Chapter Six: There's Fear Overhead; There's Fear Overground

Sarah bit back the scream as they soared into the skies. The gryphon took longer than she liked to find its balance. One second they were hurtling towards the ground, the next they were bouncing up and down like a plane caught in turbulence before rocking into a stable position. Her pent up scream escaped as a whimper as the beast found its equilibrium.

Once it evened out, she allowed her eyes to open.

The Goblin King's arms were either side of her—without making contact—as he held onto the reins, much like those of a horse. Except this creature was half-lion, half-eagle—if eagles were deep purple with navy blue highlights. Its mane was a shimmering silver colour matching its long lion tail that looked almost metallic in the moonlight.

Sarah couldn't see much to her left or right. Not just because it was night but because the enormous wings beat up and down keeping them in the air. But if she craned forward ever so slightly to peer over its shoulder, she could see the amethyst forest stretch on for acres upon acres lit by the frankly enormous moon. A mountain range framed the horizon completing her view. It was breathtaking. Literally.

As she took in the prospect, her lungs reminded her painfully to breathe. Gasping, Sarah found herself tilting too far forward and the Goblin King's hand was suddenly splayed across her stomach, pushing her back into her seat with her spine against his torso.

"It's not a view worth dying for, Curadh."

Sarah let her breath out as he moved his hand back to the rein. Thankfully, the gryphon didn't seem to be affected by the lack of control on one side.

She kept her eyes on what she could see without tilting forward. Her thoughts turned to the specimen behind her.

Part of her had known Eriché was Jareth. Part of her wanted to deny it still. She had a guts full of him over the last twenty odd, encroaching on thirty years. She assumed the given narrative in situations like this was to be angry. But anger from Henry's death had bored its hole through her and left her bereft. Where she should have felt righteous anger for his deception, all she felt was indifference. What did she care that he hadn't revealed himself as the Goblin King?

To imply that she should feel anger, would be to imply that she cared. Eriché could have been a turnip farmer with boils all over his face for all she cared. She simply didn't care. He wasn't Henry.

The Goblin King had intruded enough in her life by visiting her three times in the years between her Labyrinth run and her induction into the Owl Cult.

And each time, he had tried to ask her to come back with him.

The first time was when she was twenty-one and fresh out of her undergraduate programme.

She had been in the university library, ordering her graduation garb with the lady behind the front desk. It was the early 90s, so personal computers being commonplace was still a future away. There had been a mix up with her original order forms so she had already spent a great deal of time waiting for the staff to sort it out. Her frustration was only being held back by a thin film, sure to break any second now.

"Whereabouts in England are you from?" she overheard her friend, Shelly, asking someone.

"London," was the brief but unmistakable voice of the Goblin King. She hadn't heard his voice in six years but it was undeniably the voice that had echoed through her dreams for years. Sarah peered over her shoulder to see him lounging against a column talking to Shelly. He was dressed as a mortal with grey trousers and a loose white shirt. His hair was shorter than his 80s style but long enough that he had to keep moving his fringe out of his eyes.

Sarah felt panic rise up inside her. What the hell was he doing here? And especially torturing poor Shelley. He hadn't appeared to have seen her, so she hid behind the curtain of her hair.

"Ahh. I actually spent most of my time in the North when I went over," Shelley continued. "I avoided London."

"Unfortunately, you can not avoid where you're born," Jareth said with a laugh that had all the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

They carried on chatting while Sarah hurriedly finished the order form. She was torn between escaping unnoticed and rescuing her friend from his clutches.

"I will just go and find the book I was looking for, and then perhaps we could grab lunch."

Sarah rolled her eyes at Shelley's sultry tone. But as she watched her friend disappear into the stacks, she made her move to follow her. Fortuitously it had been raining so she pushed up the hood of her rain jacket to further obscure her face from the prying eyes of the mythical King.

"Ah, there's my champion."

Sarah spun around and saw that he had ended up—probably magically— in the same row of books as her. He was leaning against the shelf in that cocksure manner of his, balancing a book at the end of his finger.

"Leave my friend alone," she hissed.

"I have no intention of doing anything with your friend." He stalked towards her, rolling his eyes. "I can't help that my natural charm is alluring to Abovegrounders. She was but a brief distraction while I waited for you. It is you I am here to see."

Sarah crossed her arms. "Well?"

"I made an offer to you once."

Sarah raised her brow. His offer had been utter nonsense. It was the hollow promises of a biblical nature: love, fear and obedience—much like any modern-day church asks of their followers regarding their respective deity. And in return, he would be her slave, and grant her wishes—or in her analogy—prayers would be answered. Sarah couldn't help but draw parallels the older she got. Sarah was not the worshipping type. His offer was meaningless to her. What use was a slave, when the master or the god had all the power?

"I ask again, Champion." His eyes roamed freely up her body, drinking her in and resulting in a lopsided smirk. Her physical attraction, on the other hand, was something she couldn't deny.

Sarah felt her cheeks flush. Fuck.

"Return with me to the Underground to be my Queen."

"I can't—" Sarah could hear the hesitation in her voice. It practically wobbled like a bike with a flat tyre hurtling down a mountainside.

"Imagine all the things you could do as a Queen."

For nearly an hour he painted a picture of what her life could look like; the luxuries she could experience and the power that would be hers. For nearly an hour he tried to convince her it would be in her best interest. She couldn't bring herself to say no as he lavished her with sensuous attention: his voice like velvet, his scent like burnt sugar and his touch like silk.

His touch involved small, gentle caresses on her arms or her face—pushing her hood off her head, or brushing her hair out of her face. He even tried kissing the inside of her wrist. A secret weakness of hers. And even more so because his lips were like silk against her sensitive skin. She had been stunned to speechlessness as his tongue whipped out and tasted her flesh. She had shivered as his gloved hands wrapped around her arm; his thumb gently stroking as he kissed a hot trail up her arm.

She didn't know why she let him touch her. She believed he was using magic to enchant her, but she couldn't sense its electricity or taste its tang like she had when she was in the Labyrinth.

When the blood returned to her brain for a microsecond, it was enough to regain her senses.

"No."

"No?"

"I will not be returning with you to the Underground, Goblin King."

His eyes turned hard and his expression cold. Even while she was staring him down, he disappeared without a word. Time resumed and Shelley found her all but collapsed against the bookshelf, her hair in disarray and her chest heaving.

The second time she was in her early thirties. She had just returned home from a rather unsatisfying one nightstand.

Sitting outside her front door bathing in the dawn's early light was Jareth. This time his hair was longer and his clothes darker.

Sarah groaned. "What are you—?"

"You didn't come home all night."

"No, I didn't."

"I've been waiting."

"So?"

"Where have you been?"

"That's none of your —"

He gave a haughty sniff. "You've been with a man." He pushed off from his perch and stepped towards her. "And you let that man disrespect you."

"What the fuck, Goblin King?" Sarah slid her keys between her fingers in case she needed to use them in self-defence—for little good they would do against a man of pure magic. How did he know where she lived? Why was he here? And what the fuck was his issue with how she spent her night?

Had he spied on her?

"He didn't give you the pleasure you deserve."

"How the fuck would you know that?" Her simmering anger reached boiling point.

"You wouldn't be sneaking home if he had given you pleasure worthy of rapture and euphoria." She could see him swallow even in the half-light. "You wouldn't be sneaking home if I had been with you. You shouldn't be able to move for how satiated you would be."

Sarah laughed. "Well, as appealing as that sounds—"

"You've had a taste of what I could do for you last time I saw you." He stepped closer. "Don't deny that you enjoyed my attention. I could offer you so much more."

Sarah almost choked on her laughter.

"When I was twenty-one and a lot more impressionable," Sarah replied, scornfully.

"Come back to the Underground with me."

"No." She wasn't even going to contemplate letting him touch her this time. Just like last time, he was gone within a blink of an eye.

The third time, Sarah had just become engaged to Henry.

Sarah was celebrating her engagement with a lunch with her close friends. She had just popped off to use the toilet. On her way back to join her friends, she collided with another person.

" Oh, I am—"

She saw that she had bumped into Jareth. He was wearing a light grey suit with a deep blue shirt. His hair was in soft waves down to his shoulders.

"—so not sorry."

"Tut tut." He grinned. "Such a rude way to greet an old friend."

"Friend?" Sarah's scoffed. "I am not going back with you. So save yourself the trouble."

He tutted and cocked his head at her. Sarah found her eyes being drawn to his dual-coloured eyes. For a while, their eyes regarded each other without a word. When he flicked his eyes away, Sarah felt oddly bereft. A couple of blinks and her heart rate returned to normal and she resumed her irritable countenance.

"Imagine the things I could show you. The delights I could give you. Every single night." He looked above her head as if he was speaking to someone behind her.

Sarah went to move past him. While the temptation may have been there in the past for twenty-one-year-old Sarah, it certainly wasn't there for nearly-forty-year-old engaged-to-be-married Sarah.

"There you are." Her friend Georgia came up behind her. "We wondered if you had drowned in the toilet. Not a very romantic way to go… Oh, who is this?"

Sarah observed Georgia eye the Goblin King with interest. Sarah suppressed her groan until it squeaked out as a slight cough.

"No one." Sarah crossed her arms as she glared into his cool eyes. "Someone that walked into me."

"Ah, well let's get back to celebrating your engagement." Georgia linked her arm with hers and attempted to drag her back to the table.

Sarah nodded and pushed past the Goblin King, their arms brushing, as she noticed the flicker of some ineffable emotion in his face.

After that day, she hadn't seen him until those times she imagined she had seen him during and after her husband's last year. Or on reflection, when she had seen him as Eriché for the first time. She never fully understood why he asked her to go back those three times. Nor why his efforts had been so lacklustre.

Sarah figured if he had truly wanted her to return, a simple no would not have deterred him. It was on her mind to ask him why he had visited those three times. But talking to him with so much distance between her and the lethally hard ground below her didn't seem like a good idea.

Sarah didn't know him from a bar of soap. Not really. She didn't know how well he would take to being questioned. All she knew of him was what he wanted her to see thirty years ago and what had been printed in her red book. Magical creatures were mercurial at the best of times. Who's to say, he wouldn't toss her like a used tissue into the valley below? The gravity of her situation bore down on her as they flew. Her life was in his hands, and she trusted him based on a few minutes here and there in each other's company.

Yet here she was with his thighs getting to know her thighs quite intimately. The heat radiating from him scorched through the thick material of her pants. It was more than enough to fight the chill from being airborne.

Given his repeated attempts to get her Underground, she had to wonder if this Owl Well wish had been a scheme to bring her back here? Pretty elaborate if it was. She had to remind herself not to take anything for granted. If she had had the headspace to analyse her current predicament, she would never be flying with Him in the first place.

Sarah blinked a few wind-induced tears away and gripped the gryphon harder as sudden fatigue overcame her. She was exhausted from her grief and her recent Underground experiences. She had to force herself to sit bolt upright to avoid lying back onto his chest or to slump forward and risk falling off.

She knew which option was preferable.

After half an hour she couldn't fight her fatigue or her pride anymore. She leant forward again, but this time she tried to stretch her protesting body against the shaggy mane of the gryphon. She was restless and fidgety and despite the reasonably padded saddle, her backside ached, while pins and needles ran down the lengths of her calves and fizzed down to her toes.

"You're tired."

Sarah mumbled a reply. And then felt the gryphon dip down and start to descend. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back. Sarah felt mini-tornadoes of sensation under her skin as he squeezed his arm against her. They quickly dissipated to be replaced by an aching numbness.

"Sit up for the descent, Curadh."

The gryphon landed softly and Jareth slid off, landing with no discernable noise on the ground. Sarah eased her left leg over and prepared to slide off, but strong hands caught her waist halfway down.

The Goblin King removed his hands as soon as her feet touched the ground. She wavered as the blood rushed back to her limbs but she gritted her teeth to show no weakness in front of the imperious Goblin King. He led the gryphon to a pond and patted its neck almost affectionately. He retrieved her backpack and proffered it to her. Sarah took it from him and clutched it to her chest.

"We will camp here." He looked around frowning. "I can't have my winnings sliding off the gryphon to her death."

Sarah contemplated feeling embarrassed. "Fuck you. I am grieving and thrown into a whole new world. Of course, I am fucking tired from having to adjust to—"

"Peace, Curadh." He was twirling a crystal in his hand. "I have experienced grief before. I'm no stranger to exhaustion either."

This last statement was followed by a pointed look.

He threw the crystal and a campsite sprung into existence.

"I thought your donation all but wiped out your magic."

"This" —he gestured to their campsite— "was all stored before I deposited my magic in the well."

He had come well prepared to win her.

Sarah drew her lips into a grim line. "We could have just stayed at the Crann for the night and made a fresh start in the morning."

He sighed as he marched towards the tent. The single tent. There was only the one. She watched as he pulled out some meat from a crate and chucked it towards the gryphon who snapped it up greedily into its razor filled jaw.

"I need to return home. The closer I get, the faster I am replenished." He gripped onto the tent flap and held it open. "I was counting on you lasting a wee bit longer. But like I said, I can't have my winnings falling and dying. It would be a bit of a waste after the price I paid for you."

She scowled at him. "There is only one tent."

"Observant as ever."

"Well, you're going to get cold sleeping outside."

The Goblin King snorted. "I am not opposed to sleeping outside, but if I am to adequately protect my winnings, I am not leaving you alone where I can not see you."

Sarah didn't question his ability to protect her with limited access to his magic. She was too tired to argue with him, so when he entered the tent after she did, she didn't say anything. It was roomy enough and the beds were spread out far enough apart. She all but collapsed into the nearest bed.

"We will leave with the dawn."

The Goblin King hadn't been kidding when he said they would leave with the dawn. He shook her awake which had Sarah muttering about him forming a habit.

When consciousness fully hit her, she darted away from his touch and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Eriché—Sarah tried not to even think his real name—smirked but walked off without a word.

She glanced at his camp bed, noticing it didn't look slept in. She rubbed her forehead as she pulled herself deeper into wakefulness. Not only did she trust him to not push her off the gryphon, but she was also trusting him at her most vulnerable—during sleep. Clearly, grief was messing with her faculties.

Sarah gathered clean clothes and her washbag. She brushed her teeth and washed her face before exiting the tent to squat behind a tree.

Meanwhile, the Goblin King boiled some eggs and fried some bread for their breakfast. Sarah bemoaned the lack of coffee as she re-tied her braid and washed her face yet again in a basin of cold water.

She finished her breakfast and placed her plate down on her lap.

"I have to ask why?"

"Why what?"

"Why go to all these lengths to bring me back Underground?"

He never looked up at her. The King continued eating as if she wasn't asking the world of him.

"I would have thought the three—no, four times I refused your request, should have hurt your pride enough to stop you from attempting again."

He tutted. "I did not ask you to come back this time. Your brother made a wish at the Owl Well and we were obliged to grant it."

He stood up and turned away from her. "You also were the one who exchanged places with him. I have very little to do with your being here. Aside from the fact, I am a member of the Earnáil na n-ulchabhán and you happened to need an Othlu who is up to the challenge of training you."

"Up to the challenge?" Sarah scoffed.

"Yes." He spun back around to face her, his eyes boring into hers. "A mortal with no magical connections. Champion though you may be."

Sarah shrugged and shoved another forkful of egg in her mouth.

"What?" he asked. "Not going to argue with me?"

"No." She prodded her egg with the fork, preparing for another mouthful. "I don't care to. I have a dead husband and my family and friends and career have all been taken from me. I have bigger things to worry about than your opinion of me."

Silence greeted her statement but she found she didn't care. She scooped up the last of her eggs and rinsed her plate in a bucket of cold water. Eriché followed her lead shortly after.

"Whatever you think of me, Champion"— The Goblin King chucked the dirty water against the base of the nearest tree— "if Rin had won the opportunity to be your Othlu, you would be lying on your back with your legs open from now until you shuffle off your mortal coil. You may not like to admit it, but I saved you from a worse fate than being stuck with me. "

"Are you sure about that?" Sarah scowled. "Don't assume to pretend to know what motivates me."

Eriché just scoffed and folded up the rug he had been sitting on.

Without any more words between them, he then undid the magical campsite back into a crystal. She followed him to where the gryphon rested, watching as the beast rose up and shook their body. Eriché climbed up and held his hand out to pull her up to resume her seat in front of him.

"You don't have to sit so stiffly in your seat." He said as he steered the gryphon to a rocky outcrop on a low cliff. "If you need to relax, lean back into me."

"I'd rather fall off," she replied, aiming to wound.

He chuckled. "Rest assured that I would strive to catch you."

The gryphon took a running jump off the ledge, narrowly missing the tops of the trees below them. It broke free of the forest and settled into a hover before finding its sense of direction. And off they went again.

This time it was with an awareness that they were very high up as she could see what the dawn's light touched. Her bravado fled at the prospect of falling from that height.

The trees stretched out beneath them like an ocean. The darker violet hues bled into orange-pink as the sun's rays scattered over the mountain tops to reflect off the amethyst canopies. It was quite enthralling.

She was mesmerised by the breeze rifling through the canopy in iridescent waves. That was until the Goblin King pulled the reins tighter and his arms brushed up against hers.

"Once we make it to that range, we can exchange the gryphon for horses." He released the reins slightly and Sarah felt his heat rise over her shoulder letting her know he had moved closer to her. "Are you looking forward to returning to the Labyrinth?"

Sarah almost snorted. "No. You know I didn't want to come back. The only thing I want is my husband back."

She watched as he placed both reins in one hand and gently squeezed her shoulder in what Sarah interpreted as severely uncharacteristic tender action. Or perhaps it was a reminder to curb her petulant behaviour. Sarah was quite deep within her melancholy and knew she was being difficult. Not that he didn't deserve it.

"While my mother wants me to train you intensely, I suggest upon your return, that you take the time to grieve."

"How kind of you." Sarah did not know how to respond in any way that wasn't dripping with sarcasm. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl. Was that going to be how she felt from now on under his tutelage?

"It's not a kindness."

He didn't elaborate and she didn't ask him to. They sunk back into stilted silence and Sarah refocused on the view beneath her and the mountains they were edging ever closer to.

He retook the reins in both hands and that seemed to be the end of any conversation between them.

Sarah watched passively as the landscape unfolded beneath her until the trees changed to mountains. Over the other side of the range, she made out a small township nestled amongst the foothills.

The houses and shops were made from stone as if carved from the very mountains themselves. The Goblin King directed the gryphon into its descent and Sarah squeezed her thighs tighter together to maintain her balance.

The gryphon soared through an opening on the side of a wooden tower and landed upon a rough, but sturdy platform with a jolt. The Goblin King slid off from behind her and she followed suit.

Once she had her rucksack back in her possession, she joined the Goblin King as he stood talking to the gryphon keeper who led the beast to a crate of hay when it hunkered down like a cat having a nap.

Eriché turned to face Sarah with an odd half-smile. "We will have some luncheon here, Curadh, and then we will hire a carriage to take us the rest of the way."

Sarah merely nodded and followed him to the stairway.

Once they were alone on the stairs, Sarah asked a question that had rattled around in her head for a few hours now.

"Why, when you know my real name, do you call me Curadh?"

He didn't even break his stride. "For your safety."

"My safety?"

"Names have power and if someone was to overhear me use your real name, they could use it against you."

"And you don't plan on using it against me?"

He spun around at this. His features set and a dark glint in his eyes the only sign of any emotion.

"Why would I do that?"

Sarah clicked her tongue and pushed past him. "Why wouldn't you?"

As she moved past him, Sarah watched as he curled his tongue over his teeth and that glint in his eye deepened.

"I am sure my sisters warned you not to use your real name or offer it. I will keep it safe. My reasons are my own."

"You used my name when I did my Labyrinth run."

"I did."

"Well—"

"That was different."

Sarah paused on the stairs and turned back to him. "So if names have power, what power did it grant you to say it back then?"

He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. "Why do you want me to say your name so badly?"

Sarah couldn't ignore his lascivious smirk. "I'm just trying to assuage my curiosity."

"Hmmm." He pushed off the wall. "I will trust that your curiosity doesn't lead you to divulge my name either."

Sarah laughed. "You're assuming I even know your real name."

She watched as the lines around his mouth tightened and his brows knitted into a frown. "You know my real name."

"I don't recall," she lied.

"I know that blasted dwarf informed you."

"He may have, but it was so trivial a fact, it slipped my mind."

His frown deepened. "You're not a very good liar."

"Look at it this way." Sarah ignored his mild criticism. "Have you ever heard me say it?"

They walked down the rest of the stairway in silence. Sarah may not like the Goblin King but she wasn't about to reveal his name, as long as he kept hers safe. Why he was so adamant he would keep it safe was beyond her. Sarah would have assumed he would use her name to his benefit to avenge his loss at her hands. Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

Once they were on solid ground, the Goblin King took the lead again through the tidy streets of the small town. Sarah followed, clutching her backpack and eyeing the villagers; a motley collection of humanoid beings.

"Here." Jareth pointed to a door with a brown sign with symbols Sarah couldn't read painted above it.

"We will have something to eat here and then we will go to the carriages."

He held open the door for her and Sarah resisted the temptation to roll her eyes as she walked ahead of him.

The interior of the building left her in no doubt she was in an inn or pub of some sort. Rough wooden tables and benches lined the room and the clink of glasses and the gentle murmur of its patrons greeted her. The heavy aroma of beer soaked through the room.

"Sit here and I will be back shortly." Eriché indicated a table in the corner, partially hidden from the rest of the patrons.

She did as requested and watched as the Goblin King weaved through the room to find the innkeeper. Sarah observed that in his black clothing, hidden by the cloak he wore, he didn't stand out half as much as she assumed he always would. His hair—tied at his nape—downplayed his royal status. Sarah presumed that was intentional to move through the space without recognition hampering them.

He returned with two flagons of beer and sat directly next to her. Sarah dramatically looked all around her at the empty spaces he could have occupied.

The Goblin King merely chuckled at her silent rebuke. "I have ordered the stew and some bread."

"Wow, thank you Eriché for taking my choice into account."

"It was the most suitable option for your delicate human digestion." He took a sip of his beer, watching her all the while. "If you would prefer a choice, then, by all means, I can tell the innkeeper to show you the menu in a language you can not read to order something that may at best, turn your innards into liquid and at worst kill you."

Sarah tapped the table with her fingers. "Fair enough."

"No argument? No snarky retort?"

Sarah shook her head. "Not this time."

She took a tentative sip of her beer and when she didn't keel over immediately, she took a deeper mouthful.

"I don't suppose there is a bathroom I could use here?"

"Hmmm?" Jareth rubbed his fingers across his mouth then he seemed to come back to earth. "Oh, there is a water closet out the back."

Sarah stood and headed in the direction he pointed.

Eyes followed her every movement between the Goblin King and the door to the outside. She kept her chin up and her shoulders back.

Once outside she hurriedly squatted over the hole in the ground within four ramshackle walls. The dull pain low down in her abdomen reminded her of her oncoming period. Something she thought would have given up the ghost by her age, especially given the uselessness of the monthly ritual. Holding her hand over her mouth and nose to block the stench, she made her way back outside into the dimly lit courtyard. Though it was day time, the alley lent itself to a darkness comparable to night.

"Ello."

Sarah turned to face a figure leaning against the wall. The first thing she noticed about this person was the grubby bandage over one eye and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth dropping ash onto his brown jacket.

"Hi." Sarah held his gaze with confidence. After her run in the Labyrinth, she had taken self-defence classes. She knew not to appear vulnerable. A man standing in shadows definitely constituted her definition of shady and a need to be on her guard.

"What is a pretty wee thing like you doing with a pleota clasán like him?" He stuck his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Inn. She knew he meant the Goblin King. She had no idea what a pleota clasán was but the way the gruff man spat it out didn't sound like a compliment.

Sarah sucked air in between her teeth. She knew what men were like Aboveground; if she made it seem like she was with the Goblin King, he would see her as some other man's property and leave her alone. Men didn't respect a woman's refusal, but if that woman belonged to another man, most men wouldn't cross that line. Sexist, chauvinistic pigs, Sarah thought irritably.

Sarah looked left and right before she winked at the grimy man. "He may be a pleota clasán, but he has a big cock."

The man pushed off the wall. "Not as big as mine." He grabbed a handful of his breeches and shook it towards her as he approached.

Sarah kept her face blank despite her disgust. "Well, I better get back to my pleota clasán with his big cock."

She took a few steps towards the door when his arm shot out and grabbed her upper arm. Without any hesitation, she swung her free hand up and smashed his nose with the heel of her hand. She brought her knee up at the same time, hard and fast into his groin.

"Mallacht mo chait ort," the man spat aggressively, though his words were heavily muffled by his hand over his nose. His other hand covered his meagre package as he crumbled to the ground.

"Nár chuire Ragana ar do leas thú."

Sarah turned to see the Goblin King leaning nonchalantly against the door frame. The grimy man glanced up at him and Sarah saw his face crumple and the man cower further into the dirt.

"You dare to attack my Champion?" He pushed off the wall with his foot and strode towards the man. "Get out of my sight before I turn you into a chicken and eat you for my supper."

The man released the hand from his nose to push himself away, revealing copious amounts of blood leaking from his nostrils. Sarah smiled with grim satisfaction.

"Your Champion should watch her step."

"I am sure my Champion would take great delight in sticking the skewer through your arse and roasting you on a spit."

Sarah smirked as the man glanced at her and shuffled back into the shadows.

Eriché straightened his gloves and then bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. "And it's Your Majesty. Don't let me bore you with the reminder of the punishment given to those who forget to give their betters their due."

Sarah frowned at his words. She certainly hadn't been using his title, and he had not once asked it of her.

The Goblin King was suddenly standing between her and the wretch on the ground with his hands on his hips. "And the cat that you chose to curse my Champion with will make a nice side of potatoes."

He licked his lips in a way that made Sarah's blood curdle.

The man whimpered and retreated even faster. When enough time had elapsed, he turned back towards her with his hands still on his hips.

"What do you know of the size of my cock?"

Sarah rolled her eyes skyward. "It's not like you advertise your size or anything."

He chuckled. "I am glad you have noticed. But more to the point, I thank you for calling me your foolish arse hole."

"Is that what he said?" Sarah asked, tonelessly.

"He did." Jareth relaxed his hands and placed them behind his back. "Pleota clasán is foolish arse hole or the closest equivalent in your tongue. He is lucky I let him live for that slight. And for placing a curse upon you. But I have placed upon him a bigger curse."

"And that is?"

"Ragana will never grant him peace as long as he lives."

At the mention of Ragana, Sarah studied his face. She couldn't discern any partiality or even the opposite in his tone or his features. One of his sisters (she was pretty certain it was Minni) had mentioned him having never met the Owl Goddess but that one day he would do so. She dampened down her curiosity under her more pressing cloak of shock at actually having to defend herself.

Sarah scratched her chin as she headed back inside. "And why did you mention his cat?"

"He wished the curse of his cat upon you."

Sarah laughed—a broken raggedy sound even to her ears. "So am I going to forever want to push things off shelves and stick my bum into the faces of the people I trust?"

"If you'd like."

Sarah raised her brows at the flirtatious look on his face. Her look of disgust deepened as he winked.

"He was also a member of the Cult of the Rat." He sniffed and curled his lip. "They are a lesser cult, but sniffing around my winnings was a dangerous move on his part."

"He certainly looked the part of a rat." Sarah frowned, nibbling on her thumb. "Can you remove his curse?"

"Your inner magic was more powerful than his curse," was all he said.

Sarah was quick to notice his hands were suddenly below his waist, fumbling with the ties of his trousers.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I may be royalty and a magical being, but I piss just like you do."

"There is a perfectly serviceable toilet, right there."

He chuckled. "There is a perfectly serviceable wall right here."

"You're an animal."

"No, actually, I am not of the kingdom of Animalia," he retorted. "We can not be ranked by your definitions of taxonomy."

Sarah puffed her cheeks out. "You could at least wait until I am not watching."

"Well, then don't watch."

She turned and went inside, resisting the urge to stomp away as her fifteen-year-old self would have.

Sarah hesitated before she sat back down at their meal. Eriché had no such reservations before he gracefully placed himself in front of his bowl.

"Did you watch me kick that guy's arse?" Sarah asked as she tapped the edge of the table with her index finger.

He smirked. "You did decently for a mortal of your advanced years."

Sarah scowled. "But you just watched."

"Yes, and it was quite a turn-on." He winked. "I wouldn't have denied you the pleasure of drawing his blood. Rather him than me."

"And why would I want to kick your arse?"

"I am sure you wouldn't hesitate in inflicting your rage in the form of pain upon me." He patted the chair next to him. "After all the crimes I have committed against you."

"Crimes?" She sidled into her seat. "Are you confessing?"

Jareth twirled his bread into his stew. "I have spent the past thirty mortal years learning more about mortals. Some of my methods to woo you may have been misconstrued by you."

"Is that right?"

"Mmm, like sending the cleaners after you." He scratched his eyebrow and Sarah observed that the glitter didn't shift. It wasn't make-up?

"On what planet would sending the cleaners after someone be construed as an attempt to woo?" Sarah didn't bother hiding her incredulity.

"Well, I know now that for you, at least, it isn't the romantic gesture it is deemed Underground."

"Remind me never to date anyone Underground if having a sharp metal contraption hurtling down a dingy tunnel, slicing and dicing at you is par for the course."

She didn't need to remind herself that she was a widow and not willing to date at this point in time, Underground beings or otherwise.

The Goblin King slurped rather loudly on his spoon.

Sarah shifted her gaze to her ring finger. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, she was hit by how much she missed Henry. She felt herself fighting tears and with an enormous effort to push away the sullen mood that was threatening, she plastered on a fake smile as she mindlessly rubbed at her wedding ring.

"I guess you also like your potential date to smell like the Bog if my memory serves me correctly. As a child, I was fond of slides, but never ones that ended in being forever smelly."

Jareth grinned wryly. "It is the stinkiest Bog in all the Lethia regions. Even Cammpia can't claim their bog is as smelly as mine. Did you like it?"

Sarah curled her lip and looked into her bowl. Suddenly, her thick, brown stew looked less appealing. She shook her head without making eye contact.

"We do things differently here." He leaned in. "We don't coddle the females of our species and we expect them to hold their own in a fight. That's why I didn't step in when that man grabbed you. And that's why you made an impression upon me in the Labyrinth."

Sarah ripped her bread apart and dipped it into her stew, watching as crumbs fell off and sunk into the depths. Disassociating from his last sentence seemed safer than acknowledging his words.

Eventually, she looked up from the perusal of her sinking breadcrumbs. "I appreciate your feminist approach to letting me fight my own battles, but what if he had magic?"

"If he had stronger magic than you, it would have been a different story." Jareth sipped his beer. "I would have cheered you on as I watched."

Sarah glanced up to see him smirking. Sarah shook her head and returned her attention to her meal. As she was grabbing another slice of bread she felt a gloved hand on top of hers.

"Rest assured, Curadh, you are safe and protected whilst with me." He squeezed her hand slightly. "I paid too heavy a price to risk any harm coming to you. But you won't learn to live in this world if I rescue you from every fight. And something tells me you don't want to be saved."

Sarah ripped her hand out from under his to shove the slice of bread into her mouth. She wasn't a damsel in distress. Far from it. But this world was different to hers. And her resilience was rather shaken by Henry's death.

"I am not the Prince Charming you dreamt of all those years." His hand remained where it was; his fingers curling into the table. "I am not your White Knight."

Sarah scoffed. "Good. Henry was the closest I could get to my Prince Charming and I don't want or need any white knights."

"And yet, you may find yourself in the role of saviour one day, Curadh." He bared his sharp teeth in a way that unnerved her. "Could you save someone that couldn't save you?"

A/N: Thanks to Viciously Witty, Busted Brain and Telcontarian for the Irish in this chapter. They did the Labour of googling it for me :) But also thanks for their unwavering support.

Nár chuire Dia ar do leas thú

That God will never grant you peace

Mallacht mo chait ort

My cat's curse upon you

The title is courtesy of Bowie from Slow Burn.