Hoggle dodged a ballskirt, a servant, and an obnoxious child who had mistaken him for an elf before reaching his destination, the Queen's side. The Queen had spotted him ducking through the crowds and moved gracefully from her admirers, pausing to look out the glittering, frost-covered windows. To all the world she cared for nothing but the sip of her wine and the darkened image of the gardens beyond the ballroom windows; Hoggle, however, knew very well that she was studying the reflection of the room within the glass.

"Well?" she murmured.

"She's here. I left 'er o'er by the dark corner; she's watching the dancin'." Hoggle glanced over his shoulder to double-check—yes, Sarah was still there, sipping punch and sitting in the area where the too-young and too-old gathered to jealously regard the dancing. Inventing a thin excuse about mortal-haters amongst the guests, Hoggle had warned her against talking to the others without him present; he hated to bore her but the Queen was right—it might all go badly if she heard something she shouldn't. Hoggle glanced at Sarah, who was staring absently down at her glass shoe, and half-feared she would jump to her feet, call them all liars, and storm off from the ballroom on the spot.

The Queen's eyes drifted across the glass to the object of Hoggle's interest and then her smile broadened. "Perfect, my friend. Now, I believe it is my turn?" Without waiting for Hoggle's response, she threaded her way to another corner of the ballroom, where the royal tables were positioned on an elongated dais. The tables were for the most part empty, as all the visiting royalty had finished with the toasting and descended for the dancing. All but one individual, who sat with his leg tossed casually over the arm of his chair, sipping carelessly from a brandy glass, and a stormcloud expression on his finely chiseled features.

"My son, will you never learn how to behave?"

He glanced up and Jareth's face lightened with the smile that made her heart hurt; that sweet smile had been reserved for her since birth, but he rarely used it otherwise these days. "Of course not. What challenge would you have if I didn't give you reason to harangue me?"

She tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. "Hush. You know what I meant. Do sit up."

He smirked, rolled his eyes playfully, but did as she bade. "Anything for you, Mother."

"I don't understand why you are sitting up here to begin with. Why are you not dancing? Or entertaining the eligible ladies present?"

She pretended not to hear groan of irritation. "Perhaps I'm up here to avoid these sorts of conversations, Mother. I rather dislike being viewed as a prospective stallion at stud."

She made a noise of protest at the vulgarity and pretended to frown, aware of his expectations of her. She glanced casually over to the darkened corner. Excellent; the girl was still unoccupied. Then she turned, beaming, to him; even before she spoke, she saw his eyes narrow and knew he was suspicious of her sudden mood change. Very well, she would not need to pretend much longer. "Oh, don't be so self-absorbed, Jareth. You could be doing some ladies out there a great favor by attending to them. I see several that are badly in need of a companion. Do look—can you see the seating area over there? There are at least—"

She failed to finish her sentence as her son had already kicked back his chair and shot to his feet, a soft exclamation escaping him. She couldn't resist a smug glance at Jareth's face, which was frozen but for the size of his stunned eyes, and then sat back with amusement to watch fate take its course.

* * *

So I went to this ball, Sarah imagined telling her friends at school. Her fingers toyed with the holly bracelet on her wrist. Yes, a real ball, not a party. And it was huge, I could see hundreds of people there—including some gorgeous guys, naturally—and what did I do? I sat all night!

Sarah sighed and got to her feet, resolved to go looking for Hoggle. At least it would be better than sitting there like the wallflower of the year, feeling not only pointless but also bored out of her mind. Hoggle would pay for this, she vowed to herself. They'd arrived—Hoggle's insistence on being fashionably late causing her great amusement—and he'd promptly ditched her. Lifting a hand to her eyes, she peered around the gigantic ballroom, scouring the room for signs of a runaway dwarf in red velvet. Where on earth—or Underground—could he have gone? He doesn't know that many people here, from what he said…Where is the Queen? Did she want him? She looked around for signs of royalty and craned her neck at the elevated tables at the other end of the room; the banners and heraldry down there suggested this is where her hostess had been, if she wasn't there now. Sarah stepped forward from the shadows, almost onto the dance floor, when her eyes noted the seated female figure and the male seated next to her.

Her mind promptly registered a profanity most ill-suited to her elegant surroundings, as her hands chilled over and her heart abruptly stopped.

He was sitting—lounging, really—on his chair, leg over the side just as she'd always imagined him. As he suddenly stood, she saw his outfit, his black boots and the breeches that she had always found indecently fascinating. His shirt was white but his coat, at least, was not the blue glittered fantasy from her first ball; he wore a dark green velvet coat this time. She wished she could say it made him less attractive, but then again, she suspected Jareth could be put in sackcloth and women's hands would still automatically itch to rip it off, so handsome was he. Handsome, or beautiful? She had wondered once if he were not somehow a fallen angel, although Hoggle said he was Fae; magic alone could not explain the allure of his sculpted features and lionlike mane of white-gold, the exquisite imperfections of his mismatched eyes and pointed teeth.

And now those breathtaking eyes in that dangerous lion's face, unsmiling, were trained upon her.

For all of her appreciation of his physical attributes, Sarah was no fool when it came to Jareth. Despite years of finely-honed and greatly enjoyed fantasies starring a certain Goblin King, she had never attempted to return to the Underground or have contact with him because she knew just how dangerous that man could be. He might have kidnapped her brother because she had wished it, but he had sent her into the Labyrinth out of his own dark and wild whimsy. He had made it clear what would happen to Toby if she didn't win the Labyrinth by the thirteenth hour. Sarah had no idea what his limits were, only the gut feeling that there were no limits at all when it came to Jareth's will.

So Sarah bolted, spinning on her glass slipper and sprinting urgently back to her corner, seeking the door. But as luck would have it, of course, two things happened: one of her slippers fell off, causing her to glance down to correct her stumble, and as she was glancing down, she failed to see she was about to ram into a wall of white silk and green velvet.

Her hand resting on that wall, feeling a holly sprig in his lapel, the heartbeat beneath beating a nerve-wracking rhythm against her palm, a man's gloved hands fixed on her upper arms, steadying her and also holding her, for the first time since that ball, so long ago….Sarah blinked and mechanically focused on breathing. Air in, air out. Air in, air out. A gloved finger suddenly interrupted her thoughts, tilting her chin up to look into his expression, cold and beautiful like an unmarred December snow in abandoned forests. Something glinted briefly in his magical eyes, something that was not magic but just as elusive, as he stared down at her. Eyes abruptly wintry again, his lips suddenly curved into an ominous smirk. "Going somewhere, Sarah?"

* * *