Her perseverance was finally starting to pay off.

The many miles she had walked should have, by any rights, long since turned her feet to aching, tenderised hunks of meat, and yet Sarah felt no pain. The answer, of course, lay in the boots she wore, with their strange, soft inner light, and hue that changed quicker than the colours' names could dance across her tongue. They were either given to some sort of healing magic, or else shielded her from the exertion entirely, turning her long trek into nothing more taxing than a comfortable walk in the park.

The pleasure this had first given her had soured some, when she realised that Jareth was simply protecting his investment – after all, he intended for her to never leave this place, and she would be of no use to him exhausted and sore. After that little thought had reared its head, Sarah had longed to tear the boots from her feet, leaving his little gift to rot away in the dust as she continued on, until her heels were cracked and bleeding.

It was both a spiteful and satisfying urge, but in the end she did not allow herself to give in to it. She would be as good as useless to herself if she grew unable to walk, and in his domain, she needed every advantage she could get – even if it came at his hand. He would come to regret his generosity when she used his gift to defeat him – and that thought was more satisfying than all others. With no landscape to speak of but plain stone walls, after that horrible tangle of near-jungle – but wasn't that a blessing in itself? – she found herself thinking of him often. It was maddening that, even in his absence, he refused to leave her thoughts, or that her thoughts refused to leave him.

Still, her perseverance was starting to pay off, and it was that thought that she clung to like a good-luck talisman.

She thought of how her heart had raced as she narrowly escaped the thing that had lurked behind the tall grass and trees, sickly certain that every step would bring her ever closer to discovery. It seemed, then, that her heart had begun to pound inside her throat, and with every tiny sip of breath she took, it unleashed its booming noise for miles and miles around her. Against all odds, she had managed to escape, undiscovered, and probably thrown the gloating Goblin King into a foul mood in the bargain. Her bewitched boots carried her on with an even greater grace after that, it seemed.

It was hard not to gloat herself, with just how far she had come in the last few hours. He had warned her of dangers untold, but not that smug sense of satisfaction she would feel, as the shadow of his castle crept ever closer. A few more hours, and she would surely stand within its reach. However, the path ahead of her was not as smooth as it once had been. The stones ahead had begun to slope steeply upwards, more of a hike, now, than a walk through the park. More often than not, Sarah found herself needing to step over or around piles of broken bricks, and rubble that had crumbled from the neighbouring walls. Far from an easy-going path, but still, she had to be grateful that it seemed to be taking her towards the castle. Her victory would taste sweeter than any magical fruit the Goblin King could offer her.

She had recognised none of her surroundings so far, which is perhaps why she stopped so suddenly when a splash of colour, nestled amongst the dull greys and browns to her right, caught her eye. She had hardly even noticed the small alcove as she tromped past it, but now she found herself in some way drawn towards it. There, she stood, blinking in disbelief. Before her stood the two doors she had faced during her last visit here, and Sarah smiled faintly at the memory.

Well, the only way out of here is to try one of these doors.

Two doors to choose from, and two doorkeepers that had tried their best to confuse her. Now, there was no sign of their curious keepers, but the doors themselves were much as she remembered, elaborately carved from some sturdy, dark wood, though they were not as tall as her younger-self recalled them to be. Her smile faded as she saw what it was that had originally drawn her attention. Discarded upon the floor was a large shield, embellished with more strange carvings, and swatches of bright blue enamel.

"I remember you," she whispered, and bent to examine the fallen shield. It was thick and heavy, perhaps another sign of the craftsmanship Jareth had spoke of earlier, but now it lay damaged beyond all repair. There was a large tear through the shield's middle, the steel creased and buckled as though it had been made of nothing more formidable than tissue paper. It had belonged to the right doorkeeper of all those years ago.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling somehow foolish.

The Goblin King had told her that the labyrinth had changed beyond recognition. Nothing remained of her childhood acquaintances and memories here, so to see something familiar at last shook Sarah deeply. It was silly, really – the keepers had been no friends to her, leaving her to fall to what could have easily been her doom. She knew it would be best to put this from her mind entirely, and return to the path, resuming the steady pace she had kept before her distraction. Still, she lingered.

The doors themselves drew her in. One door lead to certain death – and the oubliette her last foolish choice had cast her into would surely have been a slow and unpleasant one, if Hoggle had not come for her. The other door, if its keeper could be believed, concealed a straight path towards the Goblin King's castle. If she choose poorly this time, there would be no Hoggle to save her – though, of course, Jareth himself had sworn to protect her from harm. For a price. Given the ever-present lust in his eyes, it was not one she was sure she would be willing to let herself pay. Better to return to the path, than take that gamble.

But was it a gamble?

Clearly, it had been a lie when he told her that nothing remained the same here, otherwise the doors themselves would be gone. It was more likely that the Goblin King wanted her on her toes, jumping over brand new obstacles for his entertainment. The path she had strayed from had done her well so far, but it had been something of a thorn in her side, with all the scrambling and dodging it entailed. Here, she had the promise of a straight, easy path to victory, if she would only choose to take it – and this time, she knew which door to take. The right door had sent her to certain destruction, its keeper's broken shield lying here as reminder, therefore, the other door …

No, better to trust that nothing was as it seemed here. Best to go back to her crumbling, rubble-strewn path and get moving again. Let him laugh – it would stop soon enough, when she eventually reached his castle. Still, she found herself stepping forwards.

Turn back, Sarah. Turn back before it's too late. His voice within her mind, mocking her, echoing through the years.

The right door had led to certain death.

The left door must take her to his castle.

The left path would drive his sensuous, taunting voice from her brain for good – and more quickly than any other route she could pray for. Isn't that what she longed for?

Perhaps the good fortune she had taken for granted so far had made her presumptuous; greedy. Perhaps it was simply the urge to wipe the smirk from the pompous Goblin King's face for good. Whatever it was, she found her hand had snaked out of its own accord, and, with one firm push, she took the chance.

The left door swung open onto a paved, normal-enough looking pathway, and Sarah stepped over the threshold before her mind could poison her against it. Her first few steps were small, wincing ones, as if their owner expected the very ground beneath her to grow teeth and swallow her whole. They grew more confident as the wide stone slabs stayed reassuringly put. Never had the sound of heels tap-tapping against solid stone been so welcome. She had made the right choice after all, to leave the beaten, troublesome path behind for this one. Her every step felt so much lighter, this new path set on a gentle downward incline that kept her walking on with ease.

Almost too much ease, she realised, as the walls surrounding her began to pass by faster and faster, to match the brisk trot she was keeping. She tried to slow herself, to save her energy, but could not seem to stop her body's forward momentum. In mere seconds, where, already, the walls had begun to move even faster, she realised it was downward momentum as well, the path beneath her thudding heels starting to drop more and more steeply away. She was chasing her own feet just to keep her balance, and soon, she was full-out running.

As the incline grew even sharper, Sarah began to slip and stumble, skidding and lumbering forwards all the while. There was no control now over her movements, only the desperate, lunging steps of one fighting to stay upright. She could not have stopped – the labyrinth would not let her stop – and she knew then, her eyes wide and terrified, that she must have chosen certain death after all.

She saw the black chasm open up in the ground before her, only seconds before she found herself hurtling forward into it.

Falling, falling, and with no chance to scream as the sudden pull of gravity squeezed her belly, driving the wind from her. She fell into darkness itself, the sunlight above her head disappearing so suddenly that she hardly had chance to miss it. Blind, and blinder still with panic, she clawed the air as she fell, reaching out for something – anything – amongst these dark walls that, all too soon, began to reach back.

She regained the power of speech, shrieking her terror when the first hand shot out from the dark to grip her left wrist. It brought her downward descent to a rough halt, hauling her to a stop so abruptly that her left shoulder groaned in protest. She began to kick out, hanging helpless as she was in the dark, but more hands emerged to hold and support her, wrapping impossibly-long, calloused fingers around her bare wrists and ankles; gripping her beneath her arms, and pressing in beneath her ribcage. More and more hands, grabbing tightly to her knees and hips, her shoulders and elbows, with what felt like an outstretched arm actually wrapping itself around her waist. For now, she was safe.

"T-thank you," she breathed.

She wasn't a little girl any more, but somehow, this was even more disconcerting than the last time she had encountered such things. The 'helping hands' – as they had dubbed themselves on her first encounter with them – had saved her once again from her foolish fall, but this time, there was a certain constrictive element to the way they held her. They seemed strangely possessive, somehow, in their ominous silence, as if they had no intention of ever letting her go. Surely, just her mind's panicked thoughts, after the scare from her fall … wasn't it?

The unease she felt only dug its claws deeper into her belly, unable to shake that certainty that something horrible was happening even now, in the darkness surrounding her. She could see nothing, the only sound she heard the soft rasp of the hands' rough, dry skin against her own softer, more vulnerable flesh. Sarah found herself shuddering in their grasp.

"Hey … hello?" she called, but received no reply.

For 'helping hands', they certainly weren't proving too helpful this time around. Their absolute silence as they touched her in the dark was unnerving. If anything, the ones supporting her abdomen were most unhelpful, and, from what she could feel, beginning to take liberties. She shivered as one ran in a long, sweeping stroke along the underside of her left breast. Had it been deliberate? Did they intend to grope her, in the way the Goblin King himself so longed to? This had to be his doing. He had promised her salvation from harm, and these hands had broken her fall, all right, but there was no way in hell that this wasn't Jareth's sordid idea of punishment, just for daring to deny him.

"I'm going to kill him," she decided, beginning to kick and writhe in protest. "I'll show him fucking 'precious'!"

At once, the air around her came alive.

'Precious … Preciousss.' Softly mocking, somewhere to the right of her head, really drawing out that last syllable and dripping contempt.

'Preciousss.' From down by her ankles.

'Preciousss!' Startlingly close to the nape of her neck, making her jerk her head forwards as far away from the voice as she could.

'Preciousss.' Hissing out at her from the darkness. Coming from too many places to count, now. Beyond a game.

'Preciousssss.'

Oh … oh, fuck.

'Precioussssssss …' Fucking everywhere.

Not hands, after all – snakes. Dozens and dozens, if not hundreds of snakes, surrounding her, touching her, looping, coiling bodies, all crawling and slithering over one another in the pitch dark, just to get to her. All those creeping, dry touches she had felt, all over her body, and God only knew just how many more there were – how many thousands more of them, hiding in the dark – just reaching out for her, reaching now for her face …

Breathe, Sarah, breathe.

But the shallow breath she blew out was only cast back at her, deflected by something much closer than the hole's perimeter – something that must only be inches away from her face, winding ever closer in the darkness, ready to reach out, ready to touch her. How many would it take before they had circled her neck, her nose, pushing forward until they had reached her eyes … her mouth-

"...own," she managed to wheeze out, her voice reedy and cracking in her panic. "Put me down! Down, down, down!"

No more than she had uttered the words, than the world around her fell away. She was free, free of those stealing, scaly caresses, but now she was falling again, deeper and deeper into the terrible black void that yawned out beneath the labyrinth's cursed earth. Faster and faster she tumbled, her cheeks and hair whipped at by the wind – cold and dead and promising all too well what end would soon follow for her.

There was nothing – snakes nor hands – to stop her fall this time, her legs kicking out beneath her, gasping and wailing and begging for help. The desperate reaching of her own hands brought her no respite, nothing but the pit's stone walls, that were speeding all too quickly past her in the dark. She grabbed for one anyway, and was rewarded with bright, lancing pain in her middle finger. The wall had snatched back, tearing at her skin as if she had touched the road beneath a moving car. Sarah cried out, yanking back her wounded right hand at once. When she nursed it to her lips, she tasted the faint metallic tang of blood upon her fingers. On some deeper level, it terrified her that the fall gave her enough time to worry about such things.

It was impossible for anyone to fall so long, yet still she fell, ever downwards, picking up speed as she went. She could only wait for the end, alone and terrified, for the ground to finally rush upwards to claim her. She fell to certain death, knowing all the while that, when the end finally came, her last, desperate thought was doomed to be of him.

– She chose down –

She landed, not with a bone-shattering thud, as expected, but with a soft thump, that forced a breathless whoop of surprise out of her. The gentleness of it, after falling so very far, was almost jarring. Her new immediate surroundings flooded her with sudden light, after that horrible blackness, adding to her sense of bewilderment. She blinked rapidly, gauging the room about her – some wide, high-ceilinged hall, with strange, winding walls that looked to have been carved from the rock of some great mountain itself. That strangely ominous clock, whose numbers went all the way up to thirteen. A memory tugged at her, then, of passing through this place on the swift path to some other; of him, and of dozens of stone staircases, leading to everywhere and nowhere. Her eyes widened.

His castle. His throne room.

She was seated at the height of power, in the Goblin King's very throne.

All of this raced through her mind in mere seconds, leaving her dazed, and not so certain she had been rescued after all. This was the very place she had been pushing towards, but to be brought here, not of her own accord, but his …

That was when the strange cushions beneath her shifted, and a firm pair of hands came to rest upon her hips. Those hands did as much to renew her trembling as they did to soothe her. As if he had read her thoughts, the Goblin King leaned forward, and spoke, hotly and precisely, into her ear. "Finally seated as a true queen should be, precious. Atop her king."

Of course, when he had conjured her here, he could not resist having his most coveted prize land directly onto his lap. All of the heat in Sarah's body seemed to drain from her at once, only to come rushing back as her overtaxed body registered the warmth of his chest against her back, the deeper heat beneath her, of his strong thighs and-

Oh, no. No …

Oh, yes.

She could feel her cheeks, hot enough to melt as she twisted to face him, all the while trying not to sigh at the way his body seemed to mould to accommodate hers. "Jareth," she gasped, his sheer proximity having finally startled the name from her lips.

"At your most humble service, sweet one." His hands slipped around to the small of her back to support her, evidently happy to keep her sitting right where she was for the immediate future. It was obvious that her use of his true name had pleased him, his mouth turning up into the amused little smirk that passed for his smile.

"I … I …" Her brain was still caught up in having his body pressed so intimately against hers, imagining, in all its perverted delight, she could feel every beat of his pulse in those muscular thighs and his-

"'Aye', indeed," he chuckled, and Sarah felt the rumble of his laughter run through both of their bodies. "A most tricky situation you managed to stumble into, love – quite literally. Still, I imagine the after effects could have been much worse. As it is, I must say I'm very pleased …"

The fear she had felt in that terrible darkness was replaced with the sudden heat of anger. Without meaning to, Sarah's hands began to curl into fists, causing her to yelp with pain. She lifted the offending hand – her right – and saw the tip of her middle finger had been grazed raw, and was still beaded with blood. "You said you'd never let physical harm come to me," she accused.

"Ah, I see. And here I thought my saving you from the bottomless pit that you so foolishly demanded yourself released down would be seen as adequate protection from harm."

"Bottomless?"

"Yes," he drawled, that smirk still playing about his lips. "I would have thought a mere scrape would pale in comparison to such a drawn-out, unpleasant demise as falling for an eternity entails … but no matter – we can't have you hurt. I'll see to it now, if you'll allow me …"

Before Sarah could protest, he had taken her hand in his and, with no hesitation at all, guided her injured finger between his lips. She thought about pulling back, just as the warmth of his mouth enveloped her completely.

Umm. Unlike the shuddering horror the snakes had evoked in her, this set her body trembling in all sorts of new ways. The unspoken boundaries between them had already been irrevocably blurred by that single, scorching kiss they had shared in her bedroom – to allow this to go on unchecked would be dangerously close to surrendering those frontiers entirely. Then, as the heat of his tongue caressed her, she stopped thinking altogether. Those soft lips coaxed her deeper, as he began to suck, and his tongue … that tongue was everywhere at once, running swift, sensual strokes all along the underside of her finger, circling her fingertip oh, so slowly.

Sarah's breath came quicker as his lips possessed her, and there was that definite sensation of falling again, her stomach spiralling into oblivion as he sucked, and sucked. His eyes held hers, light and dark at once, and heavy-lidded with his own desire. That gaze, along with the raw sex that was his mouth, made everything below her waist seem to melt and positively drip down – the one-time Champion of the labyrinth, now set to puddle helplessly at its keeper's feet. From some distance, she heard that she was humming her pleasure, deep and low within her throat.

When he finally released her finger, his lips remained slightly parted, the lower shiny and wet with his efforts. Sarah found she could not resist leaning in to press her mouth against them, hearing him murmur his approval. He had known the wicked effect his mouth would have on her, expertly manipulating her finger to sway what little willpower remained to her receptive body, cradled as she was in his lap. He knew that she would want him, and sought to punish her with that very desire. She cupped his face in both hands and drew him nearer, with every intent of punishing him in the same way. Instead of surrendering to his tongue, she pushed her own against his lower lip, demanding control of his mouth and sweeping it with real hunger.

He took her roughness in his stride, kissing her back as hard as she gave, and soon she forgot all about who held control, only that he held her. Quite against her will, Sarah found herself arching into him, her chest pressed invitingly forward, knees parting just that little bit more. It was all she could do to stop herself writhing atop him in her need. His left hand remained where it was – respectably splayed at the small of her back, refusing to take what she offered him. His right also denied her body the caresses she longed for, but took no such courtesies with her hair, plunging deep and gripping it tightly at the base of her scalp. Holding her body firmly upright, he used that leverage to gently tug her head backwards, ending their kiss, and baring her neck to him. Sarah could feel her heart hammering in her chest as, with a sly, seductive smile, her king bent his head to her neck.

His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her throat as he spoke. "I think that's payment enough, don't you?" he said, before letting go of her hair, and drawing back.

Panting, bewildered, Sarah stared down at him. "Payment?"

How his eyes sparkled. "Yes. Such a … remarkable kiss, given of your own free will, shall be payment enough for my saving you from the pit – as I'm sure you intended it to be, precious."

How he must love to see her burn. Her face and neck were flushed with her obvious desire, and now her embarrassment. He had taken one small step too far, and let her come tumbling the rest of the way to him, only to leave her wanting and humiliated when her own lust overtook sense. Did he want her to beg for him to go on? Of course, the answer was yes. It wasn't enough for her to want him – he wouldn't simply allow her desires to get the better of her, taking her as only the next, natural step their bodies yearned for. No, she had to ask first. She had to give in to him. She had to accept his-

" …finger?"

His voice had washed over her thoughts, and now she jumped slightly. "What?"

"I simply asked if all was well with your finger, Sarah. Do try to pay attention."

"Oh." She had forgotten the damaged digit entirely. She lifted her hand now, and found that not only had the pain vanished completely, but so had any trace that it had ever been injured in the first place. She turned it this way and that in the light, marvelling at the smooth, unbroken skin. "That's amazing," she whispered.

"No more than a parlour trick, I assure you."

"No, really. That you have the ability to actually heal this way with your mouth …"

At that, Jareth grinned. "I can also assure you, your finger was long on its way to recovery by the time it reached my lips, sweet one."

He wouldn't dare… oh, but of course, he would. "You mean you could have healed me with just your hands?"

"Of course. A nod of the head, a blink of the eye; the slightest touch of an admirer's hand." His grin grew wider. "Though I find that simple, repetitive hand gestures make such poor fare, when one has such a willing partner to otherwise occupy them. Don't you agree, love?"

The double meaning of his words was not lost on her, and her flustered mind went pin-wheeling, finding no appropriate response. Thankfully, this time he did not make her squirm for long.

"Now, as lovely as it would be to have you remain here in my lap, I did promise not to hinder your delightful body in any way, and time is ticking …"

As if to punctuate his words, and remind her exactly where she was seated, there came a definite tell-tale throb from beneath her. She had been too lost in his kiss to recognise the way his cock had stirred under her, nestled as it was against her body. She could feel it now, pressed firmly against her ass – only a hint of what she knew she could stir in him. It was enough to turn her insides to warm jelly. Blushing red-hot, Sarah scrambled off of him as if her ass was on fire, stumbling down the steps leading from his throne.

"Mmf," he grunted. "I'd say 'better', but …"

Turning back to him, there was no hiding the impressive shape of him through his trousers, that now stood just a little more impressive. He made no move to hide it from her. There was a loud clicking sound as Sarah forced a swallow past her terribly dry throat. Her eyes begged to drink their fill, but in the end she had to turn her face away – but not before he had seen her blushes, and begun to chuckle again.

"I told you, love, I don't find my desires shameful."

"Yeah," she muttered, her voice emerging low and a little muddy with that most persistent, shameful arousal. "And you also said you don't believe in abstaining. Why not just go fuck someone?" If not them, or me, then maybe yourself, her mind added.

Of course, he had to grin at that, in the lewd way that always – damn him – set her pulse racing. "Why, Sarah, is that an offer?"

"It's an offer for you to drop this idea that you have to add me to your list of lovers," she spat back. "Don't think I've forgiven you for keeping me constantly on edge all this time, while you've been free to do whatever – and whoever – the hell you want."

In his anger, he was on his feet in an instant. "Did you think me to have lied to you, when I said the dreams had tortured us both? The dreams that matured along with you, and showed me that, you, too, shared my growing desire? The ones that instilled in me eternal, damnable hope that one day, you will finally see fit to grant me mercy at your lips and between your thighs? You have danced in my dreams – a most expert dance indeed, for it has kept me hungering for so long. And because of you, precious, and your infernal longing, I have not been able to evoke hunger for any other – and, believe me, I have tried. For these past long years, I have touched no one."

For a moment after his outburst, his jaw pulled tighter, as if he might go on with his frustration, and then, with a sigh, he appeared to collect himself. "You can understand, then, how well this predicament of endless waiting for you suits me."

Sarah could not find words. For him to have waited for her- … no, but she couldn't allow herself to think of what that might imply. Her head and her stomach churned in unison, with enough conflicted emotions to keep her wondering for years to come. She tried to swallow them all down as, in her silence, Jareth calmed himself enough to go on.

"Now," he said, "as this is the second time I've come to your aid-"

"Second?" she asked. "Woah, there, that's not true. That awful pit was the first time you've had to save me. You haven't done anything else!"

The Goblin King raised an eyebrow and nodded towards her feet. "Your choice of footwear says otherwise, love."

"Clothing me doesn't count as aid!" she cried. "Particularly as it's your fault I came here this way in the first place!"

"If clothing is so unimportant to you, then I suppose I should have left you naked to crawl to my castle."

"Now who's abusing the rules?"

He tossed his head, and smirked. "Believe me, given the chance, and your consent, I would 'abuse' far more than-"

"Oh, stop it!" Sarah folded her arms across her chest, hating herself for allowing his words under her skin. "Like I said, boots do not count as aid."

His eyes fixed on hers, Jareth made a show of descending the steps, moving slowly towards her. "Then do you intend to return them?"

Sarah gritted her teeth. "If you really want me to."

He grinned at her annoyance. "That won't be necessary. I accept, the boots were merely a kind gesture – although I do wonder if you would repay me in kind, by indulging me in an answer."

"It depends on the question."

Jareth sighed softly, his smile slowly fading, as was the evidence of his arousal. "Very well. Why did it take you so very long to call upon me?" All sense of amusement had left his eyes with just those few words, and in them was all of the waiting and dwindling hope he had spoken of. As much as he had angered her, Sarah could not bring herself to lie to him.

"I always thought you would be the one to come to me," she said at last. "I thought you'd come, and … I don't know, claim me, and then I wouldn't have a choice in the matter. I hated it when you never arrived, but kept on haunting me all the while. And now," she gave a bitter chuckle. "Now, I'm the weak one for doing the calling, bringing you to me just so you can play your games."

His hand fell upon her shoulder, and despite everything, she felt herself softening once more as he spoke. "You're far from weak, Sarah. If anything, it's your strength that makes me hunger so to conquer you. There would be no such pleasure in it, if you were so cowed to begin with."

"You mean how fun it'd be for you to see me crumble."

"No. What perfection it would be to see you yield, and finally give yourself over to me. You are a queen, Sarah, and a queen bows to no one but her king."

Her mind skipped back to when she had seen him so sincere, to his words in her bedroom – already spoken a lifetime ago: 'My queen by name, but I will worship you as a goddess'. How often, it seemed, he possessed the ability to make her mouth run dry. Faced with yet more emotions she could not bear, she reached for some of her earlier attempt at humour. " Still so romantic," she mumbled.

Thankfully, that brought back his smirk, and he could not resist teasing her. "When you fail to solve my labyrinth, sweet one, you will have plenty of time afterwards to see just how romantic I can be. Unless, of course, you fancy another taste now?"

Sarah made herself glare at him, and then the clock. "That thing says I only have … seven hours and six minutes left. Do I get time added on, to make up for you wasting it by flirting with me?"

"Ah, so the flirting is working."

She rolled her eyes in disgust. "You're imposs-"

She barely saw him move. Once more, she found herself in his arms, his warm mouth pressed tightly against hers. Though their passions had by now cooled some, she could not help but respond to him anew, her entire body set aflame by the heat of his kiss, utterly lost in his mouth. By the time he finally released her, her pulse was racing once again.

"-ible," she sighed.

"Quite." He did not look half so shaken, now, as she was. "You can consider that a gesture of goodwill, in light of my gift of the boots, and my graciousness in the face of your blatant disregard for the rules. Now," he said, with a smile, "I'd best let you get on. Seven hours, plus a little extra, as requested."

The sight of him faded, as Sarah found herself deposited, without warning, back inside his labyrinth. Before the castle – and its clock face – had entirely vanished along with him, Sarah saw that the hands stood at the exact same position as they had before he had kissed her. True to his word, the Goblin King had reordered time, simply to make up for those few, exquisite minutes he had spent ravishing her mouth.

"Oh, that son of a bitch."

Above her head, there was only laughter.