from her own.

"At least I love the sausage I suck," Sarah breathed in her face. "Rather than whoring myself out for a few pretty dresses and the ability to dictate the number of tongs on a fork. I'd be fascinated to hear your five-year plan for toilet paper. By the way, only frogs are slimy. Toads are dry and scaly. Perhaps you only have experience with them?"

Lavena shoved her, hard. Sarah stumbled back against the table, her palms plunging into several dessert plates. "I will not tolerate this!" the fae screamed. "I will not be insulted in my own home!"

"Now you know how it feels!" Sarah retorted, flinging her hands and splattering chocolate on the floor. "So we're even. Want to start this over and actually stop pussy-footing around and behave like adults?"

The answer was a goblet of wine thrown at her, which connected soundly down the front of her dress. "You evil she-demon! You - you day-lily, opening up for whatever radiance happens to flash your way and withering away when it leaves! How dare you?"

By this point, everyone was either murmuring or making discreet exits. Angus was gaping in horror, and Jareth's expression seemed torn between fury and hilarity.

"You first, princess!"

"You filthy whore," Lavena spat. "You uncouth, brash, crude, presumptuous, venomous -"

"I'll answer to everything except 'whore.' I have fucked only those whom I wanted. Are you angry because your king made a different choice, or because you expected the color of your royal coin would reserve him for your bed?"

"I'm angry," the fae shouted, "because he doesn't actually love you! He's infatuated with you, a lovestruck boy with a cockstand, and you dare to aspire to the world that has smote greater beings than you! The great High King Jareth, the fae who has had ten thousand women! And you think to have ensnared him? You are morning mist compared to the sea of time, and you have brought humiliation to my house! No, not even you - his display of you, as a cat displays a twitching mouse in its claws and expects praise for an easy conquest. He is using you, you pathetic little insect, and you don't even see it! You presumptuous-"

"It appears as though we do have matters to discuss, then," Sarah said softly. Her heart was beating rapidly and her nerves stung. Jareth's still body beside hers had pierced a pang of ice into her heart. You name my fears at the cost of airing your own. "Not such inconsequential babbling."

"You will die," Lavena spat. "Of silly old age or disease. It is like honoring a gnat or a field mouse. It disgraces the office."

"Perhaps." Sarah met the blazing magical eyes of the royal fae and smiled wanly. "I had an excellent example of short-lived usefulness, after all."

When the blue eyes turned chilly and the blaze of magic rose like freezing rain around the princess' palms, Sarah's instinctive response was to cast a net of magic that closed itself around her mouth. When the fae woman's mouth moved, no sound emerged.

In the seconds between Lavena realizing that her words weren't emitting sound past her mouth, Sarah shook her hands one last time of chocolate goop. "My most esteemed lord King Angus, would you be so kind as to direct me to our bedchambers?"

That was the last thing she remembered before the world went blank.


"Well, that could have gone better," Sarah said as she followed Jareth into the room. He had revived her once she was out of the great hall; he had been silent on their walk since. "I mean, it totally could have gone worse, as we both know, but tomorrow is going to be … interesting to say the least."

At last, he spoke.

"You could always forget this foolishness and allow me to find a suitable sponsor for you. There are so many others more worthy of your attention, Precious," he murmured. He finally turned towards her, removing his gloves, and tossed them somewhere out of Sarah's line of vision.

He looked pensive, Sarah thought, watching the different emotions play across his face. She knew what was coming before the question even passed his lips, and she raised her fingers to press against his to silence him.

"I told you I would think about it, Jareth," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes, replacing her fingers with her lips in a soft kiss.

"I would give you everything, Sarah. A god, as you referred to me, on his knees, begging to spend the rest of his eternity with you."

"You can do all those things now, Jareth," she whispered, brushing his hair back from his face.

He chuckled, something deep and low in his chest. "A Queen that will not marry her King. How very modern of you," he said. His grin was sad, though, and she sensed the deep unease in her lover.

"Yes, well I've never been very traditional. Neither have you, if the stories are to be believed."

He wrapped one arm around her waist, his free hand cupping the back of her head. He smirked down at her, his eyebrow raised in self-mockery. "And you believe all the stories you hear?"

"About you?" she laughed. "Absolutely."

"Mmm," was all he murmured noncommittally before his mouth was on hers, and Sarah, as was often the case, melted into him. She just fit, effortlessly. As if she were made for him and him only. It was a thought that crossed her mind over and over and over again. She loved him - knew it with absolute certainty - but she would not marry him until she could fully trust him. Trust him to keep her informed, trust him to allow her to make her own decisions, trust him not to sideline her when he thought she needed to be "kept safe." Fieldmouse, indeed.

Muscle memory had her head tilted back as he nipped his way down her throat, her hands fisting in the fabric encasing his upper arms. "Besides," she whispered, her hands raising to thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, "if this whole thing with Aimir doesn't work out, this way, you can have your pick of all the gorgeous young Nobels when I'm old and gray."

She laughed, but Jareth stopped his ministrations and stood to his full height.

"That isn't funny, Sarah," he said, sternly, stepping away from her. "I have never come across a creature more perfect in my eyes. Ever. And I never will."

"Oh, come on, Jareth," she chuckled, trying to diffuse the situation. She could feel the tension in the room from her comment, but it was more than that. "Lavena was right about at least a couple things. I absolutely believe you find me pretty, and I know you can't keep your hands off me, but I refuse to believe that... in your long, long life… " she trailed off and shook her head. "No. The odds say that simply isn't possible," she finished, waving her hand dismissively at him.

She approached the vanity, only glancing passively at him in the mirror before she reached up to begin unfastening her dress. Long fingers wrapped around her tiny wrists and stilled them.

"You presume to tell me my thoughts, little human?" he asked, eyes glowing. Sarah shivered beneath the weight of him, both physical and mental; his voice had changed, much like it had in their chambers before, but it wasn't tinged with barely controlled rage and anguish this time. This was something else entirely. There was anger, certainly, but something else as well.

"You presume to tell me what I want? What I see? What I love?" he asked, and Sarah's breath rushed out of her lungs. She turned to face him, his eyes fading back to their preternatural blue, and when Sarah opened her mouth to speak, to ask him to repeat himself, or perhaps ask him to clarify his statement, his mouth was on hers and all reason left her.

This was home. No matter where she was, what she was doing, no matter whom she was with - this would always be home. It was several minutes, but not nearly enough, before he broke away from her. Her eyes blinked open lazily to meet his, which were staring down at her intently.

"I love you, Sarah Williams," he breathed, the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of her jaw. "Lest you think I play Fae games, or hide my meaning behind superfluous words, allow me to repeat myself, clearly." He leaned forward and gently placed his lips to hers, almost chastly, before pulling away just enough that she could see him clearly. His finger curled under her chin to hold her there. "You are the fire that warms my weary soul, the light that bids me leave my bed each excruciating morning, and the silken sweetness that beckons me back to it when I have completed the objectives of the man you expect me to be. You are the strength at my back and at my side. I trust you, little Starlight, which is more than I can say for anyone else I have ever known. I love you, more deeply than I ever thought I could. You own my heart and what I have of my soul, and despite your thrice-damned temper, I could never imagine joy with anyone but you. And I will never love another."

The next kiss was far less gentle.

His hands were everywhere before Sarah had time to fully process his words, let alone string together a coherent response. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing him to close the height difference by leaning down. Her back arched into him, and Jareth, never one to miss an opportunity to undress her, began blindly unclasping the tiny buttons that ran down the spine of her dress.

When he reached the end, he spun her to face the mirror, fingers dancing along her neck, until the sleeve of her gown fell off her shoulder. And then the other, until the fabric was nothing more than an ink-colored distraction kicked aside by his boot.

"Shall I show you, precious thing? Show you what I see?" His breath was coming hard. He stopped her, though, when she nodded and reached for the crown still pinned to her hair. "Were you told to remove that, Sarah?" he asked in that particular indifferent tone that meant anything but indifference.

"I just don't want it to get-"

"Leave it," he ordered, leaning down to nip at her bare shoulder. "Leave everything in place." She sighed, resigned, and leaned her head back against his chest. "Leave it exactly where it belongs."

He lifted his shirt over his head in one swift motion and slipped a hand around her waist to pull her against him. The second their skin touched, she hissed, a shiver running a full circuit through her body. "Such sounds you make, Sarah. Only for me," he murmured; he dropped a kiss to her neck.

"Yes," she breathed, her arm raising to bury her hand in his hair. "Only for you." Her eyes fluttered closed, and his teeth nipped at her earlobe.

"Eyes open," he purred. His hands drifted lower and Sarah couldn't stop the tiny whimper that escaped from behind her teeth; she could see the corner of Jareth's mouth quirk up, cocky and sure. "I could spend entire evenings listening to you gasp and cry and moan my name, just as easily as I could listen to the sound of your breathing while you sleep beside me."

Sarah arched against him and his eyes watched her in the mirror. "Do you see the way your body responds to mine, Sarah? The way the blush crawls across your skin to flush your cheeks?" She blinked slowly, as if she were watching someone else - certainly the reflection looking back at her wasn't her own. "They way your lips part and your breath hastens, waiting for the taste of my mouth, knowing, even in such a small thing, that you belong to me, fully."

Sarah stilled and met his eyes in the mirror, waiting until she was sure she had his attention. "All this talk of me belonging to you," she started, annoyed at the tone and husky timbre of her voice. "If we are to be equals…" she stopped - that wasn't what she wanted to say.

She started again, her voice more sure, more certain. "Lest you think I play silly Fae games with you, Your Majesty, let me make it clear: you belong to me." And with one sentence, she laid herself bare, not to be consumed and devoured, but to be respected, to declare herself on equal footing. There would be no possession without reciprocation.

"Such fearless defiance in those green eyes, Precious. Is it any wonder I shall crave you until Time itself ceases to exist?"

She shivered.

He spun her again, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her to sit upon the low dresser, her back against the mirror as he sank to his knees in front of her. "I would lay so much more at your feet, but I'm afraid I'll have to do with what you permit me to give for the evening," he whispered at the inside of her leg. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her toward the edge so that she balanced her weight back on her arms; she was able to do nothing more than drape her knees over his shoulders and watch as he dipped his head between her legs.

He used his fingers to gently part her folds; her head fell back at the first touch of his tongue to her center. He would not be rushed this evening. There would be no begging for him to change his pace. He would drown in the taste of her, and all she could do was give herself over to the tide.

There were no screams of pleasure, no filth whispered against her flesh -

Just the sounds of her breath, inhales and exhales interspersed with low, throaty moans, and the satisfied hum of the Fae King at her feet.

How could she ever doubt his love for her when he touched her like this? It wasn't what he was doing to her, it was how he was doing it. He touched her with a practiced ease, knowing exactly where to suck and nibble, knowing exactly how to twist his fingers so that her entire body sang in its response.

She was a sonata of sound, carefully composed and arranged for him alone, and this first movement, this overture to his ministrations, was simply the beginning.

He did not let up, regardless of how many times she tipped over the edge, sobbing her undying devotion to the heavens, and when he stood, it was to lift her from her seated position and hold her, her body still trembling from the sheer force of the havoc he wreaked upon her.

When he was satisfied that she was steady on her feet, he turned her, his hand tracing from her hip up, mapping the vertebrae of her spine, only stopping to gently push her forward until her hands rested atop of the chest of drawers; she watched in the mirror as he divested himself of his leggings, then pressed himself down the length of her, his hands bracketing hers, his weight drawing her down lower.

She felt him positioning himself at her entrance, coating the tip of his sex in her moisture, and in response she lifted herself on the ball of her left foot to push against him, her body wailing for the fulfillment of him conjoined to her, her need bordering on pain from the lack of his body nestled in hers. Strong hands clamped down on her hips and pushed her flat on her feet again, holding her there. "Now, now, Pet," he purred into her ear, "in this dance, I lead and you follow."

He eased her torso back down on the dresser, and she balanced herself on her forearms, as Jareth slowly, tortuously, entered her. Her head dropped forward and she sucked in a stuttered breath as he settled fully into her. Finally, his weight was completely at her back again, and he slid out of her slowly.

"Eyes up, Sarah," he said, and punctuated his command with a sharp twist of his hips. Her head snapped up, eyes meeting his in the mirror. "See what I see, precious thing, the way your body responds to mine, the way you arch against me," he whispered, and shifted his hips forward to punctuate his point. He lifted his hand to draw her face to the side, exposing her neck for him, her head lolled back with no resistance. The moonlight caught the many jewels draped upon her person, winking in and out like twinkling stars as her body moved as he commanded.

"Do you enjoy what you see, pet? Hmm?" His arm wrapped around her torso, his forearm between her breasts and kept her steady against him as he quickened his pace. "This is what I see. Every time I take you, every time you writhe beneath me, every time your eyes lose focus, the haze settling over you before you come for me, every single time I am inside you…" he said, each staccato consonant ringing high above over the sound of her breathing. He moved at a more reckless pace now, his body entering her and withdrawing quickly and out for rhythm, for the crescendo was building rapidly and they would reach the end of this duet in but a few more measures.

"You are the most extraordinary being I have ever encountered, Sarah Williams. Strong-willed and cunning. Brave and reckless. Defiant and yielding," he murmured into the side of her throat, each word punctuated by another swift shift of his hips. "You are perfection, Starlight. The only thing I have and ever will love. Because you are mine. But do not ever doubt that I belong wholly and completely to you, my precious thing."

One hand settled roughly on her hip, holding her in place while his other danced down below her stomach, stopping only when he reached her folds, stroking her at the same rapid pace, until her eyes fluttered closed, and her breath came in ragged gulps.

"That's it, Sarah. Come with me," he purred, and he knew the second she began to fall, as her body clamped down around him, the low hum in her throat drawn out into one singular note as she moaned his name and he emptied himself within her.

Time passed immeasurable before he moved again, extracting himself from her body slowly. Strong arms wrapped around Sarah and turned her, his fingers threading through her sweat-damp hair, tilting her face up to his. "Do you understand now?" he asked quietly, watching as her eyes focused.

She nodded her head slowly and he took a moment to press his lips to hers before scooping her up in his arms. Her body all but melted into his as he carried her to the bed and gently deposited her there. He slid in behind her, his arm draped possessively across her hip, as he drew her in against him. She felt his fingers brush against her neck, through her hair, and the heavy necklace and tiara of his family's legacy slid from her body in a metallic tumble of links and clinking gems. He gathered them up from the pillow and stretched over her to gently deposit them on the bedside table beside her.

"Sleep well, Precious thing," he whispered and waited until her breath slowed and evened out before closing his eyes, and drifting off with her.


It was early in the morning, just before dawn, when Sarah woke. She couldn't say what precisely had triggered her eyes to dart open, but she suspected Jareth's sleepy roll to his other side had something to do with it.

It was then that she heard the voices.

They were soft, carried only on the breath of wind from their open balcony door, but the slight accent of Lavena's enunciation was immediately recognizable.

"I had to see you again. Tonight was...unbearable. I have missed you, my love."

"It has only been a week," came the response. Sarah sat upright: it was not the timbre of voice she would have expected. She carefully - so carefully, don't wake him up - crawled out of bed and slithered on hands and knees to the balcony, peering over the edge. "I thought we were agreed that it would be too dangerous for me to be here while the King was here."

Lavena gave a dry sob, wrapping her arms around her waist. She wore only a white dressing gown, and she looked oddly vulnerable and colorless in the dark summer night. "I know. I'm putting you in danger. I'm so sorry."

"My love," was the crooned response. "I have loved you since we were in the spring flush of womanhood. Do you think I would not come when you needed me?"

The red-haired fae, her ebony skin glistening in the starlight, pulled Lavena into her arms. She brushed the moon-white wisps of hair from the princess's face with her fingertips, crimson eyebrows drawn together in tenderness. "I would have come from the furthest reaches of the Unseelie provinces to be with you when you need me."

Sarah covered her mouth to keep from gasping. The woman was beautiful. Her hair was the hue of alizarin crimson, dense, tightly curled, and radiated like an aura of sunset that cascaded around her shoulders and upper back. Her face could have been sculpted from obsidian, her bone structure almost suggestive of a tiger's broad, powerful, and entrancing visage. Her cheekbones were high and full, her eyes dark like midnight pools beneath wings of delicate eyebrows, and her mouth immediately made one think of deep, toe-curling kisses. Her chin was strong above her long, swan-like neck, and her shoulders were set back in habitual pride.

However, as Sarah's gaze traveled lower, she saw more. The woman's clothing was simple, barely more than sackcloth, and her forearms had the too-thin look of someone who was malnourished. She was slender, yes, but it was clearly not her body's natural state. There was an unhealthiness about her.

The Exile.

She was clearly suffering, this Unseelie. Sarah wondered how long the Unseelie could live in exile away from the life-giving powers of the Labyrinth. Perhaps these brief excursions into the Seelie land helped this woman to survive?

"I'm so selfish," Lavena whimpered. "I'm so sorry - it's just - Melantha, we came so close. So close to our future together. And to see - her - on his arm? His besotted expression? The long centuries began to spiral away from me, from us. I don't want to be confined to the night, lover. I want to be with you in the sun."

"Everyone deserves their chance at love, my sweet," the woman replied. "So he is besotted? Do not resent it. He has the right, just as I am besotted with you. If this is all that we have in this life, my heart, it is more than I had hoped for."

"But we could have had more!" Lavena grasped her lover's hands. "As High Queen, I could have persuaded Jareth to overturn the Unseelie banishment, I could have had the power to -"

"But it is not to be," Melantha said. "I have had many decades to come to peace with the Unseelie exile. You have been my ever-loyal friend and heart-mate through it all. Do you know how rare a love like ours is?"

"What gives him the right to celebrate his own rare love while we must confine ours to darkness and secrets?"

"'Ena," the fae said. "You're smoldering. Calm yourself. We have had this discussion many times before, and we are always driven to the same conclusion. Is this truly worth your ire?"

"Yes," Lavena snapped. "If he can flout the laws for her, why can he not for us?"

Melantha was silent for a moment, brushing her fingertips across Lavena's bird-fragile collarbones in slow strokes. "Our future," she said finally, "was never written in the stars. The laws of this land discourage….unfruitful...unions, and the Exile has only confirmed that fate. Being with you in the starlight is better than being in the dark alone."

Lavena clutched the other woman in a fierce embrace. "But we will be alone. I don't want you to die," she wept. "We have planned out millennia together. How long remains to us now? A thousand years? A century? He is killing you, my heart, with his father's grief and rage. You will fade from my grasp, and then I will be alone, alone, alone! Empty and cold without you."

Sarah used a tendril of magic to close the balcony door, afraid that Jareth might awaken at the raised volume of Lavena's mourning.

"You speak as though I am in the grave already!" Melantha said, a forced brevity to her tone. "When you summoned me, I thought it was for passion, not a dirge!"

"I know, I'm sorry - I just -" The princess exhaled deeply. "I feel so helpless."

Melantha pulled back. "Does this Sarah Williams truly wield such power that your friendship with the king is naught?"

"Yes," was the reply. "She humiliated him at dinner tonight with a display of temper that bordered on insanity. He put a stop to it only when -... Well."

"Well?"

"I was about to throw her into the wall with my own magic," Lavena said, an embarrassed laugh coming through her tears. "I may have lost my own temper as well."

"Such a fiery soul for an alabaster body," the Unseelie teased. "Was Angus displeased?"

"Mightily."

"Your temper will be your undoing. It always has been," the crimson-haired woman remarked, a fond smile curving her full lips. She paused. "My love, have you considered that perhaps you share more in common with her than opposition?"

Sarah jolted, still flat on her belly on the stone balcony.

"What do you mean?"

"This Sarah Williams," Melantha said slowly. "She has the king's ear. She clearly has a certain...disregard for protocol, and you say that champions those upon whom our people traditionally do not even observe. Could she do with defiance what you were not...permitted...to do with obedience?"

"I did everything perfectly," Lavena said with a weary sigh. "I was cruel, I was haughty, I obeyed every rule and custom and protocol. I played my part. I became someone I was not so well that the world believes it is who I am. Even my father does not suspect. What could a human do that I did not execute?"

"It's not about doing," the woman replied, and her slow smile was bright in the approaching dawn haze. "It's about feeling. You never had Jareth's love - a love that would tolerate the flouting of rules. She does."

"She hates me. Why should she give me the time of day?" She laughed, drawing her dressing robe tighter around her body. "Why wouldn't she immediately turn me in and destroy us?"

"You were always headstrong, sweet. It's that strength that gave you courage to kiss me that afternoon in the lake. Do you remember?"

Lavena blushed, her face going rosy. "I did more than kiss you, as I recall."

"Luckily, you gambled well," the other woman laughed. Her dark eyes grew serious. "I am in earnest, Lavena. Lorcan is destroyed, rumor suggests, at the hand of the king. Yes, Sarah Williams is alive, and I do not know what is true or false about why he had her in the Unseelie lands or even how he met his end. Many Unseelie don't even care. The undeniable truth is that the Unseelie are preparing for a war of defense. Lorcan was our only hope, and with him gone, war is almost inevitable. Use that brilliant mind to convince Sarah Williams of our cause. She would be a better ally than an enemy."

"She may be an enemy regardless."

"My love," Melantha said, "If it comes to war, we will fight. I would rather death did not come to my people if the hand of friendship will open to us."

A door to a nearby balcony opened, and Lavena and Melantha hurried out of sight beneath Sarah's balcony. "I must go," she heard Melentha whispered. "Before I am seen. Think and reflect on what I have said, my heart. I will come to you again when they have left. The best of odds to you!"

"Farewell, my dearest love…"

A black-cloaked woman scurried away, fading out of sight into the forest's morning gloom and shadow.

Sarah crawled back into the room and back into bed, trembling with excitement.

For the first time, she had hope that her plan would actually succeed.


"Well, wish me luck!" Sarah said, half to Jareth and half to her reflection in the mirror.

"What sort of fool wishes luck to a fool on a foolish endeavor?"

Sarah whirled and her eyes flashed. "Jareth. We agreed on this."

The pale-haired king gave a shrug of resignation, sardonic irony etched into the quirk of his mouth. "More mutual coercion than agreement, my love, but my efforts in steering you to my rule have done nothing but teach me that, like a hurricane, you are a force of nature that will simply sidestep and flow around me should I attempt to stand in its way."

She felt her mouth curve in a smile despite herself. Jareth's tone might be acerbic, but he was too adorable at this particular moment to be irritated with for long. He was staring blearily in her general direction, sunlight glittering off his tangled hair and spilling over the pale blue silk sheets crumpled over his bare hips. The original cream cotton sheets had been exiled to a corner of the bedroom, a banishment first dealt to the woolen quilt that had been on their bed when they arrived yesterday. Jareth had explained that while he could transform the bedding, he could never quite eradicate the "abominable scratchiness" or "musty odor" of the originals. So he had their servants bring along his own bedding from the Goblin Castle.

Jareth was very particular about his sheets.

She smirked at him. "Don't pretend as though you didn't get anything out of it. I seem to recall a bargain that you haven't made good on yet…"

When his eyes flared in response, she hurried to the door. "Make sure to drink three cups of coffee before you meet anyone you care about," she called over her shoulder.

"I won't require any once it's a decent hour," he snapped. "Any time past the cursed crack of dawn will suffice!"

The door magically slammed shut behind her.

Sarah inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and marched out to the stables.

Lavena was waiting for her, already astride her white mare. With her hair like spider's silk all caught up in a silver-and-ruby hair caul, and her riding habit of topaz brocade overtop a pale green skirt, she looked like the first breath of spring. Sarah felt drab and oh-so-human in comparison to the fae's effortless grace, even despite her own tailored garb of crimson and brown. The pale woman was fragile perfection, a white iris in sunlight.

"I confess that I was hoping you'd decided to renege on our little outing," Lavena called out. "At least the cacophony of the birds is wordless."

Aaaaand the perfection is shattered, Sarah thought to herself. Round two has begun.

She smiled sweetly at the fae woman and her silent guard. She nodded to him in thanks as he held her own horse – a mare with a dappled paint coat – against the mounting block for her. She didn't need the block, but it was considered yet another sign of superiority to not need to exert one's self.

"I'm happy to hear that your voice has returned," Sarah replied as she folded the reins in her hands. "It seemed to have deserted you in our disagreement last night."

Lavena's eyes narrowed, but her tone was prim. "I must apologize for my lapse of control. I was raised more gently than to display ire; a lady must rise above those who are beneath contempt."

Biting her tongue to avoid a rejoinder, Sarah nudged her horse into a brisk canter. The pounding of hooves told her that Lavena and the guard followed; they soon caught up and rode in silence.

They followed a well-trodden trail, evidence of Lavena's traditional start to her day. The trio cut through a meadow, along a cliff's edge against which the sea pounded hundreds of feet below, and along the outer edge of the main village. At this point, they veered left and took another trail, presumably one that would guide them back to the castle.

They stopped midway for pastries and coffee from their travel saddlebags. Sarah had been ecstatic to discover that coffee Belowground was so similar to Aboveworld coffee trees that the result was almost indistinguishable – except for the less potent caffeine concentration. There was, it seemed, at least one thing that Belowground didn't produce in superior fashion.

The clearing where they had halted was just inside a forest. Lavena wasted no time in dismounting and unpacking her brunch on a log near a large pond. The guardsman, presumably used to this sort of abrupt behavior, offered to take Sarah's horse as well. When she slid to the ground and murmured her thanks, he merely nodded and made as if to stand sentry on the spot.

"Actually," Sarah said, "would you mind standing a little further away? I need to talk with ... her Ladyship, and I doubt she'd appreciate anyone overhearing our conversation."

If he was curious about the request, he was too well-mannered to show it. He dutifully moved away – still close enough to leap into action should danger present itself, but far enough that he was out of immediate hearing.

Lavena looked up as Sarah approached. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sarah cut her off. "I had hoped," she began, "that we could put aside our...banter... for a minute. I have something important to talk to you about, and to ask you."

The fae woman paused. "I will agree to be as civil as warranted," she said cautiously.

A step in the right direction, then.

"May I sit?" she asked. Upon the nod, she did so and crossed her legs at the ankle, just as Aine had taught her.

Unlike what Aine had instructed, she took off her royal circlet and stuffed it in the saddlebag.

Lavena's full lips thinned.

"I would say that I'd like it if we could start over," Sarah began. "But I know that's impossible. So what I will say is that I'm sorry for breaking protocol and behaving rudely both times we have met. I'm not sure if you'd believe me if I said that – that the circumstances of our farewell when you first visited were an accident, but they were, and I'm sorry for that."

The blonde woman began to speak, but Sarah held up her hand. "Please, if you could wait." She took a fortifying breath, then continued. "I have a favor to ask of you, but I want you to know that I'm not asking it as – as someone of political importance. I want you to know that I consider this meeting between us, just two women who ultimately want to be happy with the people they love."

Lavena scoffed. "As if one could separate the role from the person. To be a monarch is to be a monarch, Lady Sarah. I know you have little comprehension of this, with your commoner childrearing in democracy, but some of us have duties to the Crown that come before our own personal happiness."

Gritting her teeth, Sarah decided that Lavena's use of her title meant that the fae woman wasn't trying to be intentionally insulting. "I have come to understand that obligation," she said with deliberate slowness, "with excruciating awareness. I was able to choose this life, where you were not. Out of consideration for the sacrifices I now understand you make daily, I'm offering you the rare opportunity to choose based on your heart rather than your duty."

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, anyway, regardless of its likelihood," the princess muttered. Her fingers clenched in the folds of her habit. "What do you want of me?"

"I'd like to ask you a question first." Sarah squared her shoulders. "Do you love Jareth?"

A platinum-blonde eyebrow rose, eerily similar to Jareth's. "To what end does that question serve?"

"Do you?" Sarah pressed. "It's important to me to know – because of what I'd like to request."

"Is this some attempt to rub your new station against my own decreased one?"

"No. Lady Lavena, please answer my question."

"No, then. No, I do not love him."

"Did you love him?"

The woman hesitated, and Sarah saw a spark of something flash through her expression. "No," she said again. "At least, not in the way you think of love."

Sarah let out an exhale. "Will you explain, then, please?"

Lavena looked out over the pond. "Shortly after I had reached my two hundred and fiftieth year, my mother was killed by a fell creature when she went into the mountains. We don't know what by, just that she was..." The woman's eyes clenched shut, as if to block out a memory. "...killed by neither fae nor by accident of her own. A beast seems most likely."

She shook herself. "Jareth – His Majesty's - mother became my sponsor, my mentor, in her stead. Our arranged betrothal had been formalized that year, anyway, so it seemed only natural for her to be the one to continue to prepare me for the position. I had no voice in the matter, really: the betrothal had been planned from the moment of my fiftieth birthday when the true extent of my powers manifested. For me to reject Jareth's formal proposal when I came of age without due cause was to insult the Crown."

"But I thought –"

Her pale blue eyes snapped to Sarah's. "You thought what?"

"When we met that first evening, you had taunted me with –" Sarah waved vaguely at Lavina's lush body – "and implied that you were to be Jareth's...mate. Wife. Queen, too, but I thought –" Upon seeing a dull flush of anger rise in the fae's cheeks, Sarah decided a small white lie of distraction was in order. "I thought that the office of Queenship was distinct from spouse."

The pale fingers abandoned a half-buttered roll and clenched the bright yellow fabric of her habit, a polished thumbnail worrying at a green embroidery thread. "According to the law, it is," Lavena murmured softly, calmly. "However, in practice, it is understood that it would be convenient for the kingdom if the dual offices of monarchy extended to the bedchamber. I'm sure you are aware by now that lineage is very important to the Fae hierarchy, and that hinges upon children; when a new High King is chosen by the Labyrinth, it is for his power and his worthiness to rule. When he settles upon a Queen, he declares her equally powerful and suited to his vision for the Kingdom. Why wouldn't a High King choose a Queen who also had the potential to bear his heirs and scions? It is foolish to choose an incompatible Queen. The separation between office and mate is only to allow for... poor luck in the bedchamber should an heir not be produced when required, and if the High King wishes to try a different fae woman. Not the reverse."

Sarah sat back. "So you were chosen for your...breeding? Like cattle?" she exclaimed.

Lavena's head jerked up. "And for other things," she said icily. "My own power, my education, my intelligence, my family's connections within the Court of Nobility, to name a few. I am not a broodmare to be examined at a county fair! I am a rare jewel, and I would shine in the history of the Crown's gems!"

The human woman backtracked. "I apologize. I meant no offense. I just – so did you want to break it off? The betrothal, I mean?"

Her face was indecipherable. "Why would I?"

"But you said that you don't love him!"

"That is irrelevant. Very few of the High Kings and Queens had a great Romance. Jareth's own father and mother were the only ones in seventeen millennia of High Kings and Queens to have been recorded as having love between them, and his father had been already married to his mother when he was chosen by the Labyrinth." Lavena shrugged. "If Jareth had not found me suitable as queen, he could have broken it off when I came of age. That is his right."

Her gaze refocused on Sarah. "A right which he suddenly claimed when he brought you here and thereby magnified my disgrace threefold in its exercising." Her voice became a whisper on a breath, her blue eyes glittering and hard. "Imagine the rumors that slithered through the Court of Nobles. What did you have that I did not? Did I fail in my performance, outshone by a human girl? An incompatible chit not even fifty years of age, and without any magic to boot?" Her voice took on the air of mimicry. "Surely love was not a sufficient explanation for my disposal."

Sarah swallowed. Jareth told me that he was never going to marry her. He would have told her that, wouldn't he? He's not that much of a bastard. But then she and Melantha sound as though they've been together far longer than Jareth and I have. Why would Lavena risk Queenship with infidelity?

The fae woman tilted her head as she studied Sarah's face. "Why do you care about my loving him, anyway? You will have the throne, power, sufficient enough of his magic, and even have his love, if he speaks truthfully."

"You're not angry at me," Sarah said slowly. "You're angry because of what I took away from you, what was almost in your grasp." She grasped the woman's hand. "And that's why you loved him."

That was it. Jareth knew. He knew that Lavena and Melantha were lovers. According to the history books she'd read, his mother would have still been alive at the time of Jareth's official proposal – meaning that Melantha was still a citizen of the Underground rather than an exiled Unseelie. If Jareth chose her as queen and married her in name only, Lavena could still have her lover, and they could rule together peacefully, their - unfruitful- love hidden from the prying eyes of the Kingdom.

He had done her a kindness.

A kindness counter to his obligation as heir to the throne of the High King.

But now the Unseelie were sentenced to slow death by his father's edict, and Jareth's heart was hardened against them. The only chance that Lavena had was to continue to Queenship and hope to reverse the edict from a place of power. And now that was gone, too, with one fell swoop of a human girl. Her.

"So you understand." Lavena's hands gripped Sarah's own, squeezing mercilessly hard and grinding the tiny bones together. "This is why the sight of you fills me with rage."

Sarah realized that Lavina was letting her believe a half-truth, but it didn't matter. Grimacing, the human tried to pull back, but the fae wouldn't let go.

Fine, then. "Thank you for answering. Lavena, I'd now like to ask you my request."

Her grip tightened further still. "Say it, then, and let us be done with this farce of serenity."

"I would like you to be my sponsor and mentor into queenship."

Lavena blanched. She let go as if she'd been scalded. "What?" she exclaimed. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

The dark-haired woman raised her chin. "I'm serious. You can say no. I hope that you won't, but you can decline."

The princess stood and took several steps backwards. The guard started towards them in alarm at their raised voices, but she waved him back. "Haven't you listened to any of what I've told you?" she hissed. "Oh, you, with your pretty promises of 'you don't have to' and 'just two women' – and you have the gall, the sheer brazenness, the impudence, to humiliate me like this? To my face?"

Sarah stood as well, her temper rising. All attempts at a nonchalant brunch had been discarded. "How am I humiliating you?"

"I do not have the ability to decline. If I did, my father will have my head after whatever punishment Jareth would think of! Declining sponsorship of the High Queen? I'll be thrown out, exiled, I'll -"

"No." Sarah grasped Lavena's forearm. "The reason I'm asking you now, privately, is because you have the opportunity to say no without consequence. There is no one to hear. If you decide to say no, there will be no repercussions."

The fae's laugh was brittle. "So say you. What of your betrothed?"

"I had his agreement to make this request," she said carefully, "but he left it in my decision. And now I leave it in yours. If you say no, I will tell him that I didn't ask after all and decided to ask someone else who might be a better fit. And if he asks why," she added with a conspiratorial smile, "I'll say that you're a spiteful bitch after all and I don't like you."

Lavena snorted. Sarah finished in a rush, "There will be no consequences if you say no. Full stop. You have my word."

"If I can trust you to hold to it! You worship the ground he walks on – I've seen the way you look at him! You obey him in everything."

"I do not!" Sarah snapped. "Or did you think that your impromptu trip to the Bog was at his request?"

Lavena stared at her.

"Look," the human said wearily. "Cards on the table, here. I'm not becoming queen or his – his mate – because I love him. At least, that's not the main reason. I'm doing this because I see terrible wrongs in the Kingdom. As High Queen, I have the chance to change that. I know what I want to do, but I don't know how to do it. You do. And I want you, specifically, to help me. This is my personal request."

"A chance for change." Lavena's face was still snow-white, but her eyes were sharp. "Like what? What do you think that you, a human, can do that Jareth has not already done?"

Before they had left, Sarah had been banking on Jareth's description of Lavena's nobility to hold true. She would speak about her own respect for the Underground, of understanding Aine's desire to help by serving, about Sarah's desire to do the same, to appeal to Lavena as a fellow lover of the Underground rather than a competitor. But now Sarah saw Lavena for what she was: a love-struck fae who'd lost her only hope for a long life with her companion, and whose closest friend had turned his back on her both politically and personally.

Could she could trust Lavena with her own secrets? With the secrets of the Kingdom? Or had Lavena decided to take up Marcas' cause after Jareth's triple betrayal?

Her gut told her to trust her.

Taking a deep breath, she answered with a proclamation of treason: "Well, for one, I'd end this ridiculous and needless civil war between the fae and bring the Unseelie back to the Labyrinthian Kingdom."

Lavena blinked; her mouth parted. It was an involuntary gesture of surprise so unpracticed that Sarah realized that she had startled the fae to the core. "But...why?"

A good sign. Sarah launched into a modified retelling of her kidnapping at Lorcan's hands and her vow to restore honor and life to the Unseelie. How he had shown mercy to her at the last minute, and of Povus' family saving her. She poured out her heart – about the unfairness of the edict, how she yearned to make right the blanket death sentence of so many innocent lives.

Then, breathless, she stopped. Lavena was as still as a marble statue, the inscrutable expression returned and firmly fixed, but her face still pale. "And that's why," Sarah said, "I need your help. Jareth and the other nobles won't listen to me unless I have their respect. You can teach me. You can influence the image of Queen that I present to them. I invite – no, I beg you to."

Lavina sat down again. "You would trust me in this? You would trust me to act the part of your mother and birth you into this world?" She managed a weak smile. "Some would say that is foolishness. I have been nothing but an antagonist towards you. I could just as easily destroy you from such an intimate position on this game board."

"Some would say," Sarah said evenly, "that we all have our part to play, and that first impressions aren't what they seem."

The other woman inclined her head a fraction. "Though mine of you seems to be deepening rather than changing, as it were." She tapped her fingers against the inside of her elbow. "You understand that what you seek to do will not be easy? That you are asking to adopt a kingdom one day and turn it on its head the next?"

"Yes." Sarah was weak-kneed, but she forced herself to stand straight. This was the moment where she was risking it all, and all she could do was hope that Lavena was still loyal to Jareth despite everything he had done. "And, Lavena, there's one more thing you need to know. It's why I need your help and political skill so desperately."

"What?"

"Lorcan's accomplice, the one who killed him? It was Marcas. Jareth's brother. Marcas is a traitor and is attempting regicide. He's been plotting to overthrow Jareth - has been for years. He wants to take the High Throne by force. He planned my kidnapping with Lorcan to try to destroy him by – by luring Jareth into the Unseelie lands unprotected," Sarah amended quickly. "When that didn't work, he outright-murdered Lorcan. He's been lying to the Unseelie about his death and stirring them to bloodlust. Jareth's scouts have told him that Marcas is raising them up an army to attack, and Jareth is preparing to meet him in battle and wipe both him and the Unseelie off the map, once and for all. That's why I need to win pardon for the Unseelie quickly, and take the army away from Marcas before they can even march."

Once more, the color drained from Lavina's face, but her jaw clenched. Her eyes were like chips of ice. "Then we must not let that happen."

"We?" she echoed. Sarah hardly dared to hope.

The fair-haired woman let out a long breath. "It seems it would be I who were the fool if I were to reject your proposal. Very well, Your Grace. I accept your request and will be your sponsor and mentor."

Before Sarah could thank her, Lavena took her face between her hands and met her eyes squarely. "I'm not doing this for you, no more than you are doing this for Jareth. The Underground needs a High Queen, and Jareth has chosen you. If you're to be our queen, you need to be our queen – for all the Fae, Seelie and Unseelie alike. You failing will herald our own. But be warned, Princess: if you betray my trust, I will plunge my dagger into your heart myself."


Jareth was reclining in Angus' private study. The stout fae had been animated until they crossed into the room and the guard shut the door them.

Angus had cast a sound privacy barrier, and his cheerful demeanor fell with it. "Well, my king, we are now alone. We can speak freely."

The light-haired man raised an eyebrow. "You imply that I have not been?"

"My king, my friend. You have not come to Grianan Castle for many, many years. The borderlands continue to destabilize, and rumors have reached my ears of unrest in the Unseelie forests. Your timing is more than coincidental."

"I did not speak a falsehood when I proclaimed that I intended to invite you and your clan to attend the formal presentation of the Lady Sarah to the Court."

Angus snorted, pulling two bottles of spiced mead from his cabinet. "We're fae, Jareth. Since when do we ever take action with a single purpose?"

"A fair point."

Now as they drank watching the fire and patter of rain against the adjacent window. Silence had fallen, but Jareth knew that Angus was trying to bait him into speaking first. Jareth wouldn't play this game: what the borderlands king would reveal of his own volition would give Jareth insight into the man himself.

He wasn't disappointed. "Damn it all, Jareth," Angus finally burst out. "Tell me you're worried too and you see the danger you're in."

"What danger ought I worried be about?"

"The Unseelie Uprising, of course! All the Seelie border kings are saying the same thing. They're preparing for war, Jareth, with or without Lorcan. They're being led by someone - I don't know who but I have my suspicions - and the kidnapping of Lady Sarah unto Unseelie lands? That was no casual ransom, and I would bet my prize horse that the only reason they haven't made another attempt is because they haven't realized she's still alive. That news can't be kept quiet forever, Jareth, and you're thrusting her even more into the spotlight? I'm astounded that you even came, let alone brought her along. You can only have decided that the risk was lesser than the reward."

Jareth's smile was wry. "I've been found out." Though only what I permitted to be known, he thought to himself. What else do you know?

"And," Angus went on, not pausing for breath, "I'll be the sort of friend to you that I believe you'd be to me. It's not safe here. I'm going to send Lavena back to the City. I'll stay here and do my duty of course, but I see lines being drawn and I don't like the idea of her being here when the dam bursts. You're not a fool - you know the risk to Lady Sarah. So why are you here?"

The fae high king laughed then. "Blunt and honest as ever, my friend. Subtlety was always too tedious for you. Very well: you are correct on all counts. I wanted to see the country and state of the local militia. You are trustworthy as always" - unless I find something not to my liking in your words - "but I do not trust the reports of all of my nobles. There are spies and falsehoods growing like weeds amongst the golden wheat of my court, and I would know who moves to join with my enemies. In light of my own suspicions, I determined that it would be safer to have Sarah by my side, where I can guard her. She's safe enough: I've been teaching her to teleport. She can make her way back to the City, if needed."

The other man gave him a sharp look. Angus was no fool, either. "Spies and falsehoods?"

"I know I can trust you, Angus," Jareth lied smoothly. "Which is why I would have your honest council."

The red-haired man hesitated. "My completely honest council? Honesty gets men killed too, you know."

"What do you know that would make you worry for your good health?"

After a moment's more hesitation, Angus winced and nodded. "My king, I have no proof. And I hope I suspect in error. But if you would look for the snake at your breast, I would cast your eye towards King Marcas. By the flaming Tech Duinn, I hope I'm wrong. But someone had to give aid to Lorcan to kidnap Lady Sarah, and I've heard nothing of him after that time."

"That could have been anyone," Jareth said softly, meeting Angus' eyes levelly. "Anyone with a vendetta against Sarah. There are several whom I could name, in fact, but association is not criminal."

Angus jumped to his feet, his cheeks flaming in fury. "I hope you do not mean to suggest what I think I hear in your voice! I am very fond of Lady Sarah, and especially under the circumstances, I gave my full and sincere blessing to the dissolution of the betrothal. My loyalty is to the crown that the Labyrinth chooses. You know this!"

"As I said, association is not criminal. There are many forces outside of one's control in one's own home, be that kingdom or castle."

The man paled. "You don't mean to suggest Lavena… No, my king! She was by my side the entire evening on the night of our own festivities. Besides, she's a silly girl, caught up with fashion and gossip and feminine frivolities. She's an excellent hostess and manager, yes, but a schemer? She has no taste for it, I assure you!"

You are blind where your daughter is concerned, but that also is not criminal. Your daughter's character was never a question in my mind. She wears her anger too publicly.

"Calm yourself, my friend. I meant no offense. I stated a fact, nothing more. So what makes you think a lack of news concerning my brother means that he has designs against me?"

"It's the servants," Angus said wearily, sitting. "They speak to each other, then they speak to Lavena. She told me that Marcas has not been home in months. He'd been entertaining masked visitors beforehand at all hours of the night. Besides which, he has always been against your policy of leniency towards the Unseelie, as you know, and his eye has never left the ceremonial crown from the moment it was placed on your brow. That he did not again cry for war when Lady Sarah was taken makes me think he had a hand in it - and from the lack of expression on your face, Jareth, I don't think you find any of this a surprise!"

Jareth clapped slowly. "For one who only has suspicions, I'd have ten of you commanding my army." Good man.

"Was it him? Jareth, did your brother do this? Is he seeking to overthrow you?"

"Yes."

Angus swore. "So he is likely hiding amongst the Unseelie, biding his time. He'll stir them to battle-lust, and he'll do a damn good job of it. Do you know who else he's won over?"

"Confirmed? Only one of my servants," Jareth admitted. "An oversight on my part. She attempted to murder Sarah soon after she arrived. She is no longer a threat," he added dismissively. "Marcas wants a kingdom, not a crown: he will not willingly shed Fae blood. It is why he's been moving in the shadows, trying to strike at me alone through a mask and handiwork of others. Now, any proof of his own hand in her abduction died with Lorcan. However, as long as he believes Sarah to be dead, he has lost his power over me and is forced to use a different mask: the Unseelie. If I were to declare Marcas a traitor myself, the Unseelie would love him for it and still march, but Marcas would know that Sarah was alive to name him. That would make him desperate. Desperate men do desperate things - like call for me to be usurped and likely begin civil war." Amongst other desperate things for great gain, Jareth thought.

Aloud, he continued, "That is not a risk I would like to fathom in addition to war with the Unseelie. No, let my troops see him leading their enemy or not at all."

The room was silent, the fire crackling ominously.

Finally, Angus muttered: "And to think that I was concerned that I'd ignite your fury and your disbelief."

Jareth laughed. "On the contrary, your willingness to risk it is what has reaffirmed my faith in you. No man part of a conspiracy against me would risk my wrath in making me aware of it if I might disbelieve him."

He huffed a laugh. He asked, somberly, "Do you think it would come to that? Civil war?"

The fair-hair king shrugged. "I don't want to risk it without cause. Sarah is going to cause ripples at court, as it is, and many Fae have wanted the Unseelie exterminated. They will see me as weak and distracted. I'd rather not have Marcas emerge and volunteer himself as an alternative candidate."

There was a knock on the door. "Your Majesties, the midday meal is served."

"To be continued," Jareth concluded. "Thank you for our conversation, Angus. It is good to know that I have you defending my back."

"As always, I serve in loyalty and war."


Sarah materialized in their shared quarters -

- and was confronted with a flaming crystal hurtling directly at her. She barely had enough time to process what was happening before she remembered the finger twist required to have it rebounding in mid-air and sailing into the ether in dismissal.

"I recant my previous stance. I do believe my greatest regret is that I've taught you how to teleport," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I could have killed you, you know. It's a risky thing, surprising a Greater Archfey by popping in unannounced at all hours."

Sarah wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "You know… I can sense your magic when you 'pop in'," she said, narrowing her eyes. "So I know you can sense mine. I think you did the fireball for fun."

"Or maybe it is to keep you on your toes," he answered with a shrug. He tilted his head and studied her with the intentness of a hawk. "You look…" He mulled over his thought for a moment before finally settling on: "...smug. What did you do to Princess Lavena this time?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"What makes you think I've done anything?" she asked, trying, but failing to keep the smirk off her face. She locked her hands behind her back to stop herself from fidgeting.

"Because I know that look. And that posture. Whatever it is, will I have to host a banquet, repay the owner, name someone a Duke or Duchess, or offer a ransom?"

She grinned at the wary look on his face. "Neither."

"Well, now I am truly afraid."

"You shouldn't be. It's a good thing," she said with a laugh.

"Sarah, if you don't tell me -"

"I've convinced Lavena to be my sponsor. Without blackmail or pressure."

There was a brief moment where Jareth didn't have anything to say...which was followed immediately by a moment where he had quite a bit to say. He started with: "How?"

"I'm not telling," she chirped, rocking back on her heels.

"You most certainly are, Precious."

"Nope. Not a word. I promised."

"You believe a promise to her overrides your responsibilities to me?"

Sarah laughed outright. "My responsibilities to you? That's a new one. My responsibility to you, Your Majesty, is to become the best queen I can possibly be. I have secured the most knowledgeable noble in the Court to sponsor and help teach me how to do that. I am, in fact, acting in both of our interests."

Jareth stalked closer, and she - probably much to his dismay - refused to step back. "Pray tell, Starlight, what favors have you promised for such an acquiescence? Note the referendum to my previous questions of situational obligation. Or is it something much, much worse?"

"None of the above," she said, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

"Precious," he began, adjusting his gloves, "if you do not tell me, I'll be forced to -"

Sarah threw her head back and laughed. "You'll be forced to what, Jareth?" It took a moment for her to catch her breath. "You'll commit regicide because I won't tell you something you, not need to know, but want to know? Come on, even you know that threat was empty. Whatever the last part of it was going to be."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she lifted her hand to stop him before there was an actual tirade. "Let's just say that I discovered that we had mutual interests, and we decided it would be in the best interests of the health of the Underground if we weren't at each other's throats. I phrased my offer in a way she couldn't bring herself to refuse."

Jareth's eyebrows danced with his hairline. "Do continue, Precious," he said. The smirk on his face looked proud. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She hesitated, choosing her words very carefully. "Long story short, I overheard some information about her personal interests that she would very much like not to come to light at this current time. I was able to tell her - truthfully, I might add - that if she helped me become the best queen possible, it was my intention to help her...avoid any public unpleasantness. I think she saw the advantage in being counted among my friends."

Jareth blinked a few times and took a moment to compose a response while Sarah grinned up at him.

"Marry me," he deadpanned. "Now. Marry me right now." His request was met with another hearty laugh. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what these personal interests are?"

"Not a chance," Sarah said, keeping her face neutral.

"Should I offer a reward to the first person who discovers this personal interest and brings me that information?"

"No," she said seriously, "you should not. Leave her to her peace. I've already exploited this situation more than I'm comfortable with."

Jareth shrugged. "You are thinking like a Fae. Information is power Sarah. It is a currency in high demand, but low supply. Can you imagine if the tables were turned? The bargain you would have been offered and forced to accept? Think nothing of it."

"I still feel guilty," she murmured. "I came about the information unfairly. It wasn't outright blackmail, but I knew what to say to make her want to help me. I believe in it, but I still intruded on her privacy."

"You should not." He punctuated his point with a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Your goals were to privately convince Lavina to give you aid of her own free volition. You discovered what price she had for that persuasion - and you say that you told the truth? What could be underhanded about that? Put your mind to rest. Now, what are your plans for the rest of the evening? Should I expect more espionage?"

"Actually," Sarah said, looking over her shoulder to the bath chambers, "I was thinking about taking a bath. Aine has packed some lovely smelling oils that I could soak in."

"You do realize if you draw this bath yourself, she's likely to expire."

Sarah shook her head. "You're probably right. I'll ask her to draw a bath. The tub is the size of a swimming pool, if you'd like to join me?" she asked expectantly.

"I have a few matters still to attend to, but I may accept your invitation once I am finished." He tilted her chin up with a curled finger and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Enjoy, Sarah."

And with that, she went in search of Aine to help her disrobe and prepare the bath. Sometimes Sarah thought Aine's wrath was more fearsome than Jareth's. Better to not take the chance.


It was the last night of their stay on Angus' lands. There had been a great feast to celebrate Lavena's appointment as sponsor to the new queen; driving credit to the border land king's fame as a generous host, everyone enjoyed themselves to the point of merry inebriation.

Everyone except for Jareth, Sarah, and - unexpected though it was - Lavena. They remained courteous, pleasant, but...somber.

Afterwards, Sarah and Jareth returned to their designated guest quarters. After stripping to sleeping trousers and a burgundy dressing robe, which he left unfastened over his bare chest, Jareth stood by the window with his back to her as she undressed. A crystal tumbler of Pixie Whiskey was cradled in his right palm; its cut edges glowed in the moonlight as he peered out at the night sky.

Sarah knew it wasn't out of any old-fashioned sense of privacy that he wasn't watching her. Taking a stab at lifting the heaviness that had blanketed the evening, she teased, "Fancy going out for a flight?"

"Too many bats," he answered absently. "We're near a swamp. And I'm already full from dinner, so the damn whistling things would only be an annoyance."

Sarah blinked.

He looked over his shoulder at her. A corner of his mouth kicked up. "You weren't really asking about my shapeshifting proclivities, were you?'

"No, but I find myself intrigued in several disturbing ways."

He finally chuckled and faced her fully. "This has been a trying experience," he admitted. "Angus is, as always, a loyal knight in my service, but this brooding segmentation he spoke of….It troubles me," he said finally.

"Am I the cause?" Sarah asked timidly, her shoulders hunching up. "I know I've….I'm not what people expected you to choose for queen or ...mate."

He shrugged. "I will not tell you a falsehood: it would be easier if you were a full-blooded Seelie. However," he continued sternly as her shoulders slumped, "Any fae who would choose my selection of you in either role as a reason to justify treason and rebellion has already chosen to defy me long ago. So far as they are aware, you are still mortal: a blink, and gone. In their ignorant shortsightedness, you could be but an infatuation, a bored game to pass the eons. This is but the spark to dry kindling unto to them. No: they will have been merely looking for an excuse to flout my reign. That has been the cornerstone of Marcas' campaign, after all," he added bitterly. "That I 'subvert the natural order and throw the safety of tradition to the winds.' For me to now back you as my chosen mate and queen merely lifts the slab to expose the vipers from the harmless garden snake."

Sarah bit her lip. "To be fair, shouldn't we nevertheless tell the fae that I'm not just…?"

"No," the king replied decisively. "If they would base their decisions to oppose you off such a foolish factor, their perception is clouded and their loyalty fickle. If they have chosen to support me in my choice, then your lifespan is not a factor. This is not a democracy, my dear, for all that fealty is power. When your Aboveground kings' took mates, the age or health of their queens did not provoke wars: only their heritage, or underlying malcontent. If anything, you are my litmus test, my contested babe in Solomon's hands: how sincerely do they trust me to have their best interests at heart?"

He crossed to her then, hooking his index finger under her chin and raising her eyes to his. "And, to be sure," he murmured, "I do appoint you in sincerest belief that you will have their best interests at heart. Further, and quite possibly, better than I myself am able to provide."

The woman smiled weakly. "Uh. Well, thanks."

"No thanks is required," he said brusquely, turning away and climbing into the six-posted, hexagonal bed. "Truth comes without bargain. Or ought to, anyway." He burrowed under the blankets, then raised a corner of the blankets. "Will you come to bed with me?"

Sarah shook herself and joined him. A wave of exhaustion swept over her as she slid in, shivering at the coolness of the silk sheets on her bare skin.

An arm crept over her hip and tugged her decisively back to his body. "Mine," he muttered. "My soft and fierce lady."

She hummed in agreement.

He exhaled deeply, deliberately, and she felt his body melt into hers.

"So, I have a question," he asked as he nuzzled her cheek. Sarah could tell by the lilt of his voice that he was playing the fool for her sake, as she had done for him. "When one dozes while snuggling, is the act best termed 'snozing' or 'duggling'?"

In spite of herself, she burst out laughing. "Okay. One, you're insane. Two, I love you. Three: there is actually already a definition for 'duggling.'"

"Oh?"

"Several, in fact."

"Do tell."

"Well, one of them is this," she said, deliberately squirming her rear against his groin.

"Ah, well, I approve of that."

"The second has to do with bathroom humor," Sarah continued. "Thank the frat boys in college for coming up with any sufficiently odd word to indulge their infantile sense of superiority. Thirdly, and most exotically -"

She paused. Jareth's hair drifted over her neck like silken web as he sucked on her earlobe. "Most exotically?" he prompted.

She rolled over to him and whispered: "The act of smuggling poultry, particularly in spaces considered off limits by authority figures. Ducks specifically, but I would imagine the goblins wouldn't take exception. Are you aware of a black market in illegal sales of poultry, my king?"

At his shocked, then rebounding peal of laughter, Sarah felt a grin spreading from ear to ear.

They would be all right. They had to be.


Sarah was wandering a vast galaxy of dreams.

Each dreamer nearby was like a star in a solar system. Some glinted more brightly than others. Some were gold, others were silver, or red, or even blue.

She knew where Jareth's star was, as sure as she knew what home felt like. He was a bright blue in the night sky, lighting up the entire void with the azure warmth of a summer night against the nearby stars, the occupants of Angus' lands.

If she felt for it, hunting for the shared link in her magical essence, she thought she could detect a cool green tint in a neighboring system. Aimsir, perhaps? If she really focused, she imagined that she could sense Cailleach's signature on one of the red glows nestled under the green glow. She tucked the trace away for future study. (She still intended retaliation for being drugged, after all).

She would come back to Jareth, she decided, after a bit of adventuring first.

So many pretty colors, all forming whirls and complex shapes. Angus' castle was its own spiraling system, but just beyond it were vastly more than she had ever before seen! Is this what Jareth saw when he hunted for dreams to send mortals? Could he see every living being's dreams? Did animals dream? she suddenly wondered.

She passed by a radiating golden ball, so piercing it could be the sun, when…

...the ground started to slip.

She was being pulled towards a blackness -

Stars whizzed past, and she grabbed for them -

- they slipped through her fingers like oil with only the haziest of impressions -

- she tried to claw her way backwards, but it was like running backwards on a conveyor belt -

She was being pulled relentlessly forwards -

Lavender.

A cold, pale, wintery purple, like the cold lip of a dying child.

It was eerily silent in this world. Nothing moved - not even wind. The sky was the silver of a wintery dawn above her.

She was laying in a field of frost-stiffened violets. Their symbolism of innocent love had been preserved in a crystal tomb in this vast field of suspended death. The ones nearest her jerked suddenly as her hand twitched, tiny beads of water sliding down their shimmering stems at the warmth of her body.

Panic began to rise in Sarah's throat. Jareth? she called out with her essence. Jareth, help! I'm trapped.

She felt his far-off, summer-sky soul stir, but...she also felt something else.

It, also, had heard her.

She felt an...interest turn towards her. It began to cross to her.

Sarah scrambled to her feet. Grass and stems crunched beneath her feet like breaking bird bones, and the sound sent her running. She sent her senses out wildly, searching for an exit from this world. Where was the fallacy? she thought desperately. What is wrong with this?

"You."

Everything is wrong.

She skidded to a halt. Her back straightened and the hairs on her neck crawled like centipedes.

"You...I thought to be dead."

Her muscles turned to ice water. She made herself turn around, knowing what she would see.

Marcas waited not five feet from her. His starlight hair and pale eyes were fixed on her. His cheeks were oddly flushed, contrasting against the deep robes that were the hue of eggplant skin. He reached out to her as though he could touch her. "You survived," he said softly. His pupils were wide. "You live."

Sarah marshaled herself. "Marcas," she acknowledged. "How did you find me?"

"On the contrary, you pretty little jewel," he breathed, "you found me. How was I to know that you would frolic into my web, ripe with the juices of life?'

Sarah took a step backwards. "Jareth found me," she said suddenly. "He's sleeping beside me. He knows all about you. Your treachery, your deceit. He's coming for you with his army."

If he was unnerved, he didn't show it in his soft laugh. "A bristling armada," he agreed, "but yet...so far from this brave, little, lone fishing vessel, and on such a wide, cruel sea."

He took a step forwards. Sarah's feet were rooted to the spot in terror as his knuckles brushed across her cheekbone.

Tenderly.

"Oh, my sweet little prize," he murmured. Out of her peripheral vision, silver glinted in the cuffs of his coat. "You've returned to me. What joy this brings me in my dying hour! What a sweet wine sent to revive the bones of the martyrs."

A memory exploded into the forefront of her mind:

Jareth looked up at her, meeting her eyes, then ran a gloved finger along her jawline. "It was a good plan, a dangerously good one," he said softly.

Her throat was dry.

"Do you think he was unaware of this?"

And now Marcas knew Sarah was still alive.

A slow, wondering smile spread his lips. "My sweet, sweet thing," he repeated, his voice a gentle croon. He stepped forwards and cupped her face in his hands. "I thought you a peach blossom, in need of the icy chill of winter's touch to freeze your veins and coax you to open for me."

His gloved thumb ran over her bottom lip as he searched her eyes. "No, you are...much simpler, my buoyant, bold daffodil. I ought to have seen it from the first. You do not require such delicate chastisement. You have grown from tribulation. You burst into glorious color when you are crushed underfoot. You defy the winter death with your predisposition for living. You are…"

He leaned forwards, inhaling the skin beneath her ear. "...Magnificent," he breathed.

Sarah finally wrenched enough strength to take a step back, then another. "Stay away from me!" she spat.

He laughed, throwing his head back. "Oh, precious little thing, indeed!"

That phrase turned her limbs back to steel. "I'm leaving now," she said stonily.

"Oh?"

She reached out, expanding her senses as she'd learned to over the countless nights with Jareth, and felt -

Jareth.

"Sarah!"

He was coming for her. Soaring between dreams around him like the owl of Aboveground, he was twisting and turning, trying to find the hidden gate that would pull him into the nightmare she was trapped in. Still far away - so far -

Sarah looked back to Marcas. He was watching her with mild, expectant amusement, as one might watch a kitten exploring the limits of a new, closed-off room.

"Explain one thing to me," she said slowly.

"Of course," he exclaimed, clasping a hand over his heart in an old-fashioned gesture of oath-taking and bowing. Looking up at her from between the shards of his icy hair, his amethyst eyes - so like his mother's, but twenty degrees colder - flashed. His voice darkened and curved past her ears like a twisting fall of heated silk. "My brothers are not the only ones who can be generous."

Her heart was hammering, her pulse thudding in her ears like a timpani, but she made herself think calmly. "Why are you doing this?"

"Haven't you figured that out yet, Queen?" He smirked, but there was no mirth in it - only savagery. "Because I will have what is mine."

"The Labyrinth chose Jareth."

"My treacherous brother chose the more powerful of us two," he spat. "Or at least, that which he thought! No one understood my power, not even my father. No one in my family understood the full influence of fear, of being brought face-to-face with the dark mirror of your innermost cravings and hatred. They do not know what it's like to be frozen with terror in a pool of sweat, your muscles tight knots of stone. They do not know the exhilarated, blind panic that tickles the soles of your feet as you flee beyond reason for the desperate hope of evading your inevitable doom."

Marcas tilted his head. "Nor even, I would wager, do they know the true hard floor of desire. You know of what I speak: drifting slowly through the viscous membranes of your learned morality, down, down, deeper...until you are faced with your darkest desires and...aspirations. And what actions you would achieve to take them if you thought you could escape, an unconnected thief in the night. Some lust for pleasure, for power, for control, for revenge….Sometimes, all interwoven in sickly-sweet ropes that leave them gagging when they awake. How quickly they seek to cleanse themselves through mental flagellation or justification. 'It's just a dream,'" he mimicked. "I would never really do that."

He looked at her from head to toe and back again. "Oh yes," he breathed, "they would."

In spite of herself, in spite of the myriad instinctive reactions coursing through her body, Sarah suddenly found that….desire was one of them. A small strand, but this wild creature who looked at her like he knew her darkest secrets in her deepest dreams and revealed in them….

He gave his head a quick shake and offered her a small smile, almost as if in sly collusion. "An enticing knowledge. It is the most powerful tool of life, little human. Knowing how to position your tool will send the mouse skittering in your intended direction. It is also the subtlest of knives: if you know where to pierce, it will cut deep before they even realize that they are bleeding."

He was slowly advancing on her. "For example: I wonder, little human, if you realize that you've already lost?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah said bravely.

"Do you not? How boring. I am not one to wait for my enemy to rise from the ground from whence I've thrown her, but for you, I will make an exception."

Marcas seized her hair in his gloved hand. "Did you not consider," he breathed, "that I know where your family lives? I know what your father fears, what causes your step-mother to tremble, and what terrors form tears on your precious Toby's lashes. They're sleeping so calmly right now, tucked in their plebeian beds, plagued with nothing more than property taxes and renovation permits, burned ladies' dinners and grease-stained napkins, and troublesome little math tests. Little do they know what I can do with a crook of my little finger -"

Two leather-clad fingers snapped playfully in front of her face.

Sarah flinched.

Marcas made a face of mock-horror. "Oh dear! Well, that dream suddenly took a turn for the worse! Did you know that Toby has developed a fear of large dogs? I can't imagine who set a rabid wolf loose in his school. Innocent little boy, to be frightened of dumb beasts. One hopes his dear classmates will be enough to satiate its hunger."

He gave her a meaningful look as his hand twisted tighter against her scalp. "But you know. You've seen what I can do. You respect it like you respect fire: you know what it is to be trapped and aflame, caught within your own mind. You, however, knew what right words were in your power to stop it, a power your brother lacks. How long will ignorance be bliss for your precious family?"

Sarah whimpered. "You monster!"

He tsk'd softly. "Well, now: that depends entirely on one's perspective. You can't save everyone, Sarah," he purred, "but you can save some. So what is your price? Whom do you love the most, and what would you be brave enough to do to prove that love for them?"

"Unhand my queen. Now."

Sarah jumped. Jareth had entered Marcas' Dreamfield behind her, and was striding towards her with fury. "Jareth!" Relief made her knees give out; she gasped as Marcas' hand tangled in her hair sent a streak of fire through her nerves.

"Silence," Jareth said. His voice was cold and hard. "We shall discuss your recklessness with your sanity when we return. For now, it appears as though I must once again rescue you from my brother."

Marcas laughed. "Hello, little brother. It has been a while. How have you been enjoying my game?"

"Release her!"

The man laughed and twirled Sarah so she was in his arms, facing Jareth, in a parody of an embrace. "Oh-ho! It appears I was in error after all. What a glorious inaccuracy. This isn't chess at all, Brother. It is far more juvenile than that. It is checkers."

His fingers tapped from the inside of Sarah's wrist, to her collarbone, to her forehead. "Jump…jump…jump…"

He pointed at Jareth. " 'King me.'"

"I will not ask a third time."

"There is no need." The elder fae threw Sarah away from him - into his brother's hard arms. In spite of his anger, Jareth's clasp was nearly suffocating, tendons standing out as he held her against him. "I have what answers I required. Frankly, I expected better from you, Brother. You've become...predictable."

Sarah twisted her head. "Leave my family alone!" she screamed.

"So you do still care. Thank you for confirming that," he breathed. "I had begun to wonder…." He shrugged and began to walk away, back into the mist. "You leave me no choice. I cannot afford to let you absorb Aimsir by my Brother's side, Sarah. Stand down in the Underground, and I shall not kill you. Give me your magic, and I shall not kill your family."

He faded away into the mist. "Wasn't that your entire reason for this farce, after all?" he asked, his voice echoing. "To protect them? It's a rather simple choice, Champion."

"Wait -"

The world spun as Jareth launched them from the ground like a rocket.

She woke in his arms, still in Angus' castle. "Jareth!"

He was silent as he threw the covers aside, the entire heavy blanket thumping to the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He walked to the bedroom table and reached for his used tumbler.

It shattered in his hand.

He instead picked up the decanter itself and began to drink.

"Jareth, is my family in danger? Can Marcas kill them or make them go insane? Jareth, we need to rescue them!"

He continued to drink.

"Answer me!"

"Your family." He threw the decanter into the cold fireplace. Crystal shards scattered over the floor. "Your actions tonight have put the entire kingdom in danger! It has put you in danger, which means me, which means every single life I am responsible for!"

"It wasn't my fault," she screamed. Energy thrummed through her veins. "It was an accident, Jareth - I didn't even realize that I was - his dream pulled me in -" She stood up on the mattress. "I didn't know!"

"You didn't know?" he thundered. Then, he paused, looked down at the hand that had crushed the goblet. "You didn't know," he echoed bleakly. "No, of course you didn't. Why would you? No one told you."

"Told me what?"

Jareth dropped heavily into an armchair near the fire, still naked but utterly uncaring. "There are runes carved into the castle grounds," he said, his voice still barren and defeated. "I had them put there to protect us the day that I took the throne. No Dream-Weaver other than myself may enchant the occupants of the castle grounds unless they venture out of its Protection. You were safe to explore in the castle, but once you left, you lost that seal. I should have remembered to tell you, but I was so worried about…"

Without getting up, he smashed his fist into the stone fireplace; the front several inches of the stone slithered into dust, a crack running up to the sixteen-foot chimney.

"...and now he knows." The fae king stood abruptly. "We must get you back to the Goblin Castle. We can waste no more time."

Sarah nodded. "One thing first." She climbed down from the bed, picking her way through the glass on the floor with her bare feet, and gripped the fae's wrists. Hard. "We will rescue my family and bring them behind the same protection."

"You cannot save every family, Sarah," he replied harshly. "This is a grim world, and not all nightmares can be woken from. It is now inevitable: war is upon our threshold. Many will die."

"I know," the dark-haired woman admitted softly. "But grant me this boon: save my family. We can do that much. I can't bear it if they suffer for my….mistake. No more risks after that. I promise. Please."

He sighed.

"I can refuse you nothing when you look at me with your heart in your eyes." His hands twisted to meet hers, palm to palm. "As you wish, my beloved."