The Goblin King's Daughter

By: DemonSaya

Chapter Nine

Jareth stood across the room, watching as a goblin stood on the back of Sarah's chair, pinning her hair up in a stylish fashion. She was wearing the gown he'd commissioned for her, the wine-colored fabric flattering her coloring more than he'd suspected it would. Her lovely, freckle splashed shoulders were visible, as was the ample cleavage above the neckline.

The goblin that had made that dress was a wicked little creature.

Something he'd always found fascinating about the goblin race was how most of the tiny nuances of their society were handled by the females. The males were warriors, and when they weren't fighting, they were usually drunk and being wild until they collapsed into their own or their wives' beds. The women, however, had skills that were varied and diverse. Most of his castle staff consisted of little female goblins, from the kitchen staff to the seamstresses.

He must have been staring at her as his mind wandered, because his name on her lips drew his attention back to her. There was a soft, nervous blush on her cheeks, which Jareth found endearing. Even after everything, the knowledge that she was still shy, that his gaze might make her heart speed up, gave him hope for their future. He gave her a smile, one that was just for her and would belong to no one else. He stood, moving towards her and rested his hands on her shoulders, still smiling. "You look lovely, darling."

The goblin swore at him, trying to shoo him away so she could finish the lady's hair. He just laughed, shifting and sitting on the vanity, looking down at Sarah and taking her hands in his. Her lips pursed and her brow crept up her forehead a bit. "You don't look too shabby yourself," she half-taunted him, that full lower lip pouting just a bit, as though there was something she viewed as unfair.

The stylist pinned a few more of the painstakingly constructed curls into place and then placed a brooch in her hair that matched the color and styling of the dress. Once the creature had scampered away, he pulled her to her feet, turning her carefully, looking her over from head to toes. As she faced him again, he reclaimed the other hand, kissing the backs of both lightly. "Well, precious, what say we go crash Bram's little party?"

She gave him a wry smile and rose up onto her toes, kissing his lips gently. "Most definitely, sir." He could see the anxiety in her eyes, despite the smile and the light response. To distract her, he slipped his hands behind her neck, not letting her get away with that brief peck of a kiss. She must have forgotten how he responded to her, how he'd always responded. She, his greatest adversary, his most difficult challenge.

Her bare hands touched his face, one palm setting softly against his cheek as she melted into the kiss, the other slowly slipping behind his own neck and wrapping around his shoulders. He moaned a bit desperately, his hands leaving her neck to slip behind her waist, pressing her firmly against him, from hips to chest. "Sarah," he breathed against her lips, suddenly wondering what he was going to do if she wanted to leave after this was all over. How was he going to keep her?

Desperation suddenly gripped him and he drew her tighter against him, his arms creating a cage that she could not escape from. He couldn't lose her again. It would destroy him. The last time, when she had spoken the words that had kept them physically separate, he'd nearly slipped into the madness that would have turned him into a Fisher King. The only thing that had protected him from that was when she'd pulled him into her dream, asked him a question that at the time he loathed answering and had declared that she wanted to continue seeing him.

She had let him court her in her dreams, and he had done so in a way that would have had any other woman begging him to take her back, but she'd never begged. She'd been greedy, expected to keep him as well as her own realm, but she couldn't have both. Now that she'd lay with him, she couldn't have her own realm at all. To try would mean her death, and then she would be lost to him forever. Not that he would let that happen.

He hated grieving before there was a reason, however he was terrified of losing what he'd been wanting- what he was so close to finally getting. He heard a sharp gasp wrung from her lips and pulled back a bit, looking up into her surprised face. Her knees were at his hips, her skirt bunched up at her waist, and he realized quite suddenly that he'd pressed her back against the wall of her dressing room. Damn it all, he needed her more desperately than she likely realized. Not just so that he wouldn't go mad, because he was quite certain that the lady who held his heart would do her best to drive him insane, regardless.

He froze, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. "We'll be late," he said, regretfully. He suddenly didn't care about pissing on Bram's foot by showing up to that damn party. He didn't care about anything but ravishing this woman as thoroughly as he was able. Not a quick, frantic coupling like the one in the forest; a slow, steady feast of pleasure, with her beneath him and around him. He longed to taste every inch of her, wanted to memorize the feel of her skin and hair beneath his hands and lips.

Sarah's breathing slowed, steadied. "Yeah," she agreed and his brow furrowed in frustration. "I guess we will be."

He lifted his face, looking at hers once again, finding her gaze averted in a shy manner, a flush lighting her up from cheeks to breasts. Slowly, her green eyes returned to him and he saw the same desperation, fear, need, and love that he felt reflected inside of them. He touched the corners of them lightly, wonderingly, and after a moment, he smiled, leaning forward to kiss her once again.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Erin stood at the back of the surprisingly lavish ballroom, as far away from the door as she could be kept. Then again, maybe trying to escape not once, but three times, was a little excessive. Even for her. The first attempt had been when Kieran had handed her over to the ladies maids, who had stuffed her into an eighties throwback poofy prom dress, thrust her into a chair and began their coiffing, braiding and weaving of her hair. She didn't care how 'beautiful' she looked, or how 'perfect' the dress was. She still detested wearing dresses, even if Kieran had looked at her in admiration the times she'd worn one in front of him.

The second time was as the ladies maids escorted her to the room the courtiers were in, for formal introductions. She'd almost made it, then. She'd gotten as far as the door to Kieran's room when a hand grabbed her wrist and drug her, practically kicking and screaming, back to where they wanted her.

The last time was as they'd escorted her into the ballroom. By then they were expecting it, so she didn't get far.

There were no other visible doors in the ballroom, just the one large set of double doors at the far end. The room itself was a pleasant shock. It was draped with gold silk, the floor was white marble. Wryly, she smirked. At least she knew now why the rest of the place seemed so roughly hewn. It was because they'd spent the entire gross national product trying to make this room perfect. This was the kind of room she pictured when her mother wove the tale of the Labyrinth – a tale she now knew was more than just a story. It was her mother's first encounter with a fairy king.

She snorted, a wholly unladylike sound, and one of the courtiers looked towards her, aghast, and then whispered quickly to the others, who looked equally horrified. It made her want to snort again. She didn't, however, deciding to protect their delicate sensibilities.

With a frown and a sigh, she ran her hand over the full, white skirt. She supposed that she should be relieved that in the five minutes since she'd entered the ballroom, she'd not seen the King or Fachen. They had started looking at her a little too closely since the first time Kieran had taken her downstairs to dine in the formal dining room. Granted, she'd been forced to go down in one of her newly acquired dresses, and she was still having her first period, so they could probably smell her blood.

Ugh.

The thought made her tremble, and not in any way that might be considered good. One of those idiots was going to try something, she just knew it. Kieran couldn't be there all the time to look after her, and she had the feeling that anyone else – except Mab – would step aside and let them do what they wanted.

For that reason, she was wearing her trousers under the floor length skirts of the gown. She couldn't get away with her boots, because they'd forced her into some delicate silk slippers that made her stride half the length it would be, normally.

She sighed, again running her hand lightly over the skirt. She may hate and detest the damn things, but she had to admit, that this thing made some suppressed part of her that was buried deep in her psyche squeal in girlish delight. It was softer that silk, and when she'd inquired about the material, she'd been told that all wedding gowns were the finest, woven moonbeams. The idea made her want to snort, but she couldn't deny that the way it shone was rather similar to moonlight. It was also surprisingly light and she suspected that it was quite delicate, as well.

She hoped she wouldn't have to get first-hand knowledge of that.

Erin reached down with a hand, pressing lightly against her abdomen, rubbing it as she cramped lightly. It had been three days since this started, six since she'd arrived. Since her period had started, Kieran had been watching over her more closely than normal, even for him. He'd gone as far as to snarl at a few men who had approached her and while the protective streak he was developing was endearing, it was also a little unnerving.

She may be a child, but she wasn't stupid. There was something very adult in his eyes whenever he looked at her, something she didn't fully understand with her brain, which made her heart flutter disgracefully. He was frustrated and angry and at the same time, kind and caring. She'd teased him that he was acting like a mother hen and his eyes had gotten that irritable look in them and he'd muttered something that sounded like 'insolent chit' under his breath before telling her to go to sleep.

That was another thing. Ever since that first town, he'd began lying close to her when they slept, and inevitably they wound up cuddling together like kittens in a basket. Even in the large bed in his room. He never touched her any way that her mother would castrate him for, but when she'd wake in the morning, his arms would be around her and his warmth was at her back. It was strange to her, who had never been held by a man, whose only experiences with men were those of rejection, of watching her mother's pain whenever that prat excuse for an ex-husband reared his ugly head.

"Announcing King Bram and his heir, Prince Kieran," the stiff old man in the powdered wig by the door said in a voice that commanded attention. She looked towards the door, frowning faintly, ignoring the twittering girls around her. Bram, who stood in front, caught her attention first. She was actually surprised what while at their previous meetings, she'd never noticed a resemblance between himself and Kieran, she could see one now. The king wore no crown, instead wearing a tunic of brown leather, a floor length cape that was green, snug dark brown breeches and brown leather boots. His dark hair was tied back neatly from his face.

There was still that hint of madness in his hazel eyes, however now, from here, she could see that he bore a similar facial structure to his son, just a rougher, more masculine version. Her eyes flickered towards the man entering the room behind Bram and her jaw dropped a bit as she recognized the man as Kieran.

Suddenly, it was quite obvious to her that in the time that she'd known him – even since they'd returned to his home – that she'd never seen him at his full advantage.

His hair, which to her had always seemed wild and tangled even when it wasn't, had been brushed until it gleamed under the light, mixed with highlights of blues and browns. His tunic was black leather with loose velvet sleeves. The embroidery on the collar was gold, as was the intricate Celtic knot on his chest. The gloves and boots were matte black, and though they weren't polished, it was obvious that they were finely made. His cape had a collar of gleaming black feathers and trailed to the floor, where the ends were ragged from either wear or, quite possibly, due to the personal preference of the man who wore it.

He must have felt her gaze on him, because his golden eyes lifted and Erin felt her heart do something that she was horrified to identify as fluttering.

Father and son approached her, and Kieran stepped towards her, extending his hand in a gentlemanly fashion. She swallowed hard, setting her own hand upon his. She searched her mind for something snarky, something defiant, anything to let him think that she wasn't affected by the discovery that he wasn't just attractive; he had presence that she had naively not noticed.

He must have noticed her startled expression, because he leaned towards her, his lips close to her ear. "I did tell you I was a prince, little one," he taunted softly. She pursed her lips at him, shooting a glare at him. He just continued smiling, one of his gloved hands coming to sit upon her shoulders. She yelped as Kieran pulled her snug against his side and she returned her gaze to the crowd, hoping that the warmth on her face wasn't a blush while knowing that it probably was.

Bram turned towards the crowd, lifting his hands. "I am pleased to announce the marriage of my son, Prince Kieran to this young lady, Princess Erin of the Goblin Kingdom."

Shocked whispers in the crowd, speculation, amazement. Every eye in the place rested on her and she wanted to squirm in discomfort. She pressed back against Kieran, unable to do more than lift her chin and keep her head up. It stood to reason that they would all be interested in her, as she was the daughter of the Goblin King, suddenly appeared after twelve years, but didn't they realize that all the staring was making her want to act like a rabbit and go hide?

"Curtsey," was the soft instruction she received from the man at her side and she gripped the skirt, sinking into a slight one. When she stood upright, there was approval or disbelief on their faces. Whispers went up again, however this time she had the impression that it was not herself that was receiving their glare. This time it was aimed at Kieran, who stood behind her, his back straight, his head still high.

She glanced at him, knowing that these people who didn't know him wouldn't notice the tightening at the corners of his mouth. She wanted to comfort him some way, but knew it wouldn't look good in front of all these people. So instead she lifted her silk clad foot and slammed it down on her friend's boot.

It got his attention and he looked down at her, startled. She simply smiled serenely, glancing out of the corner of her eyes in time to see him smirk faintly. The hand on her shoulder relaxed. She leaned back a bit, her bare back coming into contact with the leather of his jerkin, both taking and giving comfort.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.

Introductions seemed to take forever, and Erin was still unwell enough from her cycle that she'd left his side, going to stand by herself, where she was being mostly ignored. As his father drug him around the room, introducing him for the first time to the dignitaries from other countries, his eyes kept drifting towards her. Those seamstresses might be complete bitches like she said, but they did damn good work.

When he'd entered the room, there was a moment when he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat when he'd looked at her in the dress. Her wedding dress. He winced a bit at the thought, noticing the faint pursed look of her lips, a sure sign that she wasn't happy. Her mismatched eyes of moss green and sky blue roamed the crowd, searching for some form of escape.

Once he'd looked, he found it was difficult to take his eyes off of her. Her hands, clad in silk gloves that ended above her elbows, were buried amongst the wealth of white material. Her hair was twisted up into a knot and the circlet she'd been forced to wear sparkled beautifully, from the amber stone at the center, to the hand bent silver wires. The design of the circlet was echoed at her neck and at the bodice of her dress, with the same gold embroidery that his own had. The top most layer of skirts was pinned by the crest of the Goblin King, which had to be quickly made for the occasion.

She was lovely, he decided, knowing his eyes were softening.

Funny how when his eyes were on her, his attention focused on her completely and the droning of these diplomats and politicians faded into nothing, he thought, and he set a hand on his father's arm, leaning towards him for a moment. "Excuse me," he said, and then left their side, moving towards the temperamental and frustrating creature known as Erin Williams.

He wasn't certain if she would welcome his offer; after all, it was his fault that she was there. However, wasn't even this better than dead? Or perhaps in her youthful ignorance death was a more desirable choice than being married to a man so much older than she. She had said she'd die before she wed either himself or Bram, but that was before she knew that this was to keep her safe, to protect her from the evils inside this kingdom. He had no idea how she felt about this situation now, but there had been a brief moment when he'd first entered behind Bram, a moment when his eyes had met her own and she'd worn an expression that had hinted she perhaps wasn't unaware of his particular charms.

As he grew closer, her eyes turned towards him, as if she felt him approaching her and her eyes turned a little wary when they focused upon him. It hurt to see that wariness in her eyes, especially when he wasn't certain what she was seeing that was making her wary. Perhaps, just perhaps if he knew, he could take steps to fix that. Not knowing however, he could do nothing. So he just offered her a small smile and his hand in a gentlemanly fashion. "Come, little princess. Dance with me."

He expected her to deny him; he was used to defiance, to irritation from the young tomboy. Needless to say, he was taken completely by surprise when her eyes met his fully, that stubborn spark that he admired so well lighting them and she set her small hand upon his own. "Think you can keep up," she challenged, her brow raising up slightly.

A wild smile turned up his lips and he leaned towards her, returning the challenge. "Can you?" The words brought an arrogance to her face that amused him and he closed his hand around hers, pulling her towards the dance floor. Couples were moving around sedately, looking prim and arrogant and the music droned on. It was a court dance, naturally, where the only things that made contact were palms and eyes. He flicked a thought towards the band, and slowly the music changed to something much more fun. He put one hand at her waist, holding her other hand in his and smiled a bit, still challenging her.

She responded in a way that surprised him. Her hand softened upon his own, and she relaxed a great deal. He began turning her on the floor and was surprised to find that she indeed, could keep up with him, and she was graceful and light on her feet. Because she relaxed, he found himself relaxing as well, and a faint smile came to his lips. "Damn," he swore lightly, keeping his voice light and amused.

She inclined her head, her brow popping up again. "Something wrong?"

"Just wondering if there is anything you don't do well at all. You can dance; you can defend yourself well enough, even if you're a bit clumsy. You can wrap people around your finger. What is your weakness, little girl? There has to be something that you can't do well."

She went quiet and he felt faint tension in her. He found himself regretting cracking such a joke, but before he could apologize and go back to their easy mood, she spoke. "I'm not good with people," she admitted quietly. "Not with the adults, not with the children. There is something about me that scrapes against them. My mother said she was the same way as a child. It's actually why I can defend myself; I had to learn how, because I came home from school with bruises from the beatings they gave me for being different than they were."

His jaw dropped a bit, surprised. "Erin," he said softly.

She glanced up at him, smiled and shrugged. "I got used to it. Mom spoiled me, let me take any sort of lesson I wanted to take, partially because we were all the other had, and so that we would have things to do together. As much as I wanted to know who my father was, at the same time I didn't, because if he came back then there would be someone else to support my mom..."

He was quiet for a moment, spinning her around the floor. He turned her away from him, before she returned her hand set lightly upon his. "I think that you're wrong about that. There would be someone else to support your mother, but that's not all. There would also be someone else there to support you."

Her mismatched eyes lifted towards him and he found himself surprised by the intensely grateful look on her face. They were standing in the middle of a group of people who would kill them both if they found out that he had not raped her, that he wasn't harming her, so that look wasn't safe. He couldn't bring himself to care very much. He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, suddenly wanting to kiss her. He wouldn't, he couldn't, but he wanted to desperately.

She must have seen some of that desire, because her eyes became a bit wary once again and he suddenly became aware that she was, maybe, not so naïve to not fully understand what it meant when a man looked at a woman like that. "Erin," he said softly. "I want to support you, as well. You can borrow my strength. You don't have to fight on your own," he leaned down, kissing her temple softly. While his lips were there, he let his tongue dart out to briefly taste her skin.

She grew fully tense and began to pull away from him, but he held her close. "Kieran, let me go."

He closed his eyes, pressing his face against her temple. He could hear the murmurs around them, noting how she seemed to be trying to escape from him, how angry she seemed. Yes, that was safe. That would distract them from what he was about to say. "I'm not sure I can anymore," he said quietly, and he felt her grow more rigid. He pulled back, finding her face almost white from shock. He didn't speak again, simply turning her around the floor until the dance was over, and then he led her to a chair, letting her sit. He took a moment to collect himself, and then he took a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter, handing it to her. "Sip slowly. Relax. I'm not an idiot, kid. Well, a fool, perhaps, but there is a difference."

She did as he requested, sipping the drink, her eyes no longer meeting his. Her color was also slow in returning. Her hands were ice-cold even through both of their gloves. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and mussing it before he sat beside her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, when he was certain no one was looking. "I must be three times the fool for saying that to you." He glanced towards her and saw her looking at him from the corner of her eyes. "I cannot change facts, little one. You are too young for someone like me, by your world's standards and even by my own. In the above, people mature faster because they live short lives, maybe a hundred years. Down here, we live for centuries, and I'm already a hundred years old. Young by our standards, to be sure, but by your own, I'm older than your grandparents. Physically, you are a young woman, but you are still very innocent." He smiled grimly. "Believe me when I saw that falling for a child was not a conscious decision."

She choked a bit on the wine, turning to look at him fully and he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Falling for-"

He snorted. "So it would seem."

She held the glass between her gloved hands, her face lowered. "Kieran, I like you, I consider you a friend, but-"

He held up a hand. "You don't have to say anything. I know it's impossible." He'd never quite gotten the nerve to show her the note that Jareth sent back to him. It still rested within that locked drawer, waiting. That last line was a little too telling, and he didn't want her asking questions about why he'd written that. It drove him nuts that he was that easily read through by the man. Now, however...perhaps he could tell her now. "Erin, do you remember the note I sent to your father, informing him that you were safe?"

Her attention was suddenly fully upon him. "The one Wes took?"

He smiled at the name she'd given the bird. She'd actually begun naming all of them, and she'd managed to keep track of who was who with an ease that surprised him. Most just saw black birds, but she could see the differences in them. "Yes," he said quietly. "I've been waiting, uncertain how to tell you, but I got a letter back from him. He threatened to break both of my hands if I so much as touched you inappropriately, so believe me when I say you're safe. I've no desire to lose the use of my hands for the rest of my long life."

Her eyes searched his own and he gave her a faint smile, one he knew looked sick and tired. He saw surprised and concern flash through them and her hand lifted after a moment, reaching to touch him. He closed his eyes, only to have them snap open when the doors at the entrance slammed open with a force that caused several candle lights to go out, and most of the guests to cry out in shock or fear.

The band stopped playing instantly.

Several creatures scrambled into the room, carrying trumpets that had flags on them. They scrambled up others of them, until banners bearing the crest of the goblin kingdom unfurled, hanging nearly to the floor, even stacked three on each other. A taller goblin moved to the front, moving gracefully. The trumpets blared and the tall goblin spoke in a loud, almost feminine voice. "Announcing King Jareth of the Goblin Kingdom, and his companion, Lady Sarah Williams."