Unseeled

by FangamerBowiextreme

Sarah, contending over the imminent death of her terminally ill father, receives a proposition that sounds too good to be true. The life of her father, the eternal protection of a fae over her family, in exchange for her hand in marriage. In a moment of weakness, and too guilt-stricken to refuse, she accepts the proposal -but to whom, she has no idea. So long as it isn't 'Him'.

10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10, Recluse

---

"Ooh look at this! I think I've gotten a tan!"

Greta shouted wildly, outstretching her wide-splayed hand towards the heavens with excessive glee. Excessive was a key descriptor. For those who didn't know better, it was like the girl had never before seen the light of day.

Sarah glanced back with a grin.

"Oh no, do you need to sit in the shade?" June asked. She looked quite worried, delicate fingers tapping her lower lip as it rounded in a pout. Greta withdrew her hand from the stratosphere and brought it close to examine all its finer details.

"What? No way. This is the most exciting thing that's happened to me in a decade—"

"Isn't that sad," interrupted Talia, shooting Greta a condescending smirk as she walked by with a potted shrub. Greta made a nasty expression.

"Not as sad as your face—"

"Girls," Miri interrupted —right on cue. She had just joined them in the courtyard, carrying a tray of refreshments which she placed on a table close to Sarah. "I swear, it's like I manage a bunch of squealing piglets," she scolded, scowling to herself as she turned and offered Sarah a cup. By the time their eyes crossed, she was smiling pleasantly. "Here you are, Mistress."

Here you are —yes. And here she'd been, for two days now.

It'd taken Dermot and crew all of three days to sculpt the land —make it pretty and safe for Sarah and her likewise band of, presumably, bumbling debutantes to flutter in and add the finishing touches.

Or at least, that's how those tragically sheltered ladies had thought it would go.

Turns out, gardening was actual work. It required bending and the flexing of arms. Tools such as trowels and, gods forbid, a bonafide shovel were sometimes necessary. And, if such things being forced into their soft, delicate hands wasn't audacious enough, they were even required to use them.

The majority of the previous day had passed with a trill of constant complaining, accented and crescendoed by a bitter, often melancholic, huff or groan or whine. Sarah had thought it best to keep her distance. Clearly, these women were not at all prepared for the endeavor —and suddenly Dermot's initial condescension made perfect sense.

Oh, and what of Jareth you ask? Well….more on that frustrating featherhead in a minute.

Thankfully, for them all, it looked like two days was all it would take. Given no one had anything else worth doing, Sarah found that she and her gaggle of female faeries were cleared to spend a full ten hours hauling and digging and plotting and poking and preening and sighing and fanning and lamenting and wishing all those finely toned men over yonder would stop playing coy and come do all this tedious shit for them.

Oh course, these were not her words, but merely those of her companions paraphrased and repeated. Sarah, herself, had no qualms with the menial feats of manual labor required of her.

"Thank you," Sarah said, accepting the ice cold drink Miri had offered her. She took a sip, then darted her eyes away when she realized Miri's stare was lingering.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to take a break?" the matron asked. Sarah's brow knitted. Miri leaned in and raised her hand to shield her next words. "You're perspiring."

Sarah blinked and lowered the cup from her mouth.

"Huh? Oh. No, I'm fine," she said and waved her hand reassuringly. "I'm actually having a lot of fun."

Miri took in the image before her —that of her mistress kneeling in the dirt with stains on her forehead, a tear in those horrifically plebeian jeans, and grubby, black-rimmed, unpolished nails— and almost couldn't not stop herself from saying that she did not, in any way, believe her. However, after catching the bright smile on her face and the little twinkle in her eye, Miri's resting look of scrutiny softened as a small grin of her own came to replace it.

"That's good," she said, then turned around to glance at the maids.

They were bickering again. All the direct sun had Greta's fair complexion turning a bright pink, while Arlyn obnoxiously sneezed after tripping and taking an accidental whiff of petunia, and June lamented the dirt smears on her dress (they had all mocked Sarah for choosing to wear jeans and a t-shirt, which of course they were now undoubtedly regretting. That was moot, however, as none of them owned anything other than finely tailored gowns in the first place).

Miri sighed at the spectacle.

"I believe they are as well, as much as they gripe about it," she said, and closed her eyes as she looked away.

Sarah regarded that reaction with intrigue, for —despite her exasperation with them— it seemed one born from affection. She imagined Miri was something of a mother figure around here, the maids her children. As her eyes slyly spied on the five of them, taking equal turns grunting in frustration and being subsequently laughed at, she had to admit that they certainly acted like siblings.

"I'm surprised they were so eager for this," Sarah said, slow to turn her eyes away. "And are...still putting up with it. It's not a very proper activity. I kind of anticipated tackling all of this myself."

Miri's smile widened.

"True. But...this is a special place." And she turned to look over at Sarah. "It is a quagmire of sorts. So the air of expectation is...nil."

Sarah, quickly trying to remember the exact definition of quagmire, pursed her lips as she silently took another sip. At first, she'd gotten the impression that Miri was against her charges participating in something so proletarian, but the look on her face now was of relief.

"Very little happens here," Miri continued, then bowed her head towards Sarah. "As Sirene said, I'm sure they're all thankful for the change in routine. No matter what the activity."

Sarah was silent, now nursing a twinge of guilt over her lack of interest in them. She'd been here just a few days, and already the isolation was getting to her. The most mundane things were becoming more and more exciting. So, she rightly couldn't fathom just how much this little activity might mean to them. —And here she was, a week and a half in, still staying out of their way and avoiding them as much as possible.

But it wasn't so bad, she told herself. And, actually, they were kind of entertaining. They'd loosened up a bit over the last few days as well, spoke to her more naturally and without pretense. She appreciated those uncensored moments. Much like the way Greta was still marveling at the new freckle on the back of her hand.

So it'd been five days. Five days since Jareth stormed out on her without a second thought. Of course, Sarah had been brimming ever since —torn between letting him cool off and come back to her on his own, or going out of her way to confront him. But she just...didn't know him well enough to decide, and —and dammit! She was sick of being the pursuer!

No. No, she was done chasing His Royal Broodiness. It was high time he took a hit and came to her for once.

She really didn't anticipate waiting five whole days, however. That seemed a bit excessive. Was he really that mad? Or, in line with his soon to be trademarked aloofness, did he simply not care and had moved on?

Would she ever see him again? When the fuck was their wedding, anyway?

In the effort to distract herself, she had instead sought out those whom she did feel reasonably comfortable with. Those first three days, she took her lunches in the kitchens with Cedric and his staff, and spent the afternoons lounging in the shade as an overseer to all of Dermot's toiling. While she was initially offended by the way he'd talked down to her, she would now concede that he was right —she was not qualified to help out in the capacity he needed and didn't want to burden them by being a safety hazard. Most of their equipment was powered by magic. She'd have no idea where to even begin.

And so she'd sprawled. She'd sipped on her hand-squeezed lemonade and watched with keen interest as the scenery gradually transformed —all the while caring very little for the tanned, prettily muscled men hard at work progressively losing their clothing as the sun climbed ever higher in the sky.

There were seven of them, most of whom she remembered seeing loading up the carts at the dock when she'd first arrived. With cargo finally sorted, they had since rejoined the dinner crowd as Dermot foretold. She'd been introduced to them the night following her and Jareth's loosely dubbed date, but hadn't really interacted with them since. Their names were Oren, Cyrus, Rieze...um...Mathias? No, that wasn't right. Hm. That was only four. Shit. —She'd have to finesse her way into second introductions.

In retrospect, she thought those three days of gentle gandering would have been a good opportunity to bond with her castlemates. Try to smooth over some of that tension. Maybe they could have spent the afternoon catcalling?

Alas, she was a lone wolf on this strange new frontier —and wolves had a tendency to eat clucking hens.

In one of her weaker moments (on night three, to be precise), she'd given in and asked a guard for Jareth's location. Lochlan had done that once and it had known immediately, so she figured it was worth the shot.

Unfortunately, its answer frightened her. "In his chambers," it had said. Eek. Nope. There was no way she was going to show up knocking on his bedroom door. She wasn't quite desperate enough —yet. Oh well. Maybe she could try again the next day.

But she didn't. She'd resolved herself. How dare he make her think about him so much, with such worry and a rather distasteful and much denied sense of repentance —the cad. She still didn't get what the big deal was. She was trying to sympathize with him. Trying to be understanding. Was that wrong? Did he want her to judge him?

Geez. Here she was, disregarding every absurdity, and had practically offered herself up for him on a silver platter —and he'd gone and ghosted for going on a week straight.

Boi needed some freaking therapy, she thought. That was for damn sure.

Needless to say, she'd avoided speaking with Lochlan on the subject. She had far too much pride, and that weirdo was way too invested in their relationship to begin with. She still hadn't regained her trust in him; which only made matters harder, considering he was the one with, presumably, the most answers and the highest authority to disclose them. It was just as well, too, for the man in question had also been curiously detained. He'd missed dinner on more than one night, and hadn't been checking in on her like she'd come to anticipate. Actually, she hadn't spoken more than a passing pleasantry to him all week. She'd asked about this at dinner, to which Merek and Miri explained that Lochlan was often very busy managing both the castle's affairs and the city's. The detail they provided for such was minor, which had Sarah wondering if it in fact had something to do with Jareth…

But enough about him, remember? No sense in thinking about a guy who clearly wanted nothing to do with her….right?

And this brought her round to days four and five of that curious abandonment play. The maids had come to collect her at 7 am sharp each morning, and put her hard to work for the entire day. —This was inadvertent, of course. The only reason Sarah worked so hard was to pick up the fine gentleladies' slack.

"So, how are you fairing?" Miri asked. "I'm shamed to think I haven't taken proper care of you, but Lord Leche was very direct that we not bother or stifle you. It's a very odd thing...I'm used to keeping strict watch over my girls."

"Huh?" Sarah replied, blinking out of her daze to catch up. "Oh. Oh you're fine. Please, don't feel bad. I'm doing great."

Sarah glanced away with a smile. She did not see Miri's brow twist with skepticism.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sarah said with a shrug. "I've been...standoffish, I admit. But...I don't know. When I first agreed to come here, I was kind of prepping myself for the worst. I didn't realize my intended was the Goblin King."

Miri pursed her lips and frowned.

"Hm...I can see how the prospect would be frightening—"

She sounded disappointed. It caught Sarah's attention right away.

"What?" she quickly asked, confused by the look on the Madam's face. "Oh. No. That's not what I meant," she clarified, holding up a hand for emphasis before turning back to pack some dirt around a stem of pansies. "I'm actually a little relieved that it's him. Weirdly enough. This is a pretty nice place."

Sarah spoke candidly, keeping her focus on her flowers with disregard to the quiet gape on Miri. The old woman watched her move on to plant the next set, with such happy nonchalance, and could only blink. She was relieved it was him? What?

"I'm...very glad you feel that way," Miri replied, trying to understand the odd sense of comfort she was now feeling. She glanced down as she lost herself to thought, a little smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth—

"Madam, are those drinks? Toss one here!"

Both Miri and Sarah looked up sharply at one approaching Dermot. He was waving at them, smiling, before running a dirty hand through his sweat drenched hair. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled up, and the tie in the front was undone, allowing the collar of his shirt to fall wide down his chest.

Miri twisted her lips in a look of revulsion.

"You're sweating profusely, Mr. Dermot," she said, angling herself away like she might somehow catch the affliction, and quickly handed him a handkerchief from her sleeve. "Please tend to your face."

"Aw don't be like that," Dermot replied, accepting the token and wiping his face clean all the same. He caught Sarah staring up at him while doing this, then paused and gave her a wink. "Trust me, she loves it when I glisten."

Sarah, sunbaked, potentially dehydrated, and genuinely just zoning out, blinked with embarrassment as she registered that audaciously flirty remark. Trying to play it off, she glanced away and went back to packing her plot.

"I feel like I should apologize," she said, ignoring whatever lewd implication Dermot had just made about Miri. "I didn't realize just how much work this was going to be for everyone."

Dermot wiped the sweat from his neck while taking up a drink from the table.

"It's no trouble, Mistress. You were right. The lawns are in dire need of care," he said, then took a sip. "I suppose, with there being no one to really admire them, I let my passion slip."

Sarah glanced back over her shoulder with a cocked brow.

"So, the hens really do keep to their coop?"

Dermot laughed.

"Oh yes. I think this is the first time I've seen them outside those walls in years...gods, maybe even since they arrived on the boat?"

His brow twisted and he looked at Miri as if seeking confirmation. Sarah leaned back and glanced at said decorative fowl with a look of bewilderment.

"Really? That's crazy," she said.

Dermot shrugged.

"Yes, well, they are ladies."

"What was that Dermot?!" Sarah and Dermot's heads both veered over sharply, a reflexive (and mildly panicked) reaction to Greta's shrill yell. She was standing just a few paces away, arms akimbo with lips tightly puckered. Uh-oh. "My ear is twitching —which must mean you are making fun of us."

"Oh, I would not dare!" Dermot called back, facetiously, and placed a mock hand to his heart just to prove it. He was grinning. Greta narrowed her eyes and scowled, then stomped her way over.

"Damn right you wouldn't," she said and, to Sarah's great surprise, reached down and grasped her firmly by the arm. "Come away, Mistress," Greta went on and, without any effort whatsoever, hauled Sarah to her feet. Sarah drew back, caught off guard by the familiar, and much too intimate, way Greta was leaning in to whisper— "Mr. Dermot may seem friendly, but I promise you, he's the most beastly one here."

She looked away then, casting that narrow-eyed glare at Dermot once more, standing tall and proud with her arm locked (like a vice) around Sarah's. Then the redhead huffed, turned up her nose, and dragged Sarah away.

But —wait —my pansies!

Sarah, doing what she could to prepare herself mentally, let herself be led away from the safety of her perennials into a fray of broken clay pots and mutilated marigolds. Sirene and Arlyn, who were knelt side by side under the discretion of a hydrangea bush, peered up at the two of them like a couple of wide-eyed gophers.

"Look who I've just saved," Greta said, hugging Sarah's arm like they were the best of friends. "Dermot was leering all over her."

Sirene grinned and concealed a little huff.

"Then the one you have saved is Dermot," she said, raising a canny brow towards Arlyn. "I imagine His Highness would put to spike any man caught leering over his bride."

She seemed to say this jokingly. At least, Sarah hoped. Her brow began to furrow, however, when Greta chimed in.

"Oh geez. You're right," she said, then turned to face Sarah with a pout. "Forgive me, Mistress. I should have left you there."

Sarah blinked.

"Y...you're kidding, right?"

There was silence. Silence filled with twittering birds and the distant hollers of blue collared men.

Sirene was the first to notice it, and just as quickly snapped them all out of it.

"Of course," she said, smiling reassuringly and waving Sarah off. "T'was a jest."

Oh, how those efforts failed. Now the silence was awkward. Talia, who had been pretending to be busy bossing June around in the background, chose now to shrewdly tune into the conversation.

Sirene, in the effort to remain candid, pretended the preening of her hydrangeas was the more important matter.

"I honestly can't say what His Highness would do," she said with a shrug. "Who knows? He may not be the possessive type at all."

"Such would be a blessing," said Arlyn.

Sarah scowled.

"Why do you say that?"

Oh, awkwardness, would you ever be tamed?

Sarah was pulled from her suspicion by an obnoxious pff at her left.

"Would you rather he put Dermot's head on a spike?" Greta asked. Sarah didn't respond. "Possessive men are the worst," she went on in perfect stride. "—Always nagging. Yuck."

"Right. Because you are just such a free spirit, Greta."

Sarah and Greta peered over at Talia as she casually passed. She had a smirk on her face, a snide one.

Greta released Sarah's arm and placed a fist on each hip.

"Yes, I am. Does that bother you, Talia?"

Talia shrugged, playing coy while handing June another potted shrub.

"No. Do what you will. The men certainly expect it."

"Just because Madam has left doesn't mean you must no longer show good manners, Talia," snapped Sirene. "Honestly. And in front of our Mistress at that. You disgust me."

Talia, put dead on the spot, looked viscerally taken aback. Sirene, usually so calm and composed, huffed and glared as she wiped the back of her hand over her brow. Perhaps the heat was getting to her, Sarah thought. Regardless, her harsh tone was a bit too effective.

"I'm...sorry, Sirene," Talia said, defeated.

Sarah shifted her eyes away. And now it was triple awk. There was definitely a hierarchy at work here. After just a few days, Sarah had learned its most important nuance: piss off Sirene, carve your own headstone.

But, because Sirene really was such a pleasant woman, she sighed the impulse away and looked up at Sarah with a smile.

"Forgive our outbursts, Mistress. I believe all this manual labor might be making us a bit cranky."

"Ah...no forgiveness is necessary," Sarah said, then glanced around at the other four. "—from any of you. I told you, I really don't care...about manners. I'd rather you just be yourselves with me."

"Really?" asked June, popping up from the hole she'd been digging looking all kinds of confused. "You're...really not from around here, are you?"

---

Once the initial air of tension settled, Sarah decided to stick around —try and be friendly. And it was...surprisingly easy. Something about being free of stone walls helped her open up to them, she guessed, and she got the feeling it was something they reciprocated. She even laughed with them a few times.

She learned a great deal about them too, like the fact that —despite being so enthused for the project— Greta was fiercely allergic to flowers, Arlyn had a crippling fear of bees, and June physically recoiled at the site of mud.

It was late into the afternoon when they were also joined by Merek and Bastian. Again. —Apparently, there was very little to do when it came to their regular jobs.

"Oh, Captain, you've come back," Sirene said, pushing back a few darkened strands of hair that had stuck to her face as she packed a pretty posy into the dirt.

"Are you actually going to help this time? Or does Dermot need to chase you off again?" Talia asked, sneering at him as she handed the next cluster of flowers to Arlyn.

Merek cracked a grin. Not a nice one. From all their quips, Sarah got the feeling those two genuinely did not like each other.

Still, Talia did have a point. While it was vaguely reassuring that the level of violence and crime happening across the island were apparently low enough to warrant so many casual visits from the captain of the guard, Sarah couldn't help but think he was taking some advantage of his position.

"On the contrary, Talia, the castle's most precious residents are all gathered in one spot. I see no better place for me to be," he said. Sarah looked up from the half-buried rock she'd been waging war with and quirked a brow.

Merek, looming over her and Sirene as they knelt in a flower bed, propped one foot up on a mound of dirt as a hand went proudly to his hip. What a pose, Sarah thought...sarcastically.

"Oh shoot!"

All heads turned to Greta, who had, once again, hurt herself.

Bastian was the first to respond.

"Are you alright?" he asked, taking a surprising initiative and moving quickly to her side. Sarah observed this display of overt panic with much canny.

"Yes, yes, just popped a blister," Greta said, staring down at her injured finger and shaking her head. "—A blister. On me. Can you imagine?"

She looked up at Bastian with a chuckle, the expression warm and chipper. Bastian, however, was frowning, looking deeply perturbed as if they might have to amputate.

"I can see," he said, haphazardly reaching out to take hold of her hand and inspect it, but not quite mustering the courage to do so.

Of course, just as contact was about to be made, Greta, in ignorance of his crises, turned away from him completely.

"Bastian, be a dear and finish this up for me, would you?" she asked, and gave him a pitiful pout from over her shoulder. "I fear I am unable to go on."

A red hue moved into Bastian's cheeks that was probably not from the weather as his eyes widened anxiously.

"Ah...of course."

"What's this? A fair maiden is wounded?" Merek interjected. The spotlight shifted from Bastian to him in an instant —the poor game warden nearly shoved out of the way by that very vehement, and totally artificial, sense of concern. Merek, taking up all the confidence Bastian had just fought so hard for, came close to Greta and took hold of her hand insistently. "Come, come. Let me see."

And there it was. The real purpose for all of Merek's visits. He might say he was bored, or wanted to help; but, to put it frankly, he came to flirt. Or...to try to, anyway. Sarah —along with Sirene, Arlyn, and Talia— were already rolling her eyes.

"Ah, a mortal wound indeed," Merek said, with a cavalier grin. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles while healing the wound with his magic, then kissed it —staring Greta dead in the eye all the while. "Is that better?"

Greta, not as doltish as her big hair and even bigger figure might imply, arched a sharp brow at him and withdrew her hand.

"Slightly," she said, and angled herself away. "You should know by now you have to work a little harder than that to please me, Captain. Try again when you have something to offer that I cannot do better myself."

She spoke arrogantly but not without playfulness —her canny halfcocked grin a clear indication that she was indeed flirting back. Merek straightened from his genteel bow and smiled wider.

"So cold. And yet, I cannot help but think that is an invitation?"

He cocked a brow at her. She giggled back at him. The audience at large groaned.

Alas, poor Bastian. Sarah spared a sorry glance to him as he teetered back to his place out of the limelight. Instances like this had happened several times now, and Sarah was getting the suspicion that soft spoken Bastian might have had an honest thing for Greta. But, if ever the poor man hoped to get a word in, he was inadvertently, but still promptly, crushed by Merek.

And oh, how those ladies took turns feeding such an ego. Even when they mocked him and sneered, they would do so with giggles and twinkling glances; and the potted plants —which they'd been carrying to and fro all day— became suddenly too heavy to bear. It was kind of funny how transparent the whole lot of them were. But, then again, there were a limited number of males and females living in close quarters and with much isolation on this island, so she supposed fanning a little drama had become a natural instinct. It was like watching a soap opera. In the break between episodes, Sarah kept catching herself wondering how much of this banter was innocent flirting, and who was actually sleeping with who.

Still, the way Merek carried himself with one hand on hip with his chest puffed out in perfect posture while he spoke—undoubtedly for their viewing satisfaction— was actually laughable.

And then there was Bastain. Sweet, worried Bastian. Doing his very best to maintain a presence at all against such a starkly cast shadow.

Thankfully, Sarah was not the only person with a halfway objective eye. As Talia had mentioned, Captain Merek was shooed away on more than one occasion by Dermot, sometimes literally. They all had work to do and could canoodle another time, he'd said —Sarah admired his dedication to the workfront.

And so they were, drawing near to the end as the garden and the courtyard steadily came into focus. And, despite all the fumbling, it actually looked pretty good.

Dermot's crew had cleared much of the underbrush, actually expanding the lawn a great deal, and had added new fixtures while repairing the old —like the fountain which now shot consistently skyward like the gentle geyser it had originally been.

The moss covered stone now gleamed a bright white —marble, to her surprise— and the flowers they'd been planting served as the contour for a brand new hedge maze. It was larger and simpler, and at its center was now a circular flagstone seating area. The pattern of the tile reflected the maze surrounding it, awaiting an assortment of tables and chairs which would serve them at the festivity the following day.

Sarah wiped her hands as she admired it all, gazing around with satisfaction mirrored in each of her companions. All in all, she'd admit it was an activity worth sharing. It was kind of nice seeing them looking so happy like they'd actually accomplished something. And, of course, there was the obvious distraction factor.

Before they knew it, the sun was waning in the sky —which meant it was getting close to dinner. Sarah cleaned her face with a towel and sighed, allowing herself a moment to relax.

"Goodness, well don't you look downtrodden."

Sarah glanced up on reflex, surprised by one Lochlan —standing just beside her and looking down with a happy grin on his face.

She leaned up and sat back on her heels.

"From that angle, perhaps," she said, with some wear. She needed more water, and licked her lips at the thought. Lochlan tilted his head and then offered her a hand.

"May I help you up?" he asked. Sarah accepted the gesture and climbed to her feet.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked. "I've barely seen you all week."

She wanted to lecture him more, remind him of the fact that this whole group endeavor was his idea and yet he was the only one missing.

"Forgive me. There was a...small emergency I needed to facilitate," Lochlan said.

"Oh?" was her curious reply. "What about?"

Lochlan glanced to the side and shrugged.

"Some goblin business. Nothing important."

He spoke casually enough. Sarah arched a brow as her lips pursed.

"I thought the goblins managed themselves?" she asked.

"They do. Mostly." And then he cracked a quick grin. "I'm brought in when they can no longer manage themselves."

There was something….naughty(?) in the way he said that. Or...was it nefarious? Hm...

"Oh," was all she said, gradually looking away.

"Something wrong?"

"Oh! Lord Leche! You're back!"

Sarah and Lochlan peered over at Greta's tactless interruption. She was waving, then picked up her skirt and scurried right on over.

"I am indeed," Lochlan said, then cocked a one-sided grin which suited him far too well as he regarded the certain effects of Greta's huffing and puffing. "At long last—"

"Oh you, where have you been?" she cut him off, pretending to swat him while standing straight and taking back that very gratuitous view of cleavage she'd been giving him. "This was all your idea, you know, and you haven't helped us a lick. It's so like you to sneak out when the going gets tough."

Lochlan laughed, although the smile failed to reach his eyes. Sarah wondered if Greta realized he was just humoring her.

"I am an excellent delegator, so I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, then flickered his attention over at the movement of four other ladies soon to greet him. His eyes landed on Sirene, and Sarah noted the way his smile did reach his eyes as he took in her unkempt —but all too proud— state. "Well, look at you," he said, and stood a little taller. "I say, I think daylight suits you."

Sirene glanced to the side as if to tactfully conceal her smile (she tactfully didn't) while waving him off.

"Oh, pshaw. You flatter me." When she looked back, she noticed the black lines of dirt that were caked under her nails and panicked. Oh course, panic for Sirene was a split second grimace before curling in her fingers and lowering her hands where they could not be seen. "What may we do for you, My Lord?" she asked, changing the subject. "As you can see, we've just about finished here."

"I came to summon you all for dinner. It's about that time," Lochlan said, placing his hands in his coat pockets, then spanning his eyes over the five of them. "Why don't you get cleaned up. We'll meet at the usual time."

Sarah wondered, shamefully often, if it was the boyish charm or the tall and dark that had lassoed all of their ovaries in a much more poignant analogy for Cupid's bow. Or was it his authority? His manners? Surely it wasn't —oh no— a trait far more scandalous than Sarah, in her right mind, would ever dare pursue?!

It was hard for her to imagine chipper, boy next door Lochlan as a slutty sex god (okay, so maybe her imagination had gone a little far with the wording). But, then again, that was precisely where the stereotype came from, wasn't it?

Regardless, that was more of a season finale kind of reveal, she mused. Presently, t'was all innocent. A general round of "Hehe, okay" being the collective response.

Sarah, viewing this completely trivial and not at all insightful discord through the telenovela screen that her under-stimulated, over-eager, mind's eye had devolved into, blinked clear out of it when Sirene was suddenly calling her name.

"Mistress?"

The grain of low budget filmmaking faded from sight, and suddenly Sarah was back in the moment.

"Yes?"

"Before we depart...the ladies and I were talking—" And she turned to glance at the ladies. "—and we would like to suggest you take the day off tomorrow."

Sarah furrowed her brow.

"Tomorrow? Why? Don't we need to set up for the party?"

Sirene smiled and clasped her hands together.

"Yes. Exactly." And then she gestured over at Greta. "Greta and I have been planning out the décor and...well...you've been working so hard that we thought it would be a nice treat to surprise you with the final product. It is in your honor, after all. And, besides, it's one thing to spend time together like this —but it would be quite unseemly to have the Prince's betrothed setting out chairs for her own reception."

A quick glance at the crowd told her this was a shared sentiment. Sarah didn't care enough to protest it.

"Oh. Okay?"

"Thank you."

And then Greta burst forward shaking her clasped hands.

"Ooh, it's going to be so lovely, Mistress! I swear it!"

Sarah grinned, though it was an uncomfortable one.

"I have no doubt—"

"Come on—" Talia said, though it took Sarah a split second to realize she was talking to Arlyn and June. "I'm starving." She walked on with arms crossed, and both Arlyn and June (with lowered heads) followed after. Sarah frowned. Why did she have to be such a bully?

But, whether intentionally or not, the arrival of Miri, Dermot, Merek, and Bastian successfully distracted her.

"Well, what are we all standing here for?" Miri asked, shooting sharp looks at Greta and Sirene. "Let's be on."

She turned and bowed her head to Sarah, as did Sirene and Greta —who then left. The three men repeated the motion, their attention soon fixed on each other as they started chatting while reentering the castle.

And then there were two.

The natural thing to do would be to follow suit. She wondered, then, why it seemed like Lochlan was waiting for something.

"Well?" he asked.

Sarah looked at him quizzically.

"What?"

"We were interrupted," he said, then tilted his head. "Is something wrong?"

Sarah blinked and mentally circled back to the original train of their conversation.

"Huh? No," she said, giving the empty space beside Lochlan a disconcerted stare. "I was just wondering...why you're brought in to handle the goblins and not Jareth. Don't they acknowledge him as their king?"

She glanced up at him just as he nodded.

"They do."

Oh, so concise. Her favorite trait of his.

Sarah stared at him expectantly.

Sensing her impatience, Lochlan carried on before she could verbally insist.

"Let's say...His Highness is also an excellent delegator," he said, smiling in that way of his. "Taking care of such issues is well beneath his position."

Sarah stared at him hard in the eye, her suspicion overt and nearing comical. After a moment, however, she withdrew.

"Oh. …'kay."

Lochlan arched a brow.

"You seem unsatisfied."

Sarah crossed her arms and looked away before shrugging. Lochlan found that...interesting.

"I...guess I was expecting the reason you've been busy to have something to do with Jareth," she said, then precariously glanced back. His look, however, revealed nothing.

"Why would you think that?"

Sarah huffed.

"Seriously? Need I remind you about the little incident in the hall you walked in on?" she asked deridingly. Lochlan felt his grin turning twitchy.

"Ah...that," he said, secretly thrilled they were finally talking about it. "I admit, I wanted to check in with you that night —and every day since— but...all seemed well," he went on, restraining a leading something as he averted his eyes and rolled them. "I thought, if you were concerned, you would have come to me sooner. You've been a little irritated with me, so...I'm trying not to hover." And then he looked down at her with a wince. "You're alright, yes? Anything I should be...concerned about?"

Sarah pursed her lips. What a pathetic (and much delayed) display of worry.

"Concerned? That's one way to put it," she said, planting her feet in a firmer stance. "I assume you know what kind of state he was in. What the hell is up with that? I thought you said he was violent?"

Lochlan blinked.

"Was...he not?"

If Sarah didn't know better, she might have thought he was making fun of her. She scoffed at his asinine response and glared away.

"More like exhausted. The poor man could barely keep himself upright —and he was all twitchy n' shit. Will you please tell me what's going on with him already?"

Lochlan's mouth opened slowly as his stare failed to break. This was strange. This was...very, very strange.

"Have you still not...talked about that yet?" he asked.

Sarah's brow shot up her forehead and she shook her head incredulously.

"Not really, no," she said, then shifted her stance. "After you found us, we...kind of fell asleep, and ended up going back to my room for dinner and—"

"You did?"

Sarah paused and looked up at him. He was staring at her —a peculiar excitement lighting up the green in his eyes.

"Yeah…" she replied, slowly.

"And how did that go?"

Oh. —such an excited tone. She suddenly remembered why she'd been avoiding telling him about this.

"We...well, it went fine at first," she said, ignoring absolutely everything about the way he was looking at her. "—And then we...kind of...got into a fight."

Lochlan drew back in a show of shock. Shock.

"W-what kind of fight?" he asked. Sarah exhaled roughly and tightened her crossed arms, though pulled one hand free to flippantly toss it about as she spoke.

"I asked him about labyrinth runners. We got to talking, and it circled around to his markings and whatever is going on with that big bad research y'all got going. He got really defensive and freaked out —then left. I haven't seen him since."

Lochlan stared in silence. He was befuddled. They'd fought? Jareth was angry and she was fine? As his eyes fiercely inspected everything from the wrinkled V between her eyebrows to the frustrated tap of her toe, he confirmed that she was indeed. He blinked in a manner that suggested her entire existence did not make sense. The sentinels had been on level 2 that day. He'd been up the whole night just in case an intervention was needed. But...that night, (during and presumably after the aforementioned fight) they were curiously idle. He'd come out of it. A little twitch moved Lochlan's mouth as the pieces settled into place. Could this be...was this maybe...progress?

Sarah, staring dubiously up at Lochlan as he gradually came to smile widely at literally nothing, could only wonder what the fuck he was so giddy about now.

"So...have you seen him?" she asked, calling him out of his thoughts. Lochlan blinked to attention and caught her eye. "...how is he?"

Oh, she looked worried. Worried about Jareth. Lochlan was so delighted, he wanted to kick himself for waiting so long to ask.

"I haven't seen him in a few days," he answered, then averted his eyes and shrugged. "Not since that night, actually." He refrained from telling her this was because Jareth had essentially sequestered himself. That might have alarmed him after the note he'd walked away from them on, but the tabs he was keeping on Sarah from afar told him she was just fine, so...best not to hover.

Sarah pouted, pursing her lips as she glared over at nothing.

"Great. —pretty sure he's avoiding me…"

Her roll of the eyes made her look exceedingly deflated. Lochlan felt his head tilting to one side as he smirked.

"Give him time," he said.

Sarah turned back sharply.

"It's been five days. I'd say I've given him plenty."

The snap in her voice made him want to chuckle. He did, however, manage to stifle it.

"Give him more," he said. Sarah turned that adorable pout his way. It made him sigh. "Sarah…" he started, then glanced at the ground. "I know you want answers, but I need you to understand...it's been a long time since he's had to speak of these things." And then he glanced up and looked her square in the eye. "No one asks. No one wants to know. Is it so far-fetched that he might be hesitant to believe you do?"

Silence was his answer. That, and the side-shift of her eyes.

"May I ask the details of your argument?" Lochlan asked. Sarah shrugged uncomfortably.

"We...were talking about how bad things happen to runners. He alluded that he enjoys their suffering. I asked if it was connected to his markings, and told him that you said what he does during those times isn't his fault, so I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if he would talk about it." And then she peered up with a wince of her own. "He did not react well to that. At all."

She was caught off guard when Lochlan suddenly huffed.

He looked as if he was about to start laughing at her, the way his smile widened and balled up his cheeks only supporting it. Instead, and luckily for him, he chose to exhale and quirk a humble brow at her.

"Can you blame him?" he asked.

"Huh?"

She was making a rather nasty face as she stared at him. Lochlan angled to the side and stared up into the clouds as he mulled something over.

"Hm...I told myself I would not meddle," he openly mused, then sighed again. "But...it seems he is unlikely to help himself." Sarah stood attentively while he looked down at her once more, situating his hands in his pockets to make them more comfortable. "I stand by what I said. What happens when he falls into a fit is not his fault. It's hardly even his doing. Consider it an...adjacent force compelling him. It creates a yearning so strong he has little choice but to satiate it." Sarah knitted her brow. Was this...actual information he was giving her? "You are an ethical person, Sarah. You are careful and compassionate. Tell me, how would you feel if the desire to do something...unpleasant...became so insistent that you gave in, that you reveled in it, that you loved it, only to come out of that mood your original, ethical, careful, compassionate self, and be left with the fallout of such actions? How would you feel?"

Sarah drew back a tick, her eyes shifting from side to side as he mouth hung open.

"I...I'd feel extremely guilty...I guess."

"Exactly," Lochlan replied. Sarah glanced up at him again. "Guilty. Ashamed. Perhaps even afraid of your own capabilities? Jareth does not want to be that way. He does not want to enjoy those things. And, he most certainly does not want someone else to justify that behavior for him."

And now Sarah scowled. She hadn't...thought of it like that. Interpreting her expression as confused, Lochlan carried on.

"He does not want you to be understanding, Sarah. He does not want you to make excuses. He knows what he is."

His tone was softer, the words spoken slower. Sarah took her time thinking them over, only feeling more displeased.

"Is he...cursed?" she asked with a shake of the head. "That's...the only thing I can think of—"

A smile so small it could never be seen haunted the corners of Lochlan's mouth before he interrupted her.

"It's not a curse," he said. Sarah paused. "It would be a relief, honestly, if it were a matter so simple."

Sarah bit on her lip. She wasn't expecting that. What was more, she wasn't expecting the way he was now looking at her —with a smile, but one clearly veiled in sadness. She didn't get it. Not at all.

"Okay...but...If —whatever it is— is not his fault, then how can—"

"It's not," Lochlan cut her off again. Sarah stopped her musing as stared at him. There was no insistence or manipulation in the way he was speaking, nor shade over his expression. He was still looking wistful, his gaze passing through her before falling, in defeat, to the ground. "But, where responsibility may or may not fall does not change the weight we carry, nor our sense of pride. The last thing he wants is your pity."

"I don't pity him," Sarah replied. Lochlan arched a brow

"No?"

But that look was insistent. The knowing in it hit its mark, and she felt compelled to glance away. She was biting on the inside of her lip again, nursing the gnawing thought that maybe Lochlan was right. Maybe she had been pitying him —or at least preparing to. She was starting to see...why he'd gotten so upset.

"I just...want to help," she said, at a loss.

"I know," Lochlan replied, then smiled at her warmly. "And I'm glad. I think it's good that you're pushing him. Just...try not to push too hard. Hm?"

He was coddling her now, she could sense it. Still, as much as she wanted to retort, those words brought her relief. Her lips twisted as she made the decision to let the matter go.

A number of seconds Sarah did not count went by before Lochlan spoke up again.

"How was he...by the way?"

Sarah peered over with a questioning brow.

"After I went on my way," he clarified.

"He...was fine. Kind of...withdrawn, I guess —but I figured he was probably still tired. And...for a minute, I thought I was actually getting through to him."

She sounded skeptical of the fact —or maybe it was over the way he was grinning at her.

"I'm sure you did," Lochlan said, then let his smirk show through a little more. "I told you he was difficult, remember? But, if all else fails, it's not like he can avoid you forever. You'll have to stand together at the wedding, at least."

Oh. Speaking of...

"Yeah….when is that?" Sarah asked.

"In two weeks —give or take."

Sarah's brow shot up.

"Oh?" she replied, unable to decide if that was too sudden or too far.

"Yes. An officiant from the Capital will be arriving on the next ferry —which is scheduled to return about then."

"Oh. Okay—"

"I apologize in advance," he quickly replied with an apologetic shrug. "It will be an...intimate affair."

"Well, obviously," Sarah interjected. "It's not like I can invite my family and friends."

"I did put in for some gowns and accessories to be delivered with the next shipment, however," he said, catching her off guard by leaning down to give her a wink. "No reason you can't have at least a somewhat traditional ceremony."

Sarah was torn between some wisecrack and a genuine thank you; but, before she could make the decision, Lochlan jerked his head and offered her an elbow.

"But, more on all that later —perhaps in the castle where the bugs will not eat us? Come. Let me walk you back to your room. Knowing the delegation skills of those damsels, I'm sure you must be starving."

Sarah rolled her eyes with an exasperated kind of grin, then locked her arm with his.

"Fine," she said, and made a theatrical gesture with her hand. "Lead on."

---

Sarah sucked on a spoon as she gazed around the courtyard, pressing the last traces of vanilla turned metallic firmly against her tongue. A crescent creme caramel stood prettily on the serving plate she held, its yellow pastel and deep honeyed tones complimenting the surrounding primrose perfectly.

"Is it to your liking, Mistress?" Cedric asked.

Sarah glanced back with a smile.

"Oh, it's delicious," she replied.

The way her smile grew with each word brought him greatest satisfaction, so much that he actually felt compelled to dip his head respectfully to temper his grin.

"Good. Would you like some refreshment? A sauvignon will pair with that nicely."

Sarah lowered her spoon to her plate and quickly glanced down. There was a table of confections separating her and Cedric, assortments of sugar in every form conceivable. A little pyramid of wine glasses stood on one end. Cedric did not wait for her response before plucking one by the stem and pouring her a glass.

"Oh. Thank you," she said, politely accepting it with pinky extended. She didn't know much about wine, but this one was white —a pale yellow, actually. She sniffed it before sipping, remarking on the heavy aroma of fruits she was not savvy enough to discern.

Cedric continued to stare at her, observing every minute reaction as if his job depended on it. No sooner did the cold, crisp liquid hit her tongue did her brow shoot up in a look of pleasant surprise.

"Oh. Oh wow. That actually made it taste even better," she said. Cedric beamed.

"Pour me some of that pinot, would you, Cedric?"

Sarah peered over at Greta, whose appearance was as abrupt as her demand. Cedric nodded and poured her a fresh glass.

"Thanks," she said when accepting it, then twitched when her eyes caught on a chocolate raspberry brownie while turning away from the table. "Ooh, you even made these?" And she sharply reached down to take one. "Wow. You're so good to us, Cedric—" And then took a large, mannerless bite, mumbling through the next words, "So good."

Sarah huffed in amusement as Greta rolled her eyes dramatically and whisked herself away. A quick glance back told her Cedric was also pleased by the reaction. She tilted her head as she regarded him.

"You know, when I invited you all, it wasn't with the intention of having you serve," she said, eyeing a few of the other kitchen workers buzzing around the buffet. "Why don't you come on this side of the table and enjoy yourself?"

Cedric's expression turned warm but humble.

"Thank you, Mistress. But, I must say I am enjoying myself. I don't mind serving for now. It's a lovely day. There is plenty of time yet to relax."

Sarah pursed her lips in suspicion, debating whether or not to press the matter. Everyone else was off in respected clusters, chatting and eating (and drinking) and having a grand old time. Someone had even brought out a weird-ass record player, so now they had relaxing tunes to accompany the already relaxing sounds of nature. In the end, he was a grown man and she'd done enough to ease her conscience. She shrugged in acceptance and turned away from him, gandering once more at the party she'd spent the last few days helping put together.

The lawn was virtually unrecognizable, the circular courtyard they now loitered in —composed of a blue and basalt flagstone— was now elegantly accented by white glazed patio furniture made of complex, floral weave work. A large circular table stood as the centerpiece, boasting a bouquet of sapphire blue delphiniums dusted with a base of pale toned globularias (she'd learned a lot of names that week). Where such flowers —and in such abundance to be planted throughout the lawn— were kept ready and waiting at peak bloom, were beyond her. Regardless, Dermot had really pulled through.

Of course, he could not have all the credit. The décor organized by Sirene was very much the surprise intended. Sarah, victim of her own Middle-American upbringing, had pictured little beyond twisted streamers and matching plate ware. She was thus very much affected by the touches of feminine grace that turned the scape from impressive to beautiful.

There were woodland sculptures dancing between the topiary, marble cherubs sniffing the daffodils, and hand painted figurines of familiar rodents grazing about the mulch. Scented feeders attracted actual fairies, which giggled in happy stupors under the shade of heavy lily petals. Intricate abstractions (pulled from storage) were placed throughout, artistic pieces which shifted form by the will of the breeze and changing daylight. Paper lanterns hovered in the air, floating about within an allotted threshold of space. Their decoration emulated the natural shapes of the garden, holes and spaces cut out for the ease and stimulation of those same curious little sprites.

Sarah inhaled deeply as she appreciated the view, the culmination of everyone's hard work over the last week. And, judging by the tone of the crowd, they were all doing the same. Lochlan had come to escort her himself, and upon arrival provided an embarrassing and much unneeded speech on how thankful they all were to welcome her. The maids jittered with glee, if not for her, then definitely for the parade of delectables and liquors that were waiting on the table behind her. Drinks were offered. The party commenced. Sarah spoke and was spoken to. And, all in all, it was exactly the kind of drab social affair she had anticipated it to be.

Lace trimmed parasols twirled under hand, stopping only to cover a grin or a giggle. She hadn't realized there would be a dress code —her fellow ladies rendered near indiscernible at a distance donned in the same, soft Easter tones and doily stitched necklines with matching gloves. And here she was, the black sheep who owned all but three dresses, each dyed a deep jeweled tone, and not a one that properly fit. It did not take long before her feet backed herself away from the lot, forgoing such painted pleasantry to loiter with the help. Oh, Karen, it was so like her to hang out by the punch bowl, wasn't it?

With an internal sigh, Sarah finished off the last of her dessert and looked away. Every fae in the castle was here right now. All but one. She really didn't expect him to show up, but...was it dumb to bother hoping nonetheless?

Her eyes hovered at the treeline of the forest. It was a fair distance away, shadows from the canopy providing seclusion just a foot or two beyond the brush. She thought back to the mist, to the gravel and the graveyard, to whatever else might be lurking in those depths…

A twitch brought her back to life and she blinked repeatedly. Something had moved. Moved quickly. Her brow knitted as she searched for the cause. A few branches rustled, and then nothing. After a few moments passed where nothing changed, she felt that brief flare of excitement fade into a frown on her face. She turned away from the forest, finishing the remainder of her drink and resigning to ask for another.

But she didn't. Cedric was talking with a subordinate and she didn't want to interrupt. Instead, she placed her plate and glass down on the table and turned back to the forest again.

Her stare was unguarded as it moved from right to left, then stopped abruptly on something that should not have been there. She straightened her posture and stood in a gape, blinking in some vague sense of confusion at the owl that was staring back at her.

Oh.

Well, hello…

That was weird. What was it doing? Was that the thing making all the ruckus? She tilted her head as she regarded it, the gears in her mind grinding slowly (that was not the first glass of wine she'd been offered that day).

Curiously, the owl tilted its head with her, confirming the suspicion that they were actually staring at one another. Sarah blinked a couple of times. Was it, or was it not, twelve-fifteen in the afternoon?

She glanced away briefly, realization coming as a jolt that shot up her brow. But, by the time she looked back, it was gone.

An unwanted flutter picked up in her heart, and she turned around to address Cedric.

"Um, excuse me," she said. Cedric paused mid-sentence and looked at her. The goblin he was talking to immediately forgotten.

"Yes, Mistress?"

Sarah's brow furrowed and she looked away in discomfort, glancing back at the forest one more time as she wondered if she'd been seeing things.

"You um...you brought that stuff I asked for, right?"

Cedric blinked. Sarah tried not to wince.

He looked around impulsively, his expression joining hers in confusion.

"Yes...would you like it?" he asked. Sarah bit her cheek. Why the fuck was she embarrassed?

"Um...yeah. Two glasses, I guess. I'd like to try it."

Cedric raised a brow, slyly peering over to the spot in the treeline he'd seen her staring at.

"Of course. It should be ready by now. I've had it decanting for some time."

Cedric shooed away the goblin and knelt down to pull something out from under the table. It was another bottle of wine —this one an opaque, black glass that surely reflected the contents within. Sarah watched with growing anxiety as he poured two separate glasses, eyes catching on the rim of red that bubbled the edges of the rising pools. She clenched her jaw as he passed them to her, reluctant to meet him in the eye like her actions were somehow lewd.

With both stems in hand, she took a step back and glanced over at the rest of them, doing her best to determine that no one would notice her.

"Don't um...don't tell them where I'm going. Okay?" she asked. Cedric's grin was sly, twitching one corner, before he placed a hand to his heart and bowed.

"I am sworn to death, Mistress."

She eyed him intently as he straightened, ignoring the fact that he was probably laughing at her. Still. T'was now or never. Who knew when Greta would need another pastry.

She took another careful step back, then, much to Cedric's delight, turned around and walked (as briskly as possible) straight towards the forest.

---

Sarah paused before crossing the shadowline, peering back one last time to confirm she was indeed forgotten. They were all still chatting in cliques respectively, even Lochlan. And, to her odd comfort, she spied a canny Cedric urging her along with his hands. Sarah decided (if not before, then certainly now) that she liked that guy.

She squeezed the necks of her wine glasses while turning around and taking a high step.

She walked a few paces until she was sure she could no longer be seen, looking up and around all the while. She couldn't spot him, and thought maybe he'd left or, pitifully, that it was never even him to begin with. She'd only gotten a glimpse, after all. Was it even the right kind of owl? He was gold and white, right? She remembered…

There was a large boulder just shy of her, she approached it with a measure of trepidation.

"Um...I'm pretty sure owls are nocturnal," she said, averting her eyes to search the canopy for onlookers. The forest, however, was silent. Sarah licked her lips. "So...hi?" Her shoulders hunched despite her cool façade, accompanied by a little wince. She looked down at the blood red pools in her cups, then licked her lip again. "I uh...brought this for you," she called out, lifting one chalice higher into the air and hoping she wasn't as big an idiot as she felt. "Peace offering?"

A rustling breeze was her answer. Sarah pursed her lips as she placed one of the glasses on the edge of the boulder.

She took a few steps to the side, eyeing the ground conspicuously as she sat perched on the far end of the rock. A quick glance to the courtyard showed all was well. She wondered, even with Cedric's assistance, how long it would be before they noticed she was gone.

A few seconds passed. Sarah sat silently (and rigidly) as another breeze heading her way carried with it a new scent. It was faint, hardly different from the natural smell of woods. What made it so poignant, however, was how readily she recognized it. —the rich, heady aroma of leather.

She glanced out of her peripheral shrewdly, feeling a contrary sense of relief and excitement at the sight of Jareth sitting just an arm's reach away.

She swallowed down the extra thump of her heart and took the moment to size him up. Thank God that wasn't a real owl. Thank God she hadn't been offering to share drinks with a tree.

His posture mirrored her own —proper and facing straight ahead. His head was angled down, however, the look in his eye cast on the moss and the leaves in front of them. He looked distracted. Sarah wondered if he was feeling awkward too.

Her creeping gaze dropped to the cup, taking note of the way he'd grasped the neck but had yet to really take hold of it.

"I asked Cedric to bring some things you might like," she said, hoping to break the ice. Jareth peered over to return her side eye. "...in case you decided to come." And then she looked sharply away with a forced shrug. "Apparently, that's your favorite vintage?"

She kept her head angled high, feigning ease, when really she was fighting the urge to spy on him again. He looked over at the cup, tilted it slightly to swirl its contents, then brought it to his nose to inhale its bouquet.

"Indeed," he said, plainly.

She watched him take a sip, which was something that brought her relief. She tried not to gulp, and tapped her fingers against the bowl of her own glass. She had yet to try it, the smell alone wafting from its place on her lap was strong enough to incite her hesitation. Still, best to meet him halfway.

She was not in any way prepared for the kind of dry, bitter, nastiness that turned her tongue to sandpaper the moment it hit her palate.

She actually coughed it was so strong, her posture hunching as she tried to recover instead of choke. Jareth may have been watching her, and he may have been smirking.

"Jesus...whew," she said, her voice hoarse as she drew back in alarm. "That's, uh, pretty robust, isn't it?" she added, rubbing a fist in circles over her chest. Her eyes were wide, were fiercely fixed to the red rim on the glass that had betrayed her trust. Jareth's grin etched a little higher, a low, soft chuckle retrained to the back of his throat.

"It's meant to be paired," he said. Sarah cleared her throat and cocked a brow.

"With what? A spearhead?"

She made the mistake of glancing at him, forgetting the ice that (while definitely broken) was still there and freezing her up. Her body tensed when she realized how directly he was looking at her, with laughter in his eyes and a quiet, unreadable intensity.

He arched a brow at her and leaned in.

"With chocolate."

Sarah blanched.

"Oh."

She wasn't yet competent to hold his stare. She learned that immediately from the way a flash of heat moved up to her eyes as she spoke. She looked away sharply, scooching away from him, just an inch, as she composed herself. Goddamn. Why did he lean in like that? Why were his eyelashes longer than hers?

She didn't say anything right away. Neither did he. A few seconds passed that Sarah deemed awkward. She fidgeted in her spot, tapping the stem of her glass while peering up at him shrewdly.

"So, um…about the other day—" she started, then stopped. She couldn't read the atmosphere. Had no idea what to say next. She spied him staring absently at nothing with his drink in hand. His posture was not so straight now. She watched as the shadows around his eyes changed to a pretty blue. "I um...I wanted to say…"

"I'm sorry."

Sarah paused. What?

She watched Jareth shift, taking a long sip from his drink before turning ever so slightly to look her in the eye. The expression he was met with was doe-eyed. Apparently, he needed to explain.

"My behavior then...was uncalled for. I apologize."

Sarah blinked at him, silent to an insulting degree. She was thrown. Jareth was the first to apologize? Really? …Huh. Who'da thunk?

"It's alright. I...overstepped," she said, unevenly, though with a smile. Then glanced away briefly before looking over again. "I'm sorry, too."

This time, she had more confidence —looking him in the eye with a tight brow. His returning expression, contrarily, was weirdly neutral. She thought back to her conversation with Lochlan and...frowned.

"I thought you were just being pretentious by not telling me things," she said, then lowered her eyes. "But...it's a topic that seems to genuinely bother you, so...I won't push you about it." She paused and dared to peer up. His attention fell to her lip as she licked it. "But...I do hope you'll tell me on your own...eventually."

Jareth's stare lingered, a hollowness about him that she misinterpreted as apathy. Lest it become awkward, she pressed on while trying not to mumble.

"I did mean what I said, though. Whatever you're going through...you don't have to do it on your own anymore. That's...kind of what I'm here for, isn't it?"

His eyes shifted up and fixed on hers. Sarah felt her confidence waver as she tried to gauge him. He looked stern. Steeled.

"It's common to say I don't want to see you like that again, but that's not right," she went on, scrunching her brow and maybe/kind-of/sort-of inching herself closer to him. "You can obviously hide it from me pretty easily. So, I guess what I mean is...I don't want you to have to be like that at all."

There were all of twelve inches between them. Their hands, both splayed flat on the rock making that distance even shorter, was something surely only she was thinking about. She felt her pinky twitch. If she had more of a buzz, she might have reached out and clasped his hand. Might've affectionately run it up his arm until he was forced to respond.

These thoughts moved transparently across her face, before resigning herself to bite her cheek and turn away.

"And, if you don't believe me," she said, then slapped on a one sided grin and forced herself to look back over at him. "You can look at it this way —it's not like I have anything better to do."

She tried to look cheerful, but it was weak, and gave him a little shrug. She thought maybe the edge about him lessened just then. For just a moment. She glanced down as his hand shifted towards hers and, against a fluttering of butterflies, she turned herself clear away.

She nibbled her lips again, vaguely aware that she was about to break the skin.

"Thank you, by the way," she said.

To her surprise, he actually responded.

"For what?"

"For coming today." And she angled her head towards him. "I really didn't think you would—"

"I haven't," Jareth said, gesturing at the lawn with his eyes. "The party is over there, is it not?"

Sarah glanced back reflexively, then concealed a small smile.

"I guess that's true," she said, unaware that he could see her wayward grin from the edge of her profile. "Still. I'm happy."

He watched her eyes lower, turning the faint curl at the corner of her mouth into something sad, and felt himself start to scowl. He didn't get why she was being so easy. Why she cared at all.

He watched her take another sip of her drink, and consequently stuck out her tongue while grimacing as a shiver shot down her spine.

"You said this pairs with chocolate?" she asked, glaring at her cup like it'd just forced itself upon her. "—Maybe that's why Cedric made that fancy ganache thing." Then she turned her head towards the outside world, lips pursed in thought while tapping an impatient finger against her glass. When she eventually looked back at him, her head tilted candidly. "Would you like some cake?"

Jareth stared at her. When it seemed she was in fact not joking, he quirked a brow.

"I'm not going out there," he said, matter of fact.

Sarah arched a brow of her own.

"That's not what I asked," she said, haughtily, then looked away. He saw from her peripheral that she was scouring the lawn, thinking intently. After a few seconds, she found whatever she'd been looking for —her brow lifting up her forehead. "...come here for a sec," she said, distractedly, as she hopped down to her feet. She did not wait for him, and walked over the few paces to stand at the edge of the brush. Jareth eyed her curiously, not having any intention of obeying. She turned around and arched a deft brow at him for a second time. "Well?"

She baited him with those eyes, so direct, with mossy green irises that seemed to brighten with a sudden air of mischief. He held that canny stare...then stood from the rock and joined her.

She turned back around and fixed her attention on the scenery, glancing back briefly in reaction to the sound of his footsteps halting directly behind her. She flinched when she realized how close he was. Looming, rather intimately, just over her shoulder.

Playing off her bodily reaction as gracefully as she could, she stood perfectly straight with eyes cast dead ahead. This failed to do anything for her, however. He was close enough to feel a tickle of tension at her back, that down right sinful scent of his slowly moving around her. She bit on her lip again. The ground here was uneven. It made him seem even taller.

Of course, he was totally oblivious. He only stared outward trying to uncover whatever it was she'd been spying.

"So, um...I have an idea," she said. Jareth cracked a grin.

"Oh? To do what?" he asked...suggestively. —Sarah's jaw clenched.

"See that fountain over there?" she asked, nodding to a fixture on the complete opposite end of the lawn. Jareth was silent. It compelled her to turn around and get his answer directly.

Her shoulder brushed against his chest as she turned, ruffling the layers that made up the neckline of his shirt. He was looking down at her, that same, aloof sense of mockery haunting his eyes. She noticed one of his arms was raised, holding onto a low branch and making her feel even more trapped.

He nodded silently.

Sarah's eyes darted all over the place and then away.

"Great. Think you can maybe...blow it up?"

The way his brow twitched let her know she'd caught him off guard, though the impulsive grin that came with it only made her embarrassed. She inched away from him a tad.

"I mean, nothing crazy," she quickly stammered. "Maybe just...keep the shrapnel contained so no one gets hurt? Can you do that?" She was wincing, failing to blink as queer mortification gradually bloomed under the weight of his indiscernible scrutiny. All the while, all she wanted to know was whether he was going to laugh with her or at her. "I just...need a lot of flash and flare, really."

Her hands moved in little gestures that he supposed were meant to symbolize fireworks. He wasn't expecting to find it so pleasing.

He completely ignored her jittering when he asked,

"For what?"

Sarah paused, her eyes veering sharply at him. She looked perfectly determined as she said,

"For the cake, of course. I don't really want to be found either. We need a distraction."

Oh, what posture. What a brazen look. Jareth huffed in amusement and let go of the branch, adjusting his stance as he regarded her.

"After all the effort you must have gone through to restore it?" he asked, facetiously. "Are you sure it's worth it?"

Sarah shrugged.

"What can I say? Cedric knows how to bake. I'll carve Dermot a new one."

She said that without a blink, and only then did he realize she was being serious. He glanced over her head towards the thing in question, and was surprised to feel himself laugh.

"Who would have thought you were so chaotic," he said, giving her an eye as he moved around her to stand instead under the discretion of two other trees.

"I destroyed downtown Goblin City with an avalanche of boulders, remember?" she said. Jareth glanced back. "Compared to that, this is pebbles."

She looked so smug while saying that, crossing her arms and glancing away like inciting an excess of civil property damage was a thing to be admired. Jareth's grin etched higher on one side. She seemed to hold a rather high opinion of herself, didn't she? Perhaps they could have some fun…

"Come here," he told her, curling a finger at her like one would a dog. Sarah shifted in her spot, her head held high. She openly sized him up, then gradually approached.

The way he was angled implied he wanted her to stand in front of him. She did so carefully, minding her feet in the bushes and ignoring the fact that she had to come painfully close to him in order to do so. She felt his hands on her upper arms direct her into place. Only, once she was there, they failed to let go.

"Look ahead," he said —and she did.

She looked forward to watch the yellow and pink forms of Sirene and June talking with Merek with their backs to her. Watch Lochlan laugh beside Dermot, while Miri fussed with Greta's hair. This quiet filler went on for several seconds, leaving Sarah to wonder when exactly Jareth planned on blowing the damned thing up—

She stiffened at the feeling of his hands moving down her arms —slow to circle her wrists as gloved fingers grazed down the length of her palms.

"W-what are you doing?" she asked, flinching in surprise and turning back to look at him. That was a mistake. He was even closer than before now, leaning down. Her head stopped mid-twitch just as the tip of her nose touched his.

Jareth laughed softly in the back of his throat. She felt it moving his chest….which was now pressed to her spine. Oh.

"You're going to help me," he said, his voice low and smooth as the tips of his fingers tapped teasingly against her palms. "...lest I be the only one culpable."

"How...am I supposed to help you?" she asked, standing tall and petrified against the feel of his head tilting to lightly rest against hers.

He was just teasing her right now. …right?

"Hm...you're going to be my conduit."

Sarah's thoughts scrambled. Huh?

Jareth sensed her pulse flutter as he said that, and did not bother trying to hide his grin. She was playing the damsel, and playing she was. So arrogant, he thought, and turned to nuzzle his nose in her hair.

He trailed the tip of one finger up each of her palms, soon to be joined by others which flittered against the veins in her wrist.

"Feel that?" he asked. Sarah nodded.

She tried not to move when she felt him shifting, lowering his face to the point where she could feel the heat of each shallow exhale on her neck. His hands moved down again, leather-bound fingers lacing with hers only briefly, before turning and brushing up over the backs of her knuckles.

"Look over at the fountain," he said —and, with a nervous gulp, she did.

"Okay…"

Oh golly. Could she be a conduit more often?

"Now, picture what you want to happen as vividly as possible." His voice, so close to her ear, was loud despite being a whisper. The tone of it had lowered, gained a kind of vibrato that she had to use all of her might not to squirm under. Her eyes kept shifting to the side. She was not thinking about the fountain at all. "Picture the fountain. Picture what's inside."

Oh. And now an inflection. One drawn out syllable that made the entire situation an innuendo. He was definitely coming onto her...right? Flirting, at the least? Was he...doing this on purpose? What...what the fuck did this have to do with blowing up a goddamn fountain?!

His face angled down as if to kiss her shoulder, but of course he didn't. Sarah's heart picked up another beat when his hands, once trailing her forearms so lightly, came to gradually squeeze.

"Hear it...see it...feel it."

This felt like before. How he'd handled her in the card room. She gulped as softly as possible when he turned and spoke into her hair, just barely grazing the edge of her ear while doing so. She felt her whole body tense in response.

"Feel the pressure building in the pipes. Feel them shake….tremble. Feel the water heat. Feel it brim and boil."

Oh. Words. Words that could have been as crude as the boulder behind them were still made so tempting and salacious by mere accent alone. What a way to speak, she thought. What a way for her to make a complete fool of herself—

Jareth angled his head in a way so to catch a glimpse of her expression. Her eye in profile was wide, burning. He delighted in such a look. What fun indeed.

"Picture it in minute detail," he went on. "Are you picturing it?"

He'd asked that insistently. Sarah nodded.

He felt her attempt to swallow her nerves, and looked away to grin down at her shoulder. The fabric covering her there brushed his lips, and his eyes closed to savor both the cool feel of it and the sweet smell of her. He admitted, it brought him to depths he should be more cautious to go. He'd been set to tease her before, but…

His hands, caressing her upper arms, splayed like spiders and moved around, releasing them altogether to hold her by the ribs. His posture swayed, bringing them closer together as his face pressed more firmly into the hair covering her neck.

"W-why are you…"

She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't want to. She gulped instead, taking in a sharp breath and sucking in her stomach when his hands moved low over her waist. She felt him bunching up the fabric there. The way the skirt of her dress lifted to expose her toes felt damn right scandalous.

"Shush now," Jareth warned, pulling away just enough to look at her. "Lose focus, and it might be you who blows up."

Sarah's eyes darted to the side, her head turning a mere centimeter or two until their gazes locked. Goddamn it. She was as stiff as a plank. The marks around his eyes had become distinct. Not black and foreboding, but instead a deep, sultry blue. It made his irises look even paler, like sea mist. She was drawn in by the asymmetry of his pupils, the daze failing to break even as he blinked at her, slowly.

Jareth's hands gripped her abdomen, slyly tightening and releasing as they mapped her form.

"Feel the steam rising," he said, holding eye contact with an intensity she was shameless to give into. "It's mounting, isn't it? Feel it expand. Strain." His voice rumbled at the end, his hands constricting with the same aggression that carried that word. Dear God, what was happening right now?

"Feel the pipes perspire —molten with drops that stream down into the earth." His head tilted slowly. She gulped. "Are you picturing the fountain?"

Sarah panicked. Her eyes darted. No! she wanted to scream, yet her mouth only hung open dumbly. His hands were getting bolder, moving higher and lower. She could feel his touch just below her breasts. Feel it pressing to her thigh and daring to do more. Her mouth went dry on an inhale, confusion and arousal and goddamn giddiness bringing those parched lips of hers closer to his—

"I…" she managed to say, but that was it. What bewildered her the most was, not what was happening, but how ready she was to let it. She'd been anxious about the conversation they might have. Nervous towards how he might regard her. Were bygones really bygones? What the fuck was a bygone? Why was she thinking of this instead of the fact that she was definitely going to try and kiss him — again.

Her hands molded over his, and he laced their fingers when she squeezed. There was something dangerous about the look in his eye, calculated, like a predator circling its prey. Let him, she told herself. Let the damned beast take her then and there—

Her lower lip grazed his when she heard a literal snap. She twitched in fright, and then a massive explosion tore it all to shreds.

The sound was so jarring, it came on its own wave. A low, quaking boom! radiated through the ground and fanned through the trees and the tension in her open mouth which she now viciously pulled back.

She looked over at the lawn, her poor little heart about to burst as she watched a brightly colored cloud of smoke and rubble shoot upward into the sky.

The color was ocean blue. Amidst everything else, she spared a brain cell to wonder why.

"AH!"

Next came the collective and violent sounds of screaming from both men and women alike. The garden partiers all ducked for cover, then scattered. Within that split second, Sarah made sure Jareth had done as she'd asked and kept any of them from getting hurt. A quick glance was all the investigation needed, then she sighed in relief.

"Well?" Jareth asked, and she looked over at him in a confounded fright. He was grinning at her. She lowered her eyes and released his hands slowly, not wanting to acknowledge how tightly she'd been clutching them.

He'd spoken plainly, but the way he stared through her made it feel like a challenge. Sarah held her ground, her heart still beating quickly and not soon to forget how close they still were.

She saw a kind of mist in his eyes, it built as they lowered to her mouth.

"Well...what?" she countered.

Her voice was light. Meek. It matched the wide, rounded look in her eye. He leaned into her slowly, then, when their faces were just close enough to touch, he very deliberately slanted his eyes to the side.

"There's your distraction."

Sarah froze —her tension broken by that cunning side-eye in an instant. She blushed a bright pink as reality barreled in. He-he was making fun of her. Teasing —as she'd suspected from the beginning. She followed the turn of his eyes and saw the entire group had rushed over to inspect the fallout in curious panic. No one was anywhere near them, nor the buffet table. All of their backs were turned. Her prized piece of cake was ripe for the taking. And Jareth—

Wh-what a goddamned leche! she thought, weighing the desires to respectively flee or punch him in the face. Both? In the end, she didn't have enough time to debate herself. The clock was ticking, as his impishly arched brow reminded her.

She pushed herself clear away from him and ran, feverishly, across the lawn.

---

Sarah ran like an idiot, stopping only by the force of her hands slamming against the buffet table. The peasants were still distracted. She'd made it unseen. She gave herself one or two seconds to breathe.

Holy shit.

What.

Was.

That.

She was beside herself. Truly. That freaking seduction had come out of nowhere, and now her goddamn knees were trembling and her groin was throbbing and her cheeks were red and why the fuck didn't she kiss him?

That explosion had been timed perfectly. Had he done so on purpose? She didn't understand. He said she was going to be a conduit—

She shook her head clear by reminding herself she only had a few seconds before someone turned around and noticed her. As it was, there was currently great lamenting happening over yonder, accented by the puzzled scratching of heads and worried o-shaped mouths. Allowing herself one deep breath, she grabbed two pre-plated cake slices and went on her way. —Make fun of my sensibilities, will you? Maybe I'll show you some goddamn frustration, you damn, dirty slut!

She raged in her mind while creeping back to the forest, her tense, huddled posture only becoming more so now fueled by outrage. But, because she was a total and honest hypocrite, she realized he may be watching her and straightened up her posture.

…I really am an idiot, she told herself. Maybe the ground will turn to quicksand and just gobble me up.

As unattractive as it might have been, the running had been good for her. She was able to expel some of that adrenaline and anxiety before reentering the forest.

She scuttled to a walk before crossing over the brush, pausing to glance back at the crowd one last time and appreciate their ignorance.

She huffed as she moved towards the boulder, eyeing its occupant like the deceptive miscreant he was.

He wasn't looking at her. She was thankful for that, at least. Subduing what remained of her nerves, she set one of the plates down beside him calmly.

"Here," she said. Jareth, with a faint smirk, picked up the plate.

"Why thank you."

She ignored that disingenuous quip and hopped up to sit beside him, showing no hesitation to stab into her cake and murder it.

They were each silent for a moment. She could feel his eyes on her.

"...was it necessary to touch me like that?" she eventually asked. Jareth, having been moving around his fork for the simple sake of doing so, set it back down to the plate.

"No," he replied —and she peered over to catch a devil's grin. "But it was certainly effective."

He saw the return of the blush on her cheeks before she glared away. She looked obstinate. Her lower lip was pouting. It was still wet from all the nibbling...

"Magic...operates best by physical symbolism," he said, with some distraction. Sarah turned back guardedly. "—an object or a behavior that acts as a facilitator. I told you to focus your thoughts. And I...focused my magic on you." His voice had trailed a little bit, getting sidetracked along with his gaze as it lowered over her. Despite her annoyance, she'd sat closer than was conventionally appropriate on purpose. She'd noticed from the way he'd previously held his glass that he was left handed. If she played her cards right, they might bump elbows.

When did she get so calculating?

Jareth's next words seemed to echo this train of thought.

"Think of the tension between our hands...as a microcosm for the tension building in the water pipes. Such things...keep the magic focused."

Sarah, with a wide, merciless gaze, used every fiber of her being to get an accurate read on him. Her, now desperate, libido told her it was residual fluster that gave his words pause. Her insecurity, however, argued he was just trying to be tactful. Regardless, objectively, he spoke quite plainly, and she figured...she was probably reading too much into it.

"Oh…" she said, perfectly aloof. "How interesting."

Was she hurt that he wasn't as anxious as she was? Offended? Or was she...just disappointed? She curled her toes in her shoes, debating whether or not playing these kinds of games with someone as fickle as him was really in her best interest. If he could snap in and out of a mood like that so easily...then how could she ever know if he actually meant it? She knew he was a flirt. She knew he responded to provocation. …Maybe he'd simply given her what she'd asked for.

Concealing a sigh, she feigned intrigue on the guests beyond, staring strictly at them as the dust settled and the mayhem came into proper view. The fright had left them, too. Now they all just looked confused. —Kindred hearts at their core, they all were.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather join them?" Jareth asked, misinterpreting her sigh. "You're missing your own party."

Sarah gripped her fork tighter, then put on an empty smile before looking over at him.

"I'm good," she said, with a shrug. "Stuffy garden parties aren't really my thing." And then her smile became genuine. "I'm actually...having a lot more fun here with you."

Oh. Would the pride she so often liked to claim ever get a turn? Probably not. Certainly not if they kept blowing things up together. Alas, she was only human. And he was anything but —sitting there in tight black trousers, riding boots with matching gloves, and a silky white shirt that hung wantonly low with those same taunting four tassels left untied—

And that's when she realized something. He wasn't wearing a cape. Or a jacket, or even a waistcoat for that matter. This might be the first time...she'd seen him like that.

"Fun…" he said, testing the word on the tip of his tongue. He scraped his fork across the plate before relinquishing it altogether at his side. "I find the idea of that confusing."

Sarah arched a brow.

"What? Of fun?" she asked. Jareth leaned back on his hands and rolled his head towards her.

"Of you. Having fun. With me."

His stare on her was empty. Sarah furrowed her brow and gestured back at the garden.

"I mean, we just blew up a freaking fountain. I'd say that was pretty fun —both in process and product."

He huffed through his nose, and she peered back slowly to realize he was gandering at her. She licked her lip compulsively and sat a little straighter.

"Then we shall have to do it again," he said, to her immediate panic. When she dared look over at him again, his grin was wry. "Best get to carving."

She laughed impulsively and lowered her head, drawing patterns in smears of frosting on her plate with her fork. His humor comforted her. Brought her a surprising moment of relief as she finally settled in beside him. He was right about one thing, however. It was confusing. This whole premise, his mood swings, her place in it all, the way she felt genuinely happy right now —it was all confusing.

She never expected to want to be near him. To want to be touched like that. To think about it as often as she now did. Was it weird for him too? He'd told her it was surreal, didn't he? And yet, he'd chosen her...

"Hey...Jareth. Can I...ask you a question? About back then?"

She looked at him with a pout. Jareth arched a brow.

"Are...you aware of what gets written in the book?"

Well, that was random. Jareth let down his guard and sat up straight.

"No. Because I am tethered to the story, knowing in advance would take all the fun out of it. The book is for the advantage of the runner. I must discover, through trial and error usually, the limits of that tether —what I can and cannot do."

He wasn't paying attention to her now. If he had looked over, he would have seen her frown.

"Example?" she asked.

"For example...when I sent that cleaner after you, I learned I could not physically hurt you."

"You were trying to hurt me?"

She sounded alarmed. Jareth peered over with a raised brow.

"I was trying to see if I could," he said, then tilted his head as he turned towards her. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing—" Sarah said, hurriedly, waving her hands in a totally not at all conspicuous gesture. "It's just...some of the lines in the book...I've been wondering if you knew about them…"

Lines. Lines and words and love and the like. She'd been thinking about it more and more. If her subconscious wrote the book, then...what did that mean? Did she want Jareth to love her even before she knew him? And how much of a tether did that place on him? Why the hell did he accept her proposal? Did he have any idea at all?

"The only line I'm given is the key to their victory," Jareth said, pulling her from her thoughts. "I do what I must to keep runners, you included, from invoking it at all costs."

Her frown remained, steeled into place by her own voice echoing the words you have no power over me.

So that was it? That was all he knew? From the time she made her wish...that was his only motivation...

"Do you...do you usually ask them to stay?" Sarah asked, betraying herself by pinching the tips of her fingers. "Is that...part of your tactics?"

A break filled the space between them, unexpectedly heavy. Sarah endured it proudly, but Jareth...Jareth's brow slowly furrowed.

"No," he said.

Sarah's jaw tightened. She'd expected him to say yes.

"Then why...did you ask me?"

She turned and looked up at him, and he met her half way. The way their eyes locked put a pause on the breeze, everything falling silent as she hung on his next word.

His eyes broke away, flickering boldly down then up again, and she caught his hand tighten into a fist as it pressed against the rock to the side of them. Urges not quite dormant roused themselves. And she hoped, she really fucking hoped—

" *GASP* Mistress? Oh my gods, where did Mistress go?!"

To Sarah's chagrin, the force of Greta's outcry of alarm was somehow more insistent than the quiet glare Jareth was giving her, and so she looked back over her shoulder with firmly gritted teeth.

Predictably, the woman was dashing around making a huge fuss, spurring the same kinds of clucking in all the others. Of course. They would pick now of all times to notice she was missing.

"Has anyone seen her? Cedric, she was talking with you, right? Oh goodness. Do you think something happened to her when the fountain exploded?!"

Wow. Greta seemed genuinely distraught. If not for that, Sarah would have been more angry.

The group came together in beseech of Lochlan, who, apparently, was the only one capable of answering those questions.

Greta was the only one shouting. Everything said by everyone else came as an incoherent mumble. Merek was standing by Lochlan's side now —looking so very serious as they discussed the issue.

It was then that her attention shifted to Cedric, keeping true to his word and staying well out of the way. He was leaning back against a table, his arms crossed as he snickered at Greta before peering over, presumably, straight at her.

And then a group of sentinels suddenly appeared.

Oh damn. Shit just got official. Was she going to get in trouble?

She turned back to Jareth worriedly, though he didn't seem the least bit interested.

"Tell it to leave," he said. Sarah blinked in disconcertion.

"Wha?"

Before she could tack on the T, a large and in charge stone sentinel suddenly materialized in front of her. Sarah recoiled from it on instinct, merely eyeing the thing up and down as it loomed silently over her.

She looked at Jareth for cue, though he'd already gone back to drinking.

"Um...I'm fine. Go away."

Was that right? Was that what Jareth meant? She shooed it away with a waving hand, then recoiled again when it promptly vanished.

Jareth had no response. Sarah turned to look back at Lochlan and Merek.

The sentinel was there. Merek and Lochlan were talking to it while the rest of them stared on attentively. After a second, Merek physically drew back in confusion while Lochlan laughed loudly.

Oh. So it'd repeated her words verbatim?

She blanched when Lochlan looked over into the trees, his eyes unknowingly falling directly on her.

She saw him grin. Saw him look away and raise his hands to the band of worried maids assuagingly. The sentinels were sent away. Merek stood perturbed, while the ladies turned left and right to gossip. Sarah sighed to herself. Great. Looks like she was gonna have some s'plainin to do.

Tuning back to the air of malaise she could no feel building between them, Sarah looked over at Jareth as she openly mused about it. She felt a little awkward now. She didn't want to leave yet. Should...she press him to answer her question?

"I think Lochlan can see us," she said, trying to lighten the mood. Jareth finished his drink and set the empty glass on the rock.

"Probably."

"He seems pretty close to you."

"Does he?"

"You grew up together, right?"

"Indeed, we did."

And now she shifted uncomfortably. Maybe she should have ignored Greta and waited for his reply, for it seemed she was now hitting a wall that wasn't previously there. They'd come so close to properly communicating, but now he was guarded. Damn.

"Lochlan told me the wedding is in a couple of weeks," she said, changing directions. He said nothing to that, so she stared. After a moment, her brow furrowed and she frowned. "Are you...looking forward to that?"

Again, no response. He merely stared down, his profile tensing in what she thought was frustration. Such a reaction did not make any sense to her and, after the way he'd just handled her, thought he had no right to look so conflicted.

"If not…" she went on, pushing her luck by inching towards him. "—then why did you kiss me in the hall that day?"

Silence.

*Sigh*. She was getting disheartened now. So, what, it was all fun and games until something might matter? Her frown deepened ever more as frustration of her own seeped in. Her eyes lowered and she fisted her hands, wishing she had the pride to just get up and leave.

"Do you...even like me, Jareth?"

His name on her lips sounded pitiful, was a sound that displeased him. He turned and looked at her, ill-guarded against the effect of the quiet pout she was directing at her fists. Her hair fell long over her shoulders. Her lip, so round and red from her habitual nibbling, caught a highlight as she scowled. How many times had he caught himself staring at her now? How many times had he…

Their mutual frustration got the better of him, darkening his eyes and surprising her when he abruptly reached out and yanked her forward.

She fell into him, gasping as her hands pressed first to his leg then up against his chest. He held a fist tight at the back of her neck, keeping her head angled up towards him without an inch to move.

A spike of adrenaline had her breathing heavier, her once wilting eyes now livid and expectant. He loathed that look. Hated how tempting it was.

Seconds passed, and nothing happened, and Sarah worried that maybe nothing would. Maybe he would catch himself. Maybe he would push her away. She gripped the collar of his shirt and lowered her eyes, but —No. She'd be damned if he toyed with her again.

She pulled against his hold and found it unyielding. Still, the pain in her scalp did not hinder her one bit as she pushed herself forward and kissed him.

Unlike the films, there was no pause. She did not linger and savor and provide for the birds a perfect, picturesque moment. No, what she did was pull him in closer, open her mouth, kiss him again, and take satisfaction from the way he could not help but comply.

His grip in her hair loosened marginally, allowing her to find a better angle as her hands went to his neck and held him.

He may have reciprocated. He may have let her manipulate him. The feel of her lips was soft, her taste sweetened by chocolate...

And then he went rigid. His jaw locked. His eyes closed and his brow furrowed tight in a grimace. She paused in reaction and broke away —just a hair's breadth. Her breathing was a little quicker than she would have liked it to be, flushing hot against his mouth as her lips hovered there. She fidgeted in his hold, not to escape it, but to prompt him to do something. Contention she could not comprehend warred heavily on his brow, but...

When he kissed her back, it was slow. It was retrained. It was hot, and it was deep, and it tasted of bitter wine that hadn't been paired.

She found a rhythm with his tongue, traced the edges of his teeth and those pale, thin lips that molded to hers with a familiarity that should not have existed. She breathed into him as he leaned forward, pressed his free hand to her lower back, and kissed her more avidly than she'd ever been.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Her fingers, inching into his scalp, turned tender. She did not see the way the marks around his eyes darkened with every mumble and whimper that passed from her tongue.

Feeling a weight on his eyes, he forced them to open, forced them to open repeatedly as he struggled to push it back. No. He did not want to stop. He did not want to listen. To turn away again.

But the voice in his ear roused, and it was not Sarah's. He ignored it and held her tighter —until the marks turned black.

She felt his hand turn back into a fist in her hair, felt his kiss devolve into a bite, and was no sooner pushed sharply away.

She blinked rapidly, catching the way his tightly clenched eyes twitched as he recoiled from her.

"Jareth— what—"

"Don't," he cut her off, holding her taut just an inch or two away as he turned his head to the side and grimaced. There was a little tick to the way he moved. As the heated air cleared, Sarah realized what was happening.

"I— are you—"

"Don't...do that again."

He struggled through the words, but said them with firm conviction all the same. It looked like he was in pain. Like something was shouting relentlessly in his ear. Sarah clenched her jaw and swallowed as she watched him.

"Why?" she asked. He was still holding onto her, a tension in his arm betraying the fact that he was one impulse away from doing that again himself.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, the pale blue of his irises brightened and his left pupil more dilated than usual. She didn't understand what it meant, and neither had the time to ponder when he suddenly pulled her forward again.

Their noses touched. Heated breaths clouded her head as she waited.

A part of her was terrified. Another part, thrilled. She wanted him to make his move —and he knew it.

His mouth, open on the precipice, pulled away achingly as a modicum of composure lessened the weight on his brow. His mouth closed. He swallowed hard. He pet her with one hand and gripped her hair with the other until the strands pulled loose.

She felt such heartache for him in that moment, not fathoming the kind of visceral effort it took him to hold back, or why he needed to do so, so desperately, in the first place. She watched his eyes open and shift off of her, peering past her at a specific something as he bitterly, begrudgingly, forced himself to say,

"Take her."

She didn't know what that meant. Had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Her expression reflected such as he abruptly released and pushed her back. She hit something hard and glanced back on reflex. There was a sentinel behind her now. No. Not one. Several.

With worry, she turned back to Jareth. Went to reach for him again. However, rebuttal was not an option he gave her. Neither, it seemed, was the free will for her to make a very poor decision. She was both surprised and not to find herself suddenly alone on the rock. To find herself, once again, disappointed and disheartened and confused beyond measure.

Her hands fisted as she looked away from his empty wine glass, falling into a solemn and exhausting realization that solving the labyrinth had been the easy part.

---

A/N - And so the fun begins... *chuckles in sinister*