A/N

Ahem..

This chappie is dedicated to Cyber Keiko in hopes that it is found and read before Hurricane Ivan strikes. : )

Chapter 6 - The Rules of War

Several hours later, Sarah stood in front of a window in her hotel room, wineglass in hand. After working her way through almost the entire bottle of Château Blanc, she was still no closer to calming down. She simply couldn't decide what made her angriest - Jareth's dismissal or the callousness he displayed towards the Labyrinth.

It blew her mind. How could he not care what happened to the Underground? It was his own kingdom, was it not? She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to shed at least one tear for her lost friends. It was her own fault for forgetting them, she knew. Must she also carry the guilt for their death?

Try as she might, there was no way to contact Keifer, the druid boy who had come to her in the first place. Whether that meant he just couldn't reach her or worse - he too was dead - Sarah couldn't know.

Feeling frustrated beyond words, Sarah whirled away from the window. Her eyes flitted around the room, settling on her laptop. She should check to see if Silas or Toby had emailed her back. Thoughts of them brought on a wave of homesick so terrible that it made her want to double over in pain. Jareth was right about one thing, she didn't belong here. Anymore than he did at least. Maybe she should just give it up now and go home. Silas should be satisfied at least. She was sure that he would let her go back to teaching right away. If not, she could still immerse herself into her studies. Perhaps finish her book. The lure of returning to her normal, structured life was so strong it was palpable.

Jareth had stolen this from her.

When she first started this quest, (she still could not allow herself to think of all of this as another of Jareth's games) Keifer was her only reason for going. It was his threat to continue haunting her that made her leave for Monaco in the first place. But, after seeing Jareth. After hearing his taunt, she could no more turn back now than if Keifer was here to keep his threats. Besides, she had come to far... Remembered too much...

Sarah glanced at the digital clock on the table by her bed. "Three thirty in the morning," she groaned, rubbing her eyes with the back of her palms.

Feeling utterly defeated, she stripped off her clothes and shrugged on a white cotton night shirt. Throwing herself on the bed, she burrowed deep under the quilt, covering her head with one of the fluffy pillows. She lay there perfectly still, silently praying for sleep.

Just before the waves of sleep crept upon her, Sarah's last thought was of Jareth.

...the Princess... I wonder if she's pretty...

Much to exhausted to be even remotely jealous, Sarah finally succumbed to sleep.

XX

....But sleep never came very easily...

During those last few hours before dawn, Sarah tossed and turned miserably. Later when she awoke, she couldn't remember exactly what is was she dreamed of. Only the distant calls of her name, the faintest impression of screaming voices...

When she finally opened her eyes, the pales rays of late morning sun filtered in through drawn curtains. Feeling much to exhausted, not to mention still mildly drunk, to get out of bed yet, Sarah rolled onto her back with a groan.

Her heavy eyes had almost drooped closed again when she suddenly realized that she was not alone in her bed. A long, hard figure was lying next to her own.

With a yelp Sarah sat straight up in her bed, her arms moving to attack. When she saw who her visitor was, she paused before hitting him anyway.

"Jareth, you awful bastard, just what in the sam hell are you doing in my bed?"

"Well good morning to you, Sarah. I take it we didn't sleep well, hmmm?" He crossed his arms petulantly over his chest. "Besides, I'm not in your bed, I'm on it. There's a difference."

Jareth was seated on top of the bedcovers, his back propped against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front. Sarah absently noted that he was still wearing the shirt and pants from his tux, but the jacket and tie were long discarded. His wrinkled shirt had been pulled out and left halfway unbuttoned. His untamed blonde hair had escaped the leather thong and spiked around his head like a porcupine. There was something wild about his appearance leaving her no doubt that he was not from this world. Seeing him like this, in such close proximity to herself, Sarah felt an odd catch in her throat. A warm sensation began to spread through her cheeks and down her neck spreading to her belly. For one sweet moment she actually didn't mind his presence.

Too bad she had to remind herself how much she hated the guy.

"I slept perfectly well, thank you very much," she murmured acidly. "But, then again the blood of a thousand inhabitants of the Underground isn't on my head, unlike yours. An honest conscience makes for much better sleeping, don't you think."

She started to get out of the bed then realized she was only dressed in a cotton t-shirt. While it did just fine for sleeping, it did nothing to cover her long, bare legs. Sarah had absolutely no desire for Jareth to see her in her underwear. Remembering his deliberate mentioning of the Princess of Monaco last night, she doubted that he would care to see it regardless. Some foreign emotion crept into her mind. She rationalized that this could in no way be jealousy. You see, to be jealous of someone, a person must first care about that someone and there was positively no way she felt anything for His Royalness. Regardless, Sarah's eyes quickly glanced to where he perched nearby.

Jareth crossed his legs languidly. From the way he was comfortably settling in, Sarah figured he planned to be here awhile. At some point last night, he must have changed back into boots. He pointed with one of them now towards the empty wine bottle left on a table.

"Drinking by yourself, Sarah. Tsk tsk. That's not a healthy habit to get into."

Sarah crossed her arms, scowling. "And since when have you been the paragon of virtue. If you came here to lecture me, then get the hell out. Otherwise tell me why you came."

He turned his body slightly to face her, lips curling into a grin. "Are you always so testy in the mornings Sarah? Or are you saving your bad behavior for me?" He was staring at her now, looking at her with those strange eyes. Sarah couldn't read his expression, and that made her nervous. There was an intensity to his expression she didn't like. She tried to think of something to say, something nice and clever that would diffuse the mood, but could think of nothing.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she whispered. Her heart was pounding in her chest for some reason. She wanted to lick her lips, but her tongue felt to dry to do the task. Jareth's gaze had taken on a strange look - one she had never seen before. My god, could it be tenderness...?

"I'm not looking at you any way," he murmured. His voice was restrained yet it was smoother than satin. He was drinking her in with his eyes, as if searing her tousled hair and sleepy eyes to memory. "It's only..."

"What..." Sarah couldn't help but ask when he didn't go on. She wanted to bolt, run, fight, scream, and kiss him all at the same time. Her heart was pounding so heard in her chest, she could scarcely breath though.

Jareth seemed about to speak, but he shook his head. Reaching out, her moved to touch her cheek. As he did, Sarah's mind revolted. He was nothing more than a murderer, she reminded herself bitterly. Would she betray her friends in this way too?

"No."

His hand stopped in mid air.

Anger and disbelief sprung in his eyes. Jerking his hand back as if it were touched by flame, her practically snarled at her. For a moment, some wounded, unreadable expression passed over his face. Surely not rejection, but something close to it, Sarah supposed. Anyway, it was gone much to fast for her to know for sure. Without a word, Jareth disappeared from the bed.

Raising her eyebrows, Sarah almost got out of bed before she heard his voice coming from her left. Jareth hadn't left apparently, only removed himself to the window. With a heave, he opened the heavy drapes letting in a flood of sunlight.

"I came here for a purpose Sarah."

Shielding here eyes from the rays, she almost laughed at his anger. Instinctively she knew that would be a mistake. "Really? Pray tell."

He folded his arms across his chest, glaring at her. From where he stood with the light coming from behind his, Sarah could no longer see his face. The light blinded her.

"I want to make a deal with you. An agreement. I'll send Malcolm with a car at noon..."

"Whoa. Wait a minute. I'm not going anywhere with Malcolm."

He sighed. "You can not come to my manse without accompaniment. When you get there, we shall discuss the terms of our arrangement. Understand?"

"I understand this - as I said before, I'm not going anywhere with your pet butler. If you want to talk, we can talk. If you want to talk at you're manse," she said this word heavy with sarcasm, "we can talk at your manse. But send a car without Malcolm."

He dropped into a mock courtly bow. "As the lady demands," he quipped before disappearing completely.

Sarah sighed, waiting several minutes before dragging herself out of bed. So it would be another meeting then. "Oh well," she told herself, "if you're going to play his game, you might as well know the rules. Otherwise, how can you ever win."

With this small consolation, she headed for the bath.

XX

As promised, the car arrived at noon and without Jareth's dreaded butler. Unfortunately for Sarah, Malcolm was there to greet her the moment she stepped out of the car. The only good thing - if, that is, you can call it a good thing - was that Sarah was already so caught up in her own private turmoil that Malcolm's presence barely registered. Ever since Jareth's unexpected morning visit, it seemed almost impossible for her to think properly. It was uncharacteristic for Sarah's orderly mind to be in such a disastrous state of disorder. Try as she might, however, Jareth was making things much harder for her than they should be.

Malcolm seemed no happier to see her this morning than he did last night. As soon as she stepped out of the car, he immediately led her inside. "The Master will see you on the north terrace, Madam. If you will be so kind as to follow me."

Since she honestly had no other choice, Sarah followed. This time, the stiff backed butler led her through a different portion of the monster house. The passed through an open corridor awash with sunlight from windows that reached from floor to ceiling. A glimpse of well manicured lawn was visible. Sarah didn't bother to stop and admire the view, however. She was in no mood for scenery.

Up ahead, the corridor ended in a set of French doors. Malcolm opened one and gestured for her to proceed through. Sarah stepped out into sunshine so bright that she had to blink her eyes several times before they adjusted. She was standing on a stone walkway that overlooked a shaded terrace below. A set of stairs curled down and around, leading the way.

The door snapped shut behind her. Sarah didn't have to look to know that Malcolm had left her out here, apparently assuming she could find her own way down. After another heart-felt sigh of annoyance, Sarah descended the stairs and walked towards the terrace below. For the hundredth time that day, she tugged at her skirt in a nervous gesture completely unlike her normal behavior. For the first time in years, she had carefully considered her meager wardrobe before dressing. It was a vain attempt to look her best, she knew. Of course she would never admit that she was looking her best for Jareth. That is, she was looking her best in order to feel more self confident and, well erm.. Well let's just leave it at that.

Surveying her modest wardrobe that morning, Sarah suddenly realized just how dowdy her clothing was. Not that this had ever been an issue before, mind you. Normally, the last thing she cared about was clothes. But she didn't want to appear again before Jareth looking like a tired school marm. Not that she cared what he thought, frankly.

So, after a quick jump in the shower, she was able to make a stop by a nearby clothing shop and change before the car arrived. The only problem with this strategy was that the skirt and blouse ensemble that she wore felt much too short for her more austere tastes. The skirt was fashioned from the softest white cotton cut in the triangular style that the locals were so fond of. The blouse was made of similar material that clung to her slightly damp skin. It was a warm day, after all. Even after her air conditioned car ride, Sarah was still perspiring lightly. Now that she was back in the full, noon day sun, the heat was again relentless.

Descending the stairway, she stepped onto the stone terrace. For a moment, a dizzying sensation swept over her. She had to stop a moment and catch her breath. Eyes widening in disbelief, she stared at her surroundings. She had seen this place before once in a dream. No. She realized. Not exactly. When she saw this in her dream, it was at night. Now with daylight all around, she could almost think she was mistaken, yet it wasn't so.

Overhead, ivy clung to the wooden trellises supported by thick columns providing shade. There, in the center of the terrace was a stone fountain trickling with water. She recognized the fountain from her dream. This was no mistake. Sarah was sure of it.

Walking deliberately, she moved towards the fountain. Beyond it she could see a table was set up with two iron wrought chairs. As she suspected, one was already occupied by none other than Jareth. He was sitting like a king (excuse the expression) with his back to her, overlooking the sea below.

Sighing for the billionth time, she walked towards the empty seat. It was so bloody typical of Jareth to use any dirty trick at his disposal to throw her off balance. It wasn't going to work, though. He brought her here to make a deal, damn it all, and a deal they would make. One way or another, Sarah could only hope.

As she moved closer, Jareth reached his arms up into the air to stretch. She couldn't help but notice how the muscles of his lean body rippled underneath the thin cloth of his shirt. Again, Jareth was dressed like any normal, civilized billionaire in a pair of black dress pants and a pale blue button down shirt. His hair was once again pulled back and away.

"Mr. GQ," Sarah grumbled sarcastically before sliding into the seat across from his own.

Jareth glanced over, his face a blank mask. "About bloody time Sarah. I was beginning to wonder if you got lost."

"Nope, sorry," she smirked. "I was only admiring the terrace. It looks so darn familiar, you know."

His face stayed emotionless. "Fancy that, hmm?" He turned back, his attention returning to whatever he was gazing upon before. Sarah followed his glance, expecting to see the surging coast line. Instead, she noticed a third level of the terrace. This one was fashioned with an open tennis court, currently occupied by two female contestants wearing the obligatory short skirts.

Sarah rested one arm on the table, unconsciously beginning to drum her fingers in irritation. Jareth seemed oblivious, ignoring her presence. She felt like waving her arms over her head, or maybe just kicking His Royalness really hard in the shin. Perhaps that would get his attention.

Before she got the chance, he spoke. "Such a lovely creature, don't you agree my dear?"

Well, at least she managed to keep her jaw from dropping open in surprise. "Excuse me?" she asked testily. "I'm sure I don't know who you're talking about."

Jareth's eyes finally turned to her own. "The leggy little blonde with the tennis racket." He gestured with one bored looking hand.

Sarah's entire body was slowly tensing up in anger. Stupid, useless, pointless anger. If Jareth wanted to act like an ass, it was his prerogative. She didn't have to let him get her so worked up.

"A close friend of yours? Who is she?" she managed to ask calmly.

Jareth smiled, his lips pulling up at the corners giving him the appearance of a sly fox in a hen house. "That, my darling Sarah, is Angelique, the Princess of Monaco. Would you like to meet her?"

From their advantage, it was easy to catch a glimpse of the woman below. Sarah didn't want to, but she found herself staring. With her eyes trained on the Princess, she missed the evil smile Jareth hid behind his hand. By the time her eyes returned to his, all traces of wickedness was gone. His Majesty was the picture of inquiring innocence.

The Princess was the antithesis of Sarah. The woman was tan, blonde, and athletic. She could have been the poster child of perfect, youthful health. From the look of her, she couldn't have been much over twenty, possibly even younger. Sarah was raven haired with overly pale skin. While she wasn't exactly what one would describe as athletic, she was still extremely petite. Too many meals skipped while caught up in research had in some ways left her too thin.

Sarah could have screamed. The very fact that Jareth was making her compare herself to some blonde bimbo, princess or not, made her ball her hands into fists at her sides. This is pointless, she reminded herself. With considerable effort, she forced her fists open, unaware of the crescent shaped wounds she had dug in her palms. Damn him for gaining an advantage like this.

"No thanks Jareth," she managed to speak in a normal tone of voice. Normal was the last thing she was feeling right now. Thank the heavens, at least she hadn't lost all of her acting skills. "Now perhaps you might be willing to discuss the deal you brought me here for. If I wanted to gawk at skinny girls chasing balls, I would have stayed at the beach."

Jareth couldn't keep the amusement out of his eyes. "As you wish," he said regretfully. "Or perhaps you would care for some wine first?"

"The deal, Jareth." Sarah spoke more forcefully than she intended, strain finally growing apparent in her voice.

He eyed her carefully, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. "Again, Sarah. It's as you wish." He stood up, pushing his chair back behind him. He held out a hand to her.

"Come. Walk with me. I have need for a bit of exercise. We can chat as we go."

Sarah closed her eyes and count to five. Nope, she thought, it didn't work. I still want to kill him. But, then again, seeing that killing Jareth wasn't really an option at the moment, she took his hand instead.

XX

A/N:

Okay, all you realistic people out there. Yes, there is no Angelique Grimaldi in real life. I realize that. You don't have to tell me all about how she isn't real. Let me also remind you that neither is Jareth.