Chapter 53: Betrothal Jitters
The next morning, Sarah woke up wondering what was so important about that day. Why was she so excited? Then she remembered: it was King Daxon's wedding day, and the day that she and Jareth would be formally betrothed.
She jumped out of bed and hurried through her bath (the tub remained silent, which was odd; she was used to chatting with the tub in her own bathroom in Jareth's castle). Lorikar, the dwarf maid, came in with a towel just as Sarah was getting out of the tub. "Good morning, my lady!" she greeted cheerfully.
Sarah smiled at her, nodding thanks for the towel. "Good morning, Lorikar. What have you brought me to wear to the wedding?"
Lorikar's leathery little face creased with a smile. "Oh, it's so lovely, my lady! King Jareth picked it out especially!"
"This should be good," Sarah said cynically. She'd had to send back so many of Jareth's offerings already, because they weren't up to her standards—or her cleavage.
Lorikar brought out the dress, and Sarah had to admit it was lovely: deep purple satin, with a full skirt and a fitted bodice reinforced with a built-in corset. It was high-necked, Sarah noted with amusement. Apparently, Jareth was trying to make up for the pale blue concoction he'd sent two nights before, which had been cut in a deep V halfway down to her navel and showed the entire inner curve of both her breasts. "In his dreams!" had been Sarah's scornful reply as she sent it back, and he had sent back amused confirmation of that fact, along with a more modest gown.
This one, though, came up past her collarbone. It was sleeveless and cut low in back. A pair of fingerless gloves came all the way up her arms so that only an inch or two of her upper arms showed. Sarah nodded approval, and the tiny maid helped her into the dress.
"Now then, my lady, sit you down and I'll do your hair," Lorikar said.
Sarah sat. This was the best part of being waited on, she thought. She loved having someone else brush her hair.
Lorikar brushed, oiled, curled, and scented her hair, and then arranged it in a sort of Regency style trimmed by a wide purple satin ribbon that matched the dress. She applied some makeup lightly to Sarah's eyes and lips, and stepped back. "There now, my lady. Tell me what you think of that."
Sarah stood up and looked at herself in the mirror with astonishment. She almost didn't recognize herself in this stunning, sensual, and queenly figure staring back at her from the mirror. "Is that me?" she wondered aloud.
"Of course it is, my lady!" Lorikar told her briskly. "Can't be betrothed to a king and not wear the royal colour, now, can you?"
"Oh?" Sarah was intrigued. The more she learned about Underground customs, the more fascinating she found them. Which was probably a good thing, she reflected, since she would be ruling there as a queen in just a few months. The thought made her turn pale with terror, and she grabbed the edge of the dressing table to steady herself.
"Are you all right, my lady?" the maid asked anxiously.
"Yes, I'm all right. Just a little… terrified, that's all," Sarah admitted with a weak smile.
The little dwarf tsk-tsked at her. "Just you get a good look at King Jareth, my lady. You lay eyes on your man and I guarantee all your fears will vanish."
"No, that might just bring up other ones," Sarah muttered to herself. "And it might depend on what he's wearing at the time, too!"
The little maid chuckled and hustled her out the door.
Jareth was dressed to match her. Sarah stopped short when she saw him, and smiled. "I might have known," she muttered as she went to meet him. "He's such a clotheshorse!"
Jareth was wearing purple breeches with a matching vest over a white ruffled shirt. A deep purple velvet jacket opened in front, showing the most complicated embroidery on his vest that Sarah had ever seen. It was his pendant, she realized. The downward-pointing crescent was sewn all over his vest. Dimly she recalled another bit of info from Jareth's etiquette crystal: each monarch had a symbol of office, which was somehow displayed at any major state event. A royal wedding and betrothal was the most major political event there was; hence, the repeated design on his vest rather than just a single one.
Jareth was firmly in his kingly persona.
"My Sarah, you look ravishing," he purred, giving her a brief bow. "You must know that I'll have to do some Sarah-ravishing a little later."
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Sarah said with a small curtsey. She let her gaze wander over his figure quite boldly. "You look…"
Dare she say it? Ah, why not? She was about to get engaged to him anyway. "You look good enough to eat."
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he gave her a smirk. "Alas, we'll have to save the devouring until after we're married," he said, smoothly offering her a royal arm. He continued in an undertone, "But I shall certainly see that you don't starve to death before then."
Astonished at her own boldness (and sheepishly pleased at his response to it), Sarah took his arm feeling that if it were dark out, the glow of her red face would light their way.
A/N: I keep thinking this story is almost over, but it keeps getting longer instead. All right, I admit it; I have a problem putting an end to things! Ah, well, hope I'm not boring y'all with it.