Sarah bolted awake. She lay staring at her ceiling trying to comprehend what had just happened. She had visited Jareth's dream. She was actually in his dream.

And he dreamt about her. He didn't dream about her body, or owning her, or using her; he had dreamt of her as his equal. It had been gentle and wholesome. There was a softness and tenderness to the dream. Was that what he really wanted?

If the dream was real, it meant that Jareth had really changed.

If the dream was real.

Maybe the Goblin King had figured out a life of mutual respect and consent was better than one where you couldn't tell your partner from a pet.

Sarah sat up; her shoulders relaxed away from her ears. All she wanted was a life of freedom. A life of agency, a life with choice.

Now she had to figure out if she wanted the Goblin King.

Her shoulders creeped back up towards her ears; he was going to be so mad that she had infiltrated his dream. She hadn't done it on purpose…would he believe her?

A knock came at the door. Sarah gulped. She wrapped her silk robe around her and nervously inched the door open.

Onika and Gwyreign curtsied.

"Good morning, Lady Sarah."

Relief flooded through Sarah like a rogue wave over a ship. "It's just you. Very good. Good morning to you both."

Sarah stepped out of the doorframe. Gwyreign and Onika looked at each other in confusion before entering.

"Of course it's just us. Were you expecting someone?" asked Gwyreign.

"Oh no, nothing like that. I just had a weird dream is all. I don't feel quite like myself this morning."

"It's nothing a spot of breakfast can't fix. We'll be dining in the west wing today," said Onika.

"Jareth isn't here?" Sarah asked as calmly as she was able.

"His Majesty is out. He left on such short notice…" observed Onika thoughtfully.

Crap, thought Sarah. The dream was real, he had seen her, now he was angry. Maybe her privileges were going to be revoked. Would she be grounded? No, the king wasn't likely to parent her, despite the age gap. But Sarah was sure something would be done.

So why was he avoiding her? It was unlike him. He was all about confrontation, not avoiding.

"Berta won't be up this morning. I can do your hair, if you'd like?" offered Gwyreign, breaking into Sarah's thoughts.

"I'd like that very much, Lady Gwyreign. Thank you."

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

Sarah spent the day with Gwyreign and Onika at the stables. She would take her peryton for a few laps, hang out on the ground, go for a few more laps, hang out on the ground again feeding Isabell straw, take a few laps, and repeat and repeat. Sarah felt like she couldn't focus on any one thing. She didn't want to stay in the air, but she didn't want to stay on the ground either—and she definitely didn't want to get caught in conversation.

On the bright side, Onika was doing a horrible job of concealing how not an animal person she was, and it was more than entertaining. Even from up in the sky Sarah could see Onika squirm as another peryton walked by her.

Someone was approaching Gwyreign, but Sarah was too far up to see who it was. By the time Sarah and Isabell landed, the stranger was gone. Before Sarah could ask who that was, Gwyreign spoke.

"Lady Sarah, a message has come for you from Eustatius." Gwyreign handed her a parchment scroll.

Sarah took the large roll of parchment and carefully untied the maroon ribbon that held it shut. As she unrolled it, the parchment was mostly blank except a few sentences scrawled in the most elaborate, flowery script:

Most beloved Lady Sarah,

rehearsals for the next production will begin in five days time at sundown in the parlor theater. If you would be so gracious as to join our humble and plebeian troupe, please join us at rehearsal, and consider it your official first day.

Your lowly servant,

Eustatius the Wise.

Sarah almost laughed; if he was so humble and lowly, why the title? She could tell he had used a hollow quill rather than a dipped one, because certain letters were bolded where he had obviously pressed down with emphasis on stressed words—whether consciously or unconsciously, one could only guess. The letter was a bit try-hard, but she was sure Eustace's heart was in the right place—and she was truly grateful that he was welcoming her into the troupe.

"Lady Gwyreign, what's with the title? Why is he 'the Wise?'"

"Aha, that. Court artists are allowed titles when they become accomplished enough in the eyes of the royal family, if they have no station within the gentry. Rarely do any of the nobility become artists, although one of my ancestors was a poet."

"Where do the titles come from?" wondered Sarah.

"Usually, they're bestowed upon the artist by the king or high-ranking royal. However, Eustace may have…suggested this title once or twice to the king…" Gwyreign gave Sarah a subdued smile.

Sarah couldn't help but smirk as a laugh nearly bubbled up. "I see…" was all she said, but Gwyreign's eyes sparkled as she read between the lines.

Sarah led her peryton back to her stall; Isabell eagerly took large gulps of water from her trough.

"Well then," said Sarah, "I look forward to the first rehearsal."

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

Sarah was not called to join Jareth for any meal the next day. Nor the next day, nor the next.

On the fourth day, she regaled her annoyance to Hoggle over a hot cup of tea.

"It's not like I can't deal with his anger; I've dealt with it before," said Sarah as Hoggle eyed her thoughtfully over his teacup, "but the silent treatment? What does he think? That I won't be able to handle his feelings?"

Sarah spoke candidly since Gwyreign and Onika had respectfully given her time alone with Hoggle. The two friends sat outside in the middle of a water-garden with recently delivered tea. Fountains bubbled all around them, and several minuscule ponds were covered in pink, yellow, white, and lavender colored waterlilies.

"Oh, phooey, Sarah. Even if he has gone soft, or if he's 'changed,' as you say," started Hoggle with a sarcastic tone, "he's never been the most mature king." The edge in his voice said that he didn't believe for one second the king had changed

"Hogllle," chastised Sarah.

"What? It's true! I'm sure this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him." Hoggle's fearless approach to the truth, or at least his idea of the truth, was refreshing.

Sarah sighed. "You're right. It's not mature. And I'm not even scared anymore; I'm just annoyed."

Hoggle grunted in agreement.

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

The next day was Sarah's first day of rehearsal. She was already a seasoned actor and performer at the age of seventeen, but adrenaline coursed through her veins; she was excited to make a good first impression. And this was something that was her own, truly and honestly her own. No Goblin King, no ladies-in-waiting, and no goblins even; acting was Sarah's world.

Sarah slipped into comfortable clothes that allowed her to move. She did a few lunges around the room to make sure the gray cotton leggings and midnight blue tunic would accommodate any movement or dance she needed to do.

Sarah had excused Gwyreign and Onika for the day, saying she would be staying in her room until rehearsal, she would like her meals delivered, and she knew how to get to the parlor theater herself. They tried to object, which Sarah suspected Jareth had told them to do should she want privacy, but she had been insistent.

If the Goblin King could be stubborn, so could she.

Much to Sarah's annoyance, Gwyreign said that Jareth would not be joining Sarah today either. At breakfast, she had felt ticked off, at lunch perturbed; now after dinner, her blood was boiling.

"How dare he ignore me?!" she cried aloud, throwing a shoe at the wall.

This was ridiculous. This was absurd. He couldn't avoid her forever.

"Who does he think he is?!"

What was his problem?! So she saw his dream. Big whoop. He was sitting on his throne surrounded by goblins, like any other day.

"Surrounded by goblins and you," whispered the little voice in the back of her mind.

Sarah swatted the air like she was swatting at a fly.

"So what, big deal. Goodness knows he's seen my dreams. That's the whole way that he got to me—" Sarah pulled the brakes on her train of thought. That track led to nowhere good.

"This is ridiculous," she again said aloud. With that, she stormed out into the hallway and let out a string of curses all the way to the throne room.

As expected, he was there, with one leg carelessly draped over the arm of the throne.

"You," she fumed.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he said lazily, not even bothering to look at her.

Sarah stomped forward into his view.

"You can't just ignore me."

"And who says I'm ignoring you?" He was making eye contact, but it was as if he wasn't truly looking at her; his mind was somewhere else.

"I haven't seen you in days."

"I've been busy."

"Ya, you look it." Sarah rolled her eyes. "We need to talk about—"

"About what?" Jareth cut her off.

"The other night."

"What night?" asked the king, standing.

Sarah stomped. "You know what night. I saw—"

"Whatever you think you saw, you can forget it. Every night since last we saw each other, I was asleep in my bed. Alone," he said, lowering his voice, "much to my displeasure." He was now taking slow strides toward her.

"Jareth, it's okay you know. I—" he was close enough to place a finger on her lips, quietly silencing her.

"There is nothing to discuss." His tone was not threatening, but it was as serious as his piercing gaze that bore through her like a drill.

Sarah gulped. The awareness that he was touching her mouth slowly spread through her body as a hot flush.

"Don't you have somewhere to be tonight?" he asked rhetorically.

Sarah stepped back. "Yes, yes I do. I suppose I'll wish you a nice night—or a nice week, since I may not see you tomorrow or the next day. Goodnight." Sarah turned and briskly walked out of the room.

What had just happened? He had shut down her confrontation, and the angst pulsed through her veins like electricity. The lack of closure to her confrontation was a bad itch she couldn't scratch. The look in his eyes hadn't frightened her; if anything, it had drawn pity from her. He didn't verbally confirm the dream nor deny it, but his avoiding her certainly meant the dream had been true. It would've been almost better if he had been angry with her. Sarah hadn't been looking for a fight, but rage would be better than avoiding your feelings like a coward. Like an immature boy.

"A real king would face his feelings," she muttered under her breath. Sarah hoped all this tension would fuel her acting.

The walk to the parlor theater helped her cool down a bit, but she still took a moment to compose herself. She remembered her acting exercises and physically shook out her whole upper body to "shake off" the bad energy.

Inhale. Exhale. Smile!

When she entered the Parlor, she was greeted by applause. Sarah couldn't help but blush as the troupe rose to standing and greeted her with warm smiles.

"Greetings, Lady Sarah!" cried Eustatius, throwing his arm around her and graciously ushering her forward.

Introductions were made and parts were distributed. The chaises and pillows had been arranged in a circle, and the group now sat looking over their parts for a few minutes before the warm-up and cold read. Sarah looked up from her script.

"You guys do Shakespeare?" Sarah asked. Euphorbia was sitting to Sarah's right and twirling a strand of her black hair.

"We do many Aboveground authors and playwrites. They're actually considered vogue here. We get complaints from our patrons if we don't do at least one show a season by a human author. The human understanding of love is…magical. Ironically. It's pure and truly unparalleled in depiction and description. Even without magic, you humans know love and imagination better than anyone else." Euphorbia was smiling dreamily, looking off into the distance.

Sarah blushed again. Ya, humans were romantics. And the twenty-third sonnet of Shakespeare she now held in her hand was a perfect example of that.

"Alright, alright, everybody on their feet. Let's split into two groups," said Eustatius, clapping his hands a few times and hopping up on the stage. He gave a dramatic twirl, and the billowing red robe he wore twirled with him. The matching red nightcap—or daycap, Sarah figured it should be called, since he was wearing the long, floppy thing during the day—straightened and flopped to the other side of his head when he stopped twirling. The troupe followed him onto stage and split into two groups of seven and six people.

"Now my group will push out energy. Group two, you need to receive the energy, respond, and then push back. We will then receive, respond, and push again. So on and so forth. Ready?"

"Very Stanislavsky like," thought Sarah.

Eustatius inhaled dramatically, and then his whole group slowly pushed forward with their arms, as if they were trying to push a heavy boulder. Sarah looked around to see what her group would do; they all swayed backwards, some as if a blast had knocked them away in slow-motion, some like kelp swaying gently in the ocean current. Sarah joined in, genuinely trying to feel the energy of the room and enjoying the game; there was a reason acting happened in something called a "play." It was silly sometimes, but it really did open you up and free your mind.

After a few rounds, the groups pretended to throw a ball back and forth.

"Quick, you're a tree!"

The troupe struck up poses, each one sillier than the next. Sarah flexed her ballet skills and did a full standing split, her head near the floor and her right foot where her head should be.

"And now, we're walking through fog."

Sarah almost giggled; she had been to some silly workshops, but this one was pulling out all the stops.

"Quick, bees!" cried Eustace, and the whole troupe dashed in circles pretending to swat and unseen bees.

"I think I'm going to like it here," Sarah thought, pretending to smack a wasp that had landed on her left arm.

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

It was a long day. The troupe sat once more in a circle, calmly reading through their scenes. Since the show was a collection of vignettes, it was a lot of "wait your turn." Eustatius had informed them a more specific rehearsal schedule would be distributed within a day or two ("but no more than thrrrree!" he had cried, rolling his R.

There had been some discussion over undesignated parts. Sarah would receive an additional sonnet if they weren't pressed for time. Despite Eustatius' elaborate personality, he did have a lot of interesting and helpful things to say. He was creative, and he knew his craft.

Sarah was the last to read through her scene. She gulped and stood.

"Lady Sarah, why don't you take to the stage? It is your introductory presentation after all," said Eustatius gesticulating emphatically towards the stage. Sarah nodded and hopped up onto the platform. She was grateful it was close to the ground and hoped that didn't look too undignified.

She turned and faced her peers, and a long-forgotten swarm of stage-fright butterflies filled her stomach. She was used to performing, but performing for a group of Fae in a mythical, fairytale castle… this was new.

She took a deep breath and unclenched her jaw, allowing space to return between her grinding molars.

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;

Sarah felt more confident with every word.

So I for fear of trust forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love's rite,

And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,

O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.

She knew it was just a read-through, but she took a step to her right and decided to add a gesture here and there.

O, let my

Above Sarah, a strange noise began to crackle. She stopped short and looked up.

She was stunned to see an enormous, crystal stalactite quickly forming out of thin air. Sarah was too shocked to move. It sparkled as it grew to a perfect point.

A perfect, sharp, point.

A large crack boomed through the hall. The stalactite plunged towards Sarah. The troupe gave cries of shock.

"Lady Sa—" cried Euphrobia from the front row. She crouched and leapt towards the stage, turning into a black jaguar as she sprung from her crouch. Her voice turned to a fearful snarl in midair.

As if in slow motion, the feline soared forward as the sparkling dagger neared Sarah's head. At the last moment, Euphorbia smashed into Sarah, knocking her out of the way. A sickening yowl of pain pierced the air as the massive shard made contact with Euphorbia's back leg.

The cry morphed into a humanoid scream as they fell to the ground and Euphorbia's Fae form half-landed on Sarah.

The glassy thing exploded into massive chunks. Several flew over Sarah's head as she lay there. One caught Euphorbia on the back, shielding Sarah, and a red patch of blood immediately spread across the white material of Euphorbia's dress.

Sharp pain shot through Sarah's left elbow that had cushioned her fall. The bottom of Euphorbia's dress was turning crimson with blood where the stalactite had hit her. She was wracked with pained sobs, but she still choked out,

"Lady Sarah…are…are you alright?"

Sarah felt herself unfreeze from panic.

"Ohmygosh. Euphorbia…" The troupe had flooded the stage and were around them. "Somebody get help!" she cried, gently getting out from under her savior and applying pressure to the wound. "Jareth, help!" she cried without thinking.

A bustle of feathers and dark blue material spiraled above her. From the midst if it burst Jareth, who landed lightly next to her in a crouch.

"What happened?!" he shouted, taking in the scene.

"I don't know, there was a crystal dagger or something. I don't know. It happened so fast. It was a matter of seconds. She—she saved me."

Jareth looked at Euphorbia, who moaned in pain. Her face was completely blanched and her white lips trembled.

"She's bleeding out," Jareth said. He knelt over her legs and tore open her dress up to her thigh, knocking Sarah's hands away. A massive gash showed itself. Fresh blood pumped onto the stage like a slow flow of cooling lava. Jareth said nothing and passed his hand slowly over Euphorbia's injury. The wound began to close itself, the flesh magically knitting itself back together.

Euphrobia shuddered, and then she gave a long sigh, her eyes closing.

Sarah gasped. "No! Is she…?"

"She'll be alright. She just needs to rest," said Jareth.

"Not crystal," said Eustatius, stepping forward with a glittering shard in his hand.

"Excuse me?" asked Jareth, still crouching next to Sarah and Euphorbia.

"Not crystal; ice." He held it forward, the first drips of water pitter-pattering to the stage as the chunk melted in his hand.

The king said nothing. His eyes flicked up to Eustace as they exchanged a look.

Murmurs of "ice magic" darted through the group whose expressions of fear had hardened into tight-lipped solemnity.

"Only one land has ice magic," said a voice from the crowd.

Euphorbia opened her eyes.

"Ice Giants."

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

So weird that I've posted so much in so little time, but I've found myself in many strange places with strange stretches of time and none of my real-life work with me available to do. So, I write! Thank you for the new favs and follows!

Just a heads up, username change coming soon!