Sarah had just finished dancing a waltz with a very enthusiastic young man when she felt someone come up behind her and put his hands on her hips. She froze, then relaxed when she heard Jareth's voice in her ear.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," he murmured just under her ear.

His breath tickled the back of her neck and she shivered. "I think they're very nice people," she said softly. "I especially liked your friend's wife, Elipsabet. She seems kind."

"Things are not always what they seem," Jareth said, pressing his mouth lightly to the curve of her shoulder. If cats had possessed the power of speech, Sarah was sure they would have sounded just like Jareth.

Sarah caught her breath and turned in his arms as the music started again, soft and low, a dance for lovers. "If you're going to stand here, we might as well dance," she said with a smile. "Otherwise, it looks like we're just making out on the dance floor."

Jareth had never heard the phrase, 'making out' but he quickly got the meaning from the way she said it and the laughing look in her eyes. Personally, he'd much rather be 'making out' than dancing, but that would have to wait for another time.

"Would it interest you to know that Queen Elipsabet was once worshiped in the Aboveground as a goddess of youth and purity?" Jareth asked her, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't travel.

"Really?" Sarah said. "When?"

"About four thousand years ago," he said, turning with her in his arms so that her glittering skirts flared around his legs. "Her priestesses sacrificed infants in her name so that she would prolong their lives and their beauty."

Sarah halted mid-step and stared at him, open-mouthed. "That's horrible."

"Yes, it is," Jareth agreed. "And you would do well to remember it before you let any of them know what you are."

"You haven't told them that I'm human?"

Jareth lowered his head closer to hers as they swayed with the music. "No, and unless you want to find yourself passed around the dining hall to be 'tasted', I suggest you don't either."

Sarah stared at him in abject horror at the thought of such a thing being done to her. "But . . . but you wouldn't let them—"

"I wouldn't want to, no," he said. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not really the sharing sort."

"I had noticed," she said in a small voice, comforted a little by that.

"But if you let it slip, I'm not sure how much I could do to stop it."

Sarah put a hand on his shoulder and made him pause dancing. "Jareth, I think . . . I want to go home."

Jareth narrowed his eyes on her face as he twined a loose lock of her hair around one finger. "You know that is impossible, Sarah. We had an arrangement, and even if we did not, you are dead up there. If you go back, you will be dead down here as well."

Sarah was confused for a moment before she understood exactly what he was talking about. When she did, she pressed her face into his shoulder and laughed at how completely he'd misunderstood her.

"Jareth," she said at length.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"I meant the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, not the Aboveground."

Jareth said nothing for a long while, and they began to dance again. The music consisted mostly of flutes, lyres, and bells, but it was actually quite lovely, and calming in and ghostly, dance-naked-by-moonlight sort of way.

"We can't go back early," Jareth said at last.

"For Christ sake, why not?"

"Hush," Jareth hissed. "Not so loud."

"Well, why can't we just leave, then?" Sarah demanded in a rough whisper. "I don't want to sit down to supper with a bunch of bloodthirsty would-be gods. Especially not if I'm in danger of ending up on the menu."

Jareth considered pointing out that what he had said about her being 'tasted' did not have anything at all to do with food, and everything to do with her finding herself on her back with her skirts up, but thought better of it. He could see by the way her eyes looked starkly green, rather than their normal in-between color, that she was spooked. If he said more, he was afraid he might be taking her back to the Castle in hysterics. He'd have the very devil of a time explaining that to their hosts.

"We can't leave just yet because I made the abysmal mistake of accepting King Raspiel's invitation to the banquet, and it would look suspicious if we were to not attend."

"But won't they sense something . . . that I'm not Fae?" Sarah asked nervously.

"Sense? Don't be absurd. They're Fae, not bloodhounds."

Sarah couldn't help grinning at the mental image that evoked. "I suppose you're right, then. We should stay for the banquet, but how long do we have to stay simply for courtesy's sake?"

Jareth danced her toward the edge of the dance floor. "We could probably make our excuses and leave around the eighth course without prompting undue suspicion."

"The eighth—how many courses are there?"

"That usually depends on the occasion, but for this—probably twelve. Thirteen if the cook was in a particularly cheerful mood."

Sarah looked him over once, taking in his slim, lithe body, and smiled. "How come you're not fat?"

Jareth returned her teasing look with one of his own and slung his arm around her waist. "You wouldn't like me if I was fat."

Sarah snorted.

For the moment, she had forgotten that she was afraid of the Fae, and more importantly, she had forgotten that she was afraid of the Goblin King himself.