DISCLAIMER: Alas, I do not own anything related to Labyrinth, David Bowie or Jim Henson and Co.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A crystal disappears.
The stairs unwind.
Magic dances…
The crisp breeze was not altogether unpleasant; though it spoke of the promise of the approaching winter, it did not ruin the resplendent curtain of starlight draped above the happy couple. The two were in no rush to make their way to the secret lake, wrapped in the golden euphoria of glad tidings of impending parenthood. The pair had declined the use of their carriage favoring instead the peaceful quiescence of an evening stroll.
Blythe was still wearing the painful, splitting smile from the hours ago, relaxing just enough to maintain pleasant conversation with his pregnant wife. Thank you, he prayed silently, his dark eyes lifting to the heavens for good measure. Please, let all be well. I implore you, hear my prayers— let this child live. The seriousness of his pleading did not register across his boyish features, hidden well under a jubilant smile and sparkling eyes, conveying a deep elation he did not wholeheartedly feel.
The gentle hum of his wife's voice was a murmur in the background of his dervish thoughts. He had not meant to ignore her; in truth, he was eager to discuss names and muse over who the child might resemble more in both appearance and temperament. But fear was far more powerful than joy. His fears lingered on the past, and the overwhelming sadness that nearly destroyed Constance after their most recent loss only ten months past.
"This time is different, I can feel it. I know how mad that sounds, and I cannot explain it. But Blythe, I know this child will live." She assured him moments after breaking the news, admitting that her own fears fueled her silence for five months. "I know I should have told you sooner, but I was so afraid, Blythe, so very afraid." Her trembling hand wiped that the tears on her cheeks. "But the midwife assures me that at nearly six months I am in no foreseeable danger." Her watery eyes searched his with wild desperation. "Tell me you are happy, oh please, please be happy!"
How could he be anything less?
"Of course I am, my love." He sighed, taking her face between his rough hands he kissed her with fervent abandon. "You promise me you are well? That you are in no pain—" her kiss silenced him, and alleviated more of his worries than words ever could. Her passion fueled his as her hands moved up his arms and into his hair, caressing the skin of his neck as their assault grew more incessant.
A call across the misty cemetery pulled him back to the present, bringing his eyes to the small woman clinging to his arm. "Forgive me, my dear. My thoughts wandered of their own accord. What did you ask?"
Squeezing the bicep below her kid gloved fingers, Constance smiled, not the least bothered by her husband's confession. "There is nothing to forgive, however, it was not I that called to you." Her head turned to look back at the humble rector's cottage. The door stood wide and the smiling Father Simon Elswick waved before moving nearer. "I think we have been spotted," she chuckled, turning fully to greet the intruder.
"Good evening, Tillens!" The priest beamed, his dark, salted hair shinning in the soft beam of the lantern held at eye level. With the light so near his face, his silver eyes appeared almost white. "How fare you this brisk night?"
"We are well, thank you," Blythe answered coolly, his gaze falling protectively over Constance as he smiled.
Looking between the pair, the priest quirked a thick brow at them. "You both seem awfully jovial for such an evening. Might I inquire as to the reason? Do forgive me if I am prying; it is one of the many vices I cannot seem to abandon."
Blythe inclined his head almost casually to his wife, watching as a bashful smile added a faint blush to her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered, before she looked up at him with an encouraging gleam in amber eyes. Her free hand unconsciously pressed against the gentle swell of her abdomen, as she replied reverently. "I suppose we cannot conceal it too much longer." A serene bliss settled over her features as she smiled broadly, her eyes now fixated on her stomach. "It seems our little family will expand come the new year."
The rector's smile grew brighter. "Well, congratulations! Splendid! Capital news, indeed! My blessings to you both. And of course, should you need anything please do not hesitate to ask."
They exchanged pleasantries, and spoke for a moment about names and the pending arrival. The topic did not last long however, before the man turned somber. "How fares the lovely bride-to-be? I do hope you have not had anymore trouble, I have taken it upon myself to stroll past her home these last few evenings, just to be cautious."
"I can assure you she is safe and well. My wife and I have done our best to ensure it." Blythe said softly, as though it was some great secret between them. "I must admit we have kept a watchful, albeit strict, eye on her."
Nodding his understanding, Father Elswick reached forward, briefly patting Blythe's arm with a comforting grin before he straightened, adding to the man's avowal. "We cannot be too careful, she will understand in time. We cannot be too careful, as was proved just nights ago, even here in our peaceful pocket of the word there are monsters."
A grim expression took hold, the lines at the priest's mouth becoming more prominent as he frowned. He was dour and sad for a moment, before a kind and sincere gleam softened his face. "Mercifully for Miss. Williams, she has you to watch over her, and keep such abhorrent men at bay. If only more young women were so fortunate; far too many guardians and chaperons are lax in their duties. Were they more diligent in their efforts, there would be far less bastards in the world, of that I am certain."
Undeterred by their silence, or perhaps encouraged by their smiles, the man continued his degradation of ruined women and rakish men. Adding the obligatory doctrinal mantra of God's unwavering love and forgiveness, he finishing with a biting reminder of the ever present prospects of eternal damnation. The austerity blatant in his voice solidified how important the impromptu sermon was to the graying man.
When Elswick finally concluded, much to the relief of the exasperated pair, he added. "Enough of my ramblings; neither of you need lessons in morality." A forced pulling of lips revealed the crooked, aged teeth in what might have been a smile had his bushed brows not furrowed mendaciously. "It is rather fortuitous that we should meet, as I was preparing to pay you a visit—I have an important message to pass along to a young woman about whom we are all concerned."
The Goblin King wouldn't have stopped if she had not started trembling, though whether it was from fear or pleasure he couldn't be certain. Either way, he knew they walked a tightrope of desire and dread, and one wrong footstep would mean falling into utter uncertainty. She was part of his past, one he had put away, never to be remembered. Now, for reasons he did not understand, she was here and he would be a fool to spoil his second chance by succumbing like a fumbling youth to his lust.
A soft whimper came from deep in her throat. The sensual sound nearly pushed all good reason aside, but he would not allow himself to ruin this small piece of paradise. He lifted himself away, straightening to kneel above her breathless frame. Gods! She was stunning! Her blushed cheeks, and hooded eyes begging for more without a single word, wreathed by disarrayed tendrils of sorrel curls. Even the the spots of trepidation flicking through the haze of her desire made his breath catch and his heart stutter. Had he any less self control he would have her bared before him writhing at his hands, her entire body flushed from his relentless ministrations.
But he was a master of control.
A sudden chill settled over Sarah as he moved away, taking the warmth of his lithe body with him. The absence of his touch splashed like a bucket of ice water against the need he had roused so effortlessly within her. What are you doing, Sarah?! Covering her face with her hands, she suppressed a groan of embarrassed frustration against her chilled palms. Nothing can come of this. Despite the truth of her thoughts, she could not bring herself to heed the warning.
With lumbering movements she pulled herself up to her feet, swatting at her heavy skirt as though it were covered in dust like a moth-eaten rug. Sarah blinked, trying to catch her breath. Using the cold to calm the rampant flush of her cheeks, she avoided the eyes that had drawn her to take such brazen action. Pretending to fuss with her clothes a moment longer, Sarah took another step away from him.
The subtle movement had not gone unnoticed. Wisely, he said nothing about her attempt to create distance between them when only moments ago her lips had molded to his as he swallowed her aching sighs. Though innocent enough by fae morals, the draconian purity demanded of humans from near infancy must have awakened suddenly, nagging at the recess of her mind. As she continued her feigned removal of dirt from her clothes, he found his own thoughts wandering curiously to hers and what they might be.
Lissome, the Goblin King unfolded himself from the ground and rose to his feet. His eyes wandered over her, devouring the figure her warm layers could not conceal. How, covered as she was, could he be tempted thusly? Unashamedly, his ego puffed its chest when she shifted under his heated stare, her cheeks flaring an alluring pink as her blush deepened.
"Are you nervous?" he rumbled quietly, desperate to hear the admission.
Chewing her lip nervously, Sarah stepped around him to kneel at the forgotten picnic, her famished stomach aching at the sight of the uneaten food. More than anything, she needed a distraction, lest she fall under his spell once more.
Watching her kneel, he cleared his throat before moving to join her on the pebbled shore. "So, my precious thing," he began, keeping his own hands busy assembling a napkin of food for her. "What other questions are bouncing about in that pretty head of yours?" He halted his movements, his head tilted to the side, studying the linen and its offering with an odd look. Why had he prepared it? He had never done as much for anyone before. Stranger still, he could not remember thinking to do otherwise, as though this weren't an extraordinary scene, but rather a habitual one.
Discarding the anomaly, he grinned, offering her the fabric platter spread across one palm. He would dwell on the phenomenon when his time was less occupied— and far less numbered.
Cautiously, Sarah took the linen from him, her hands brushing against the cold fabric of his gloves. Those hateful gloves! What would it be to have them gone? Tossing the thought of his warm fingers tracing across her skin from her mind, Sarah placed the humble meal on her lap. Bringing a small wedge of cheese to her mouth, her gaze neither settling nor wandering from her wished intruder as she began to eat.
"Will you ask me nothing?"
Mossy eyes met his with fervor, the small v wrinkling between her brows as her head shook in protest. "It's far too dangerous. I wounded you with my last— " She stopped, swallowing the panic and guilt crawling at her throat. With a sniff, she whispered, "I won't ask another."
The blonde shook his head, his hands reaching to encompass on of her own. "It isn't dangerous." He paused and glanced away, head tipping in an almost owl-like fashion. "Painful— but not dangerous." Mismatched eyes skipped back to her face, determined. "Sarah, I promised you answers. If it is in my power to answer any question you may have, I want to do so."
He was not lying. He wanted to do this, and the truth of it slammed into him with torrential force. A tightness pulled at his chest as he frowned. He wanted her to trust him, needed her to, though he couldn't put into words just why. He lifted his hand, allowing his thumb to trace tenderly along her cheek. "Ask another."
She had listened well enough, but observed him far more carefully. Tongues could easily lie— her father proved as much— but the body rarely concealed the truth. Be it the twitch of an eye, the clench of a jaw, or the faintest shifting of feet, the body was always trying to expel the barest hint of deception like infection from a wound. Many still tried, practicing as one might the pianoforte or harp, each time growing more proficient than the last. More failed, however, making feeble attempts throughout their lives but never really indulging, their lies simple and clean, while select few mastered the skill, practicing their grand orchestrations of deceit with pride.
The Goblin King was a skilled liar, but this was no lie.
Still loathe at the thought of causing him undue pain, Sarah could not help the questions blazing to life, demanding to be asked and answered. "As you wish." Deciding upon the most recent, and prevalent issue she complied. "My dreams have become—" staring at her hands, her fingers twisted against one another, her nerves rising. "Become terrifying— horrific."
"You're having nightmares?"
Sarah nodded, cautiously. "They have become violent, insidious and so vivid— every touch, every sound, every smell. I wake shaking, having to remind myself they are not real." Her hand lifted palm up into the air, gesturing towards her companion. "I know I must seem ridiculous—you said yourself 'no harm ever came from a dream' but—" her shoulders fell, dropping her hand into her lap in defeat. Staring out over the expanse of the lake, Sarah's lips pinched in perplexed musing as she tried to form a coherent thought. "I must ask— are these your doing?"
"No." His voice was firm, as he shook his head in denial. "Sarah, I have done nothing to your dreams, save enter them."
Moisture pooled in her eyes, "Then I am being ridiculous, aren't I?"
"You are not." A seriousness settled over his features, a welcome sight for her worries. "I admit it is strange." He paused, searching for answers to the plethora of questions forming wildly with her revelation. Through no fault of their own, mortals had an affinity for forgetfulness, especially where dreams and nightmares were concerned. Bright as she was, Sarah could never cite him with an exact recounting, let alone the minuet details he needed.
With a sudden perk of his head, the king twisted his wrist. A bright, beautiful light shimmered at his fingertips before fading into the perfect sphere of a crystal that he offered to the astounded woman before him. Smiling at his own genius, he waited for her acceptance.
Scoffing at his offering, Sarah leaned away from his proffered hand. Her stare was confused, and filled with disappointment. How could he ask her to forget— again? More importantly, why did he want her to? Sadness coiled in her stomach, tightening the walls of her throat, How dare he! "No— no, I refuse to forget—"
"It isn't for you."
Untangling her fingers, he ignored the hurt darkening her eyes as he placed the orb in her palm, never releasing the crystal from his grasp. "Close your eyes." He whispered leaning nearer, "think of your dreams as tangible, living things— whatever you like— just imagine them as something that can be caught."
Dubious at first, she cast a sideways glance at the wild man kneeling before her. "This isn't a ploy to make me forget, is it?"
He laughed lightly, a single, barely audible huff of amusement that only just made it past his thin, smirking lips. "No, my dear, this is no trick. Trust me." A brightness shone within his eyes, his brows lifting slightly before he placed the softest, barest of kisses against her forehead.
Sarah bit her lip, then caught herself at it and made an effort to compose her features. Straightening, she took a breath, hesitating but a trice, before allowing her eyelids to grow heavy and fall closed.
"Now," he hummed, the seductive baritone drawing her in like a moth to a flame. He was far too enticing, and she was much too weak to resist his pull. "Bring your dreams to the forefront of your mind, but picture them not as dreams but something else entirely. They can be anything you like, so long as you can catch them, and when you do, wish them into the crystal."
Within her mind dozens of butterflies swarmed above her, each one infinitely different from the next, and yet so very similar. Some were dark, wicked looking things, with black wings and blood red spots flecked across the delicate surface. Others were beautiful, glittering metallics, and jewel tones that could never have existed outside her imagination. It was beautiful and unnerving. The flurry of color was almost overwhelming, as they fluttered and weaved in nonsensical patterns against cloudless evening sky.
Now catch them.
A silver pole with gossamer netting, captained by nothing save the air itself, floated on the breeze. Invisible lines painted against the shifting wings, capturing a small handful with each stroke. Over and over again, the pole glinted against the chilling white moonlight until, with the faintest whoosh, the last of the memories was trapped. A silent wish saw them tittering away within the fabricated cage of shinning glass.
Her eyes opened after the last image faded from existence and she let out a breath, "Was that right?"
Smiling, he pulled the crystal away. "Perfect." Tossing it high into the air, it burst between them into a million fragments of sparkling powder that evaporated into mist just seconds after. "Now, I can study them at my leisure."
"Study them for what?"
"I'm not sure yet, but I know I will find something. Tampering with dreams takes years of practice, it is difficult, draining, and rather unusual for someone without—" the burning was back, braced on the point of mind-numbing torture. "Without the extensive tutelage I received throughout my life, it would be a foolish undertaking. One risks damaging both the dreamer and their own magic."
The impossible girl was worried.
One could hardly blame her— he was worried too, though he kept his concerns to himself. There was something far greater at play, but the pawns and stakes were still so shrouded in darkness that he couldn't begin to fathom the endgame. The King of the Labyrinth was nothing if not tenacious. He would find them, whatever it took.
While Sarah could not truly grasp the difficulties of entering and manipulating dreams, she understood from his tone and the look in his eyes, the seriousness of such a feat. The mystery still remained as to why she was chosen, and though she knew the man before her was not altogether forthcoming, he was at least providing some form of explanation, and for that she was grateful.
"It occurs to me that I remain uninjured." Bringing a dark finger to his mouth he rhythmically tapped the pad against his lips, pretending to be deep in thought, a mischievous look shimmered in those hypnotic eyes. Sarah couldn't help but stare. "Now that is a promising sign." The tapping stopped with the arch of his winged brow. "I think you've earned another question."
"Earned?" She said with a huff, "I don't want it."
"Am I to believe your curiosity has been sated?" Hungrily he watched her shoulders rise and fall as she chuckled softly, her alluring smile far too tempting to resist. Too quick for protest, his lips claimed hers, the kiss was too passion to be decorous, and far too chaste to be improper. Pulling back just a breath, he couldn't help but grin. "I thought not." Plucking her hand from her lap he placed a kiss into her palm, "Ask another." Unable to stop himself, he kissed the pulse point at her wrist, his breath heating the sensitive flesh as her pulse raced.
Deciding it would be easier to surrender to his request rather than argue against it, Sarah paused, choosing her question with great care. She prayed it was the right one. Swallowing hard, too afraid to watch him suffer, Sarah tentatively asked, "Do others dream of you, as I have? Do they wish for you, too?"
Relief coursed through him; he could answer this. "Yes, others dream of me, and though I can appear in their dreams, I don't—I haven't. Not since I mastered the craft." He answered slowly, testing the temper of the rules. With a gentle smile, his eyes sparked. "Since then, only you have had the privilege, my little puzzle." He bowed his head, another soft kiss tickling her nerves.
Puffing what she hoped was a relieved sigh, not a breathless moan of wanton desire, her worry ebbed. Sarah allowed herself to languish in the feel of his flesh against hers. At the hot, damp touch of his tongue against her oversensitive flesh, Sarah cried out, pulling herself free. Panting, she tried frantically to ease the fire building in her core. Turning her thoughts from the blonde devil and his wicked tongue, she begged another question.
"Why mine?"
"You called to me." He sighed, not in frustration with her, but rather his struggle to explain. "I felt the call of a dream for months. It felt different, stronger. I chose to ignore it, as I do the others, but eventually my own inquisitiveness won out." He sounded almost far away, his eyes swimming with the memory of that fateful night. "I am not sure why I succumbed to the temptation, but I did and I found you."
A fondness flooded his eyes as he recalled the moment he realized it was her, his Sarah, back in the Labyrinth. Sharper still, he could still feel the pang in his chest, the rush of adrenaline as the dream faded into mist as she awakened, leaving herself once again a memory.
"I have called you impossible—a puzzle— and your wishes are the catalyst of that statement. You should not be able to beckon me at your leisure, yet you have." He met her unwavering, confused gaze. ""When I am summoned it is for different reasons entirely. A wish—" He stopped, feeling the pain creep up the base of his spine, a low burning that simmered against his muscles. "I am called with a wish— only a wish, but Sarah, they are oft—" He groaned against the searing heat building within him, his body tense with warning. "Thee wishes are often made with insidious intent."
Only when she was certain he was in no more pain, did she dare pry further. She was panting, nearly out of breath with fear. "Insidious intent? Do they mean to harm you?"
A soft smile touched his lips at her concern. "No, not me." His eyes grew serious as he tried to convey what little he could. "I am not the subject of a wish, merely the product of one. Those who wish for me very rarely mean well." The ache had settled at the base of his neck, neither moving nor fleeing as it pulsed against his spine. He would not venture further.
"What do they wish for?" Her curiosity piqued, she treaded further over the eggshells of her eagerness. She did not want to hurt him, but she also wanted answers.
He answered carefully, meeting her eyes with a pointed stare, begging her to understand his limitations. "They offer a trade of—" the last words were chased away with a howl of anguish.
Sarah gasped as his body bowed inward, his muscles straining against the leather armor at his back and shoulders. Her hands flew out to try to brace his fall, and she grunted at the weight of him landed harshly against her. Sweat beaded his brow as he drew sharp breaths through ragged teeth.
Time crawled by, only a handful of minutes, but they felt so much longer as she held him close, fighting back tears. When she felt him shift within the circle of her arms, her unrelenting grip loosened and he rose to kneel up once more.
"Not that one, I suppose." Sarah whispered weakly, emotion tainting her voice.
He laughed boisterously, his head shaking as he smiled. "No, not that one."
There was a long silence. Eventually, Sarah turned to the meal scattered in her lap. The wheels turning in her brain as she chewed slowly, lost in thought. Deciding to join her, he tossed a morsel beyond his lips, the flavor lost to him as he studied his little riddle. Had their been a clock in the vicinity, the rhythmic ticking would have beaten like thunder against the silence, droning on with maddening slowness.
Aware of the oppressive, loathsome silence suffocating the companionable milieu hanging dubiously between them, Sarah remained horrendously quiet at his side. Unsated, as he predicted, her interest boiled as the minutes were swallowed within the gaping maw of the night. Even still, as much as she wanted to know more, she could not convince herself to wound him further.
Yet, was it not he that demanded her questions, reassuring her of his willingness to answer? He was in a bizarrely divulging mood, one that Sarah suspected would never have an encore, no matter how loud the applause. Was she foolhardy enough to beg another? To remain silent?
Steeling her nerve, Sarah blurted the first thread she could grasp from the thunderous clouds of her mind. Copper tinged her tongue, and only then did she realize she had been chewing her lip. Again. "Why did you want me to wish you back?"
One minute passed, then two, as the thick fog of noiselessness crawled along the shoreline. It felt like hours—days even, as she awaited his answer. Afraid of what he might say, and worse yet what he might not, Sarah stared intently at the cloth on her lap, and the untouched scraps left from her attempted feast.
Coquettishly, her lashes fluttered as she dared to peek at the man in question with a gasp; he was staring. A pleasant, heated gaze that did nothing but encourage the crimson painted across her face. "You," he drawled with a lazy, sensual tone, "are very tempting." A smirk pinched his lips before a full smile flashed his teeth as he turned to hide a soundless laugh.
"You're mocking me."
"I'm telling the truth." He corrected. "Were others able to call for me as you do, I would have neither the inclination nor the desire to answer with such haste as I do now. You are the siren I am desperate to see and the riddle I long to solve." Her quizzical frown begged him to say more. "In short, I wanted simply to see you."
Her lips curled in a smile before she could stop them, and she ducked her head in a feeble attempt to hide her gaiety. While he made no attempt to address it, she knew he'd seen her reaction with his hawk-like stare, and was equally satisfied.
Scarlet cheeks burned as she lifted the last morsel of meat from her napkin. Faster than she could recoil, he leaned forward, snatching the bite from her fingertips, his teeth grazing the sensitive pads. She gasped, an airy, jagged breath one octave above a moan, as his lips lingered a moment before he shifted away as though nothing untoward had occurred.
He hummed in a low melodic tone, "As I said, tempting." His rapier eyes bored into hers with wicked intent, before smoothing into a contented grin. "Another question that failed to maim me— brave enough to ask another?"
Swallowing the cotton trapped in her throat before daring to answer, still very aware of his nearness. "What were you— how did you occupy your time waiting for my wish?"
"I was at a ball."
"A ball?" She inquired with far more excitement than he thought necessary for such a mundane and common proceeding. "What was the occasion? Was it beautiful?"
Infected by her elation, he found himself smiling along with her. "It was very beautiful, though—" he paused, inhaling past the heat radiating up his spine at the thought of his friend's name. Sighing, he continued with a slightly strained voice, "Though the host is known for his lavish celebrations— this was no different." The light in her eyes glowed, her intrigue piqued and that gave him rather clever idea. "Close your eyes." He urged gently, suddenly.
Pausing, a wrinkle kissed her brow before she dutifully complied and he continued. "Imagine large white marble pillars draped with transparent ivory and gold curtains. Lights float and dance with a life of their own above your head, every time you turn to catch a glimpse they glide away to highlight something new. The room is littered with gold gilt, feathers and shimmering jewels. Music rings around you, each note perfectly plucked." He leaned close, his whisper caressing her ear with each heated breath as he painted the scene.
"High above you, ivy drips from the ceiling and chandeliers, glinting with pearls and diamonds that catch the shifting candlelight with each movement from below. So long, they touch the bared shoulders of silk-clad women and damask frocked-men twirling over the checkered floor, like swans." He hummed beautifully, savoring her scent of roses and ink. A strange combination that drove his reason to near madness, begged him to taste, to touch. Pushing away his licentious desires, he pouted. "But alas the extravagance was ruined— they served only mead."
Sarah snorted, the illusion shattered. "How terrible! However did you manage?" She said with false agog.
"Drinking."
A fit of giggles burst from her lips, the lilting song of her merriment ricocheted in the clearing before it blossomed into full-fledged laughter. A dimple he hadn't know she possessed, dented her cheek as her mirth did more for the darkness than a thousand blazing candles. "What was the occasion?" She asked brightly, her genuine interest palpable.
"The Festival of Bacchus," he watched for any hint of recognition, and when he was greeted with none he finished, plainly. "A festival celebrating wine and drunkenness. You can imagine the out come of such a gathering, though with only honey-mead, many of the guests were left rather unsatisfied."
"Mead— at the festival of wine?"
"You understand our dismay— it is very hard to celebrate drunkenness when one can hardly become foxed." The king smiled, "You know how these events are; one can always find fault with their host, regardless of the efforts made for their entertainment."
The light dimmed with the scantest shake of her head, as she blinked several times, looking away. "I can only imagine."
"I am sure it is hardly different than any others you have—" He stopped short, studying her expression of solemn interest. Turning his head slightly, his eyes narrowed speculatively. "You've never been?" he voiced disbelievingly.
She pinched a bashful smile, her shoulders shrugging slightly. "Afraid not." Sarah sighed despondently, "My father's afflictions got the better of him before my first season. There are very few gentleman who would consider a scandalous, alcoholic, indebted stone mason for a father-in-law. Let alone his penniless daughter."
A wave of pity and resignation crossed her features, but she mustered a pathetic laugh before continuing unadroitly. "I have danced, outside of lessons, a handful of times. Nothing so garish and florid as you described— only simple country dances—" She stopped, her cloddish rambling was painful to her own ears.
"A fact I would remedy if I could." He spoke in earnest. "Though I must warn you; such parties are often crowded, hot— stifling. The guests are rude and demanding, shoving others out of the way and fighting like children over the seating arrangements, and lamenting the menu. They are beautiful annoyances that are hardly worth the effort."
He was lying, or at the very least concealing a fair amount of truth, all in an effort to make her feel less paltry in her misfortune. It was a strange sort of kindness, one that Blythe and Constance were well versed in, but their words were far less comforting than those of the Goblin King.
"I will have to take your word for it."
"For now, at least." Rewarding her with his seductive smirk, the alluring man found himself searching for the new-found indentation in her cheek with no luck. Wanting to turn the subject, he lifted his chin. "Perhaps you might answer my question?" Without waiting for her reply he continued. "Yesterday, why did you wish me back?"
"Um— well—" How could she explain? Even she wasn't entirely certain of her motivation, and what she was certain of, she did not wish to admit. Sarah sat for a moment trying to pluck an answer from her discombobulated thoughts.
You missed him, she was reminded with gale force. Lifting her chin with mock fortitude she spoke truthfully. "I was afraid. I had not been home since the— the incident. I was alone and terrified of what I might find behind that door. That was, until my thoughts turned to you."
Her eyes flashed to his, the weight of her confession registered in the soft lines around those magnificent pools of blue and green. Her confession changed everything and nothing, the line in the sand was diminishing as they skated along its edge. An eternity passed between one breath and the next, their eyes conveying thousands of unspoken refrains in the infinitesimal space of a heartbeat. Neither attempted to speak, each understanding the fragile power their mutual silence held.
The heady spell was broken with the crack of a twig echoing within the walls of the forest. It was faint, distant, but they both heard it. Synchronously, their heads snapped to the tree line. Instantly, the Goblin King shot to his feet, appearing suddenly before her, his imposing form shielding her from view. "Were you expecting someone?" He whispered over his shoulder.
"Only Blythe and Constance." Came her frightened whisper, her skin prickled with unease as she rose to her tiptoes, trying to see around him into the unyielding darkness. "Is something there?"
The Goblin King faced the trees unflinchingly. His muscles remembered every battle of years past, each waiting on edge for the slightest command. The soldier within him stood at attention. Never one to stand by and watch others fight while he remained in his grand castle, the king spent the better part of his life on the battlefield, earning the respect of his men and the fear of his enemies.
Instinctively, he tucked Sarah further behind him, one arm curling back to wrap around her waist and hip, he listened. As if answering Sarah's question, another snap popped in the night, louder now. Closer.
He moved back, forcing Sarah to do the same. Her fingers clutched his arm, he could feel her trembling. "Can you see anything?" She whispered, pressing her cheek against his guarding arm, looking up, her eyes locked on his unwavering expression.
"No, but I can hear footsteps." He glanced down at her, then back to the forest. "Stay behind me. Do you understand?"
"But—"
"Behind me!" He hissed, his nostrils twitched as his breaths grew shallow. "I promised to protect you, now get behind me!"
With unexpected speed, the girl darted under his arm and turned to him, her palms planted flat against his chest. Her barest touch sent a flood of sensation rippling through him, but his years of training ensured he remained stoic and unflinching.
Round, wide eyes lifted to his carnal, warring stare, the heavy crimson returning to her cheeks as mortification burned through her. "I cannot be seen with you." Her hand lifted to his face, and he leaned imperceptibly into her touch. "Please, it would ruin me— Please—"
He snatched her upper arms in a bruising grip that nearly lifted her from the ground, his stare dark, frightening. "Danger waits at your door and you are worried about a sullied reputation?!" He shook her. Hard.
"I— it's all I have." She cried weakly, her voice hardly above that of a prayer. How could he possibly understand?
"And your life?" Her eyes curved everywhere but to the man before her. What could she say? They were both right in one way or another. "Does it mean so little to you?" His anger radiated off him like heat from a fire, the edges threatening to latch onto her, consuming her in the agonizing depths of its raging flames.
"You don't— can't understand."
His frown deepened, "No, you are right. To Hell with idle gossip and licentious rumors— I would face it all if it meant my life remained mine."
"I don't have that luxury!"
"I'll not let you stand here while some—"
"Please! You must go!" Her heart sank, fear of what awaited her in the trees made her heart stop, while fear of her future made her beg him to leave. "Please, please! I cannot be seen with you, it could ruin everything."
"No." He growled.
Under her breath, disbelieving and somber, her sibilated tears of frustration began anew. "I wish you would go." Looking back up to the stubborn, protective man holding her. "Please, you mu—"
Her breath caught.
His face contorted. Eyes wild, burning with pain. His lips set in a thin-lined frown, the crease in his brow deepened. His hands lifted from her, and he fell to the ground landing with a crack on his knees. Howling, his back bowed, his fingers burned, and throbbed as his neck craned crudely to the left.
"No— no." Sarah trembled, her stomach flipped, nausea threatened to spill contents of her stomach while her world spun. "I asked nothing—" Covering her mouth watched in horror as his body continued to fight against the invisible beast crawling under his skin. Sweat pooled beneath him, his bright, luminous hair now matted and soaked-ecru on his brow. Teeth gnashed and ground as another crack twisted and shook his slender frame, the muscles bulging, the veins in his neck standing at attention.
"You wished." The formidable Goblin King whimpered, before with a fluttered flourish and glint of light he vanished. The beautiful white owl ruffled his feathers, a terrible sound emanating from the black beak— he was screeching in pain. Finally ululating the agony he had kept silent for her sake.
With jerking, ungraceful movements, the bird took flight. Rising on the breeze it lifted and fell, swaying and rocking in the air, the white silhouette diminishing the further away it flew until the green eyes could no longer track the fleeting form.
He was gone. She had wished him away. Her careless words nearly killed him— why had she wished him to leave? How could she have known the consequences? Guilt swam through her body, and she swayed on the shoreline, never looking away from the sky, fixated on the tree line where Sarah prayed she could catch a glimpse of the wounded bird.
The pulsing of her erratic heartbeat drowned out the noises of the night, and the scuffled steps crunching on the rocky earth. Deep into the clearing the sound grew louder, heralding the approach of the intruder drawing nearer still.
The footsteps stopped.
Holding back the scream, the wish that might save her, Sarah turned.
"Richard?"
A/N: Thanks for reading. I love reading all your reviews! Feel free to message me anytime. IF you have not checked out my beta: Nika's Quill and her amazing work you are missing out! As always, none of this would be as good (or possible) without her amazing skill! I love her and I hope you all will too! Until next chapter!