But first, there was the Champion's Ball. The event which Sarah had agonized over seemed to be coming off without a hitch, which only made her more nervous. She was so uneasy that she had not invited her allies to attend – not that Hoggle wanted to be at a fancy-dress party. Ludo and Sir Didymus didn't care for court protocol either, though the fox-knight surveyed all of the arrivals for any potential troublemakers. He had spent much of his time in the last few days scouring the realm for any hint of treachery against Sarah.
The castle doors were thrown wide, and thanks to a spell, their guests could arrive on the very steps rather than having to traverse the Labyrinth. It was perfectly safe, since Umardelin itself would not allow an outsider to arrive by magic unless they were properly invited.
Lords and ladies from all the kingdoms of Faerie had come to pay their respects to the ascendant King of the Goblins, though of course they didn't call him that. They addressed him by his proper title, King Jareth of Umardelin. It would always be the Underground to Sarah, as he would always be the Goblin King to her, but he would suffer that nickname from no one else.
Not anymore.
They received their guests in the formal throne room – the new one Sarah had insisted upon. It was, even to her jaded eye, utterly sumptuous and beautiful. Most importantly, there were no chicken feathers on the floor, and no goblin belching contests either. The goblins met their king in his audience chamber, the former throne room, which retained what Sarah sarcastically called its 'rustic charm'. It also retained Mathilda, the vulture, and her mate Herbert, who were taking turns sitting on their three eggs. To Sarah's chagrin, Jareth still preferred the audience chamber. The formal throne room was a piece of artifice to him, a sop to the kind of highborn pretension he disdained in everyone except himself.
It was lovely artifice, though, and even he was pleased with it, though he pretended otherwise. Jareth would not allow them to have two entirely separate thrones, not when Sarah was soon to be Queen and already Champion in her own right. So one block of iridescent marble had been carved into two linked seats, intricate designs worked into the backs and arms. Some patterns resembled the paths of the labyrinth, others the vines and flowers of the forest. Some details were picked out in gold, silver, and jewels. The seats were crowned just as those who sat in them, twisting goblin horns for Jareth, the smooth sweep of a bull's horns for Sarah. She'd questioned that, and he'd told her first that the horns were meant to evoke the moon, an ancient symbol of feminine power. And then he'd reminded her of the path of destruction she left through his city and castle the first time she'd come, and quoted the mortal saying about bulls in china shops.
It was lovely, and some part of Sarah still couldn't quite believe she should be sitting here. Sooner or later someone was bound to call her a fraud. She wasn't a faerie queen, nor even the sort of dewy-eyed mortal girl who might believably be swept away here. She was a woman, with a job she had to get back to in the morning, a phone bill that had to be paid this week, and a leaky faucet she had to remember to tell her landlord about. Worse, she knew she shouldn't let such things bother her. Umardelin itself had accepted her, she was Queen in all but name, and when she touched the key at her throat she could feel the pulse of her realm. The land was certain of her, so why couldn't she be certain of herself?
As the assembled lords and ladies presented themselves to the throne, Sarah felt more and more out of place. The differences between her and them were just too clear. The men were all inhumanly handsome, the sort who could've sent entire high school drama clubs into a mass swoon. But the women…
… the women were painfully beautiful. Not one looked a day over twenty, at least not until she met their eyes, and saw the wisdom of centuries there. Such eyes, too, tourmaline and amethyst and jade, no plain human brown or hazel among them. Their skin was perfect, poreless, fair and smooth as the alabaster stone columns. Every time she narrowed her eyes, Sarah could feel the lines where crow's feet would be in a few years, but there was not one wrinkle or blemish in the parade of female perfection that curtsied before her throne. They all bowed their heads gracefully to her, the gorgeous sweeps of their hair caught up in jeweled nets, or left loose to slip like waterfalls over their shoulders. A dozen colors, none of them dyed, from silver-blonde to raven-black with all the rainbow in between. Exotic, and gorgeous, and every one of them with a smile like a sunrise, perfect full lips and white, white teeth.
But their obeisance to her was mere formality. To Jareth, they curtsied deeper, held their eyes on him a moment longer, smiled more warmly. At first Sarah thought it was her own jealousy, but by the time the one with the violet hair dipped down to grant them a tempting view right down her jeweled bodice, Sarah knew they were mocking her. Flirting with her lover, right in front of her face, flattering and damn near ogling him as he lounged on his throne and greeted them all with cool formality.
These were not the queens and kings, Jareth had told her. Those who had come today were princelings and highborn ladies, nobles but not royals. Many of them were comparatively young. And most of the ladies were unwed. Women for whom a cursed king in a poor kingdom was beneath notice, but a king who'd broken a curse, a king of high royal bloodlines, a king whose realm flourished … he was worth consideration. Sarah saw the calculation in their desirous looks, and despised them. Her coronation was being planned, but his Champion was not yet his Queen or his bride, and she was only mortal besides. Surely no one else here worried what their coworkers thought of all this time off. Surely they all thought Jareth deserved a bride of his own kind.
With such thoughts in her head, Sarah seethed beneath the silver circlet on her brow, giving empty smiles to the pageant of fae nobility before her. By the time the formal presentations were over, and she and Jareth could dance and mingle, she was fuming. He pulled her close, his mouth against her hair, and murmured, "Has one of them offended you already, love? Perhaps I should have kept one quarter of the goblin city as you left it, to warn them of my champion's temper."
Sarah managed to chuckle; his indulgent tone was for her alone, like this first dance. Besides, she couldn't tell him that they had all offended her. But the next song, she was partnered with some pointy-eared lordling who took her hand as if she might sprout claws, and Jareth danced with the violet-haired fae. She moved like water over smooth stones, like a breeze through the trees, like nothing human. And she spoke softly against Jareth's cheek, and he smiled back to her with a predatory grin.
…
"So you have broken the curse at last, Jareth," she said, looking up at him with eyes that changed color as they passed through the lights of the room.
"So I have, Lyselle," he murmured.
Lyselle had come to Umardelin for the first time some years before Sarah's run. He knew her; she was the younger sister of one of his friends, and she'd been on the periphery of the group that had so disastrously performed the play that got them all cursed. She was not the first to visit, as there were always curious fae wanting to see if Umardelin was just as bad as it was supposed to be. The High King had probably allowed visitors just to taunt him with the knowledge of what he was missing, in the wider world – and let him feel the scourge of their pity and scorn, when they saw his subjects. At first, he'd spurned them, but as the years wore on Jareth had welcomed the company of his own kind. It was a change from dealing with goblins, at least.
He had expected Lyselle was there to gloat; after the fact, he'd learned that she had also been the lover of Urylas, the fae who had portrayed Titania in that godsforsaken play. Jareth suspected her of coming to gloat, but she did no such thing. They talked of the old days, drank wine to Urylas' memory, and eventually ended up in bed. It was with Lyselle that Jareth had the idea of trying to break the curse, trying to fall in love with someone.
Trying to fall in love wasn't easy. He doted on her, he wrote mediocre poetry to her, he courted her as assiduously as he knew how. And they had sex as often as physically possible. It was not enough, and things soured between them. They drifted apart, and didn't speak for decades.
Lyselle's honeyed voice recalled him to the present. "It is good to see you again," she told him, and her hand on his shoulder slipped into a more familiar grasp.
"Whyever should it be?" Jareth asked in reasonable tones. "I seem to recall you left in a temper, the second time." Lyselle had come back, as it so happened, right after Sarah slammed shut the barrier that allowed them to share each other's dreams. He had behaved predictably, feeling both scorned and wounded by the loss of Sarah. That second visit of Lyselle's had been very brief. In his rage and grief, Jareth had taken her passionately enough that he hoped Sarah could feel it.
"No woman appreciates being called by another's name," Lyselle told him. That was the unfortunate outcome of their last liaison, and Jareth did feel a little shame for it. Not that he would let Lyselle see that. Not when she was smiling poisonously up at him. "And this Sarah … she must have been quite something, in her youth, to distract you from me. A pity you waited so long to bring her back. She's rather past her prime."
Jareth chuckled and gave her a broad smile that exposed his teeth. He could have forgiven Lyselle for being angry, considering their history, but she had insulted Sarah. There would be no more chivalry. "She was indeed. And now she is even more fierce and lovely than ever before. Age has tempered her like a fine sword. While you, Lyselle, ever so pretty, remain nothing more than the spoilt child I sent forth from my realm."
She laughed sweetly. "Oh, that is too rich! You would call me a child? You who received the lightest punishment of all that pack of fools you called friends?"
"The longest punishment, as well," Jareth told her mildly.
"Oh, yes, I pity you so," she said with mock-sweetness. "Poor Jareth, cursed to rule. Cursed to a kingship. Woe betide your dreadful fate. Urylas died, did you forget that?"
Jareth moved her through a spin and brought her back him with a little more force than necessary. "I remember, Lyselle. And I mourned then as I mourn now, for the loss of one who should have had centuries. It was not true love, but I adored Urylas, though I think he considered me little more than a useful friend. His heart was his own."
"He loved," Lyselle hissed, her eyes flashing red. A second later, she controlled herself. "If not for you, with all your fancy magic, the lot of you would not have gotten into such trouble. You were always the most powerful sorcerer of the lot. If you hadn't been there, if you hadn't cast such splendid illusions, perhaps all of them would've gotten away with a scolding."
Jareth scoffed. "Lyselle, you know better. We were all drunk, and such pranks seemed the height of hilarity. The idea was not mine, though much of the magic was. And even had we not made so successful a farce of it, we would have faced more than a scolding. The High King and Queen are not mocked. She, especially, suffers no such slander. We were all doomed from the moment Urylas kissed the donkey."
"And the rest slaved or suffered, while you sat here on your throne," Lyselle murmured. "Am I supposed to pity you?"
"I would say that you once did, but that was not pity that had you astride me on my throne," he pointed out, weaving a touch of magic so those nearby couldn't eavesdrop. "At least, it did not feel like pity. In my experience, pity rarely bites your neck and demands to be fucked harder."
"I thought you might be useful," Lyselle said coldly. "You've always been a fool for pretty eyes and eager thighs. I hoped I could charm my way onto a throne of my own. You never guessed, did you?"
Jareth laughed, drawing her close. He was almost nose-to-nose with her when he whispered, "I would not have cared, Lyselle. I was using you to try and break the curse. It's a pity that you have no more than those pretty eyes and eager thighs to recommend you. Sarah has both, in greater measure, and more courage and cunning than you ever will."
The music wound down, and Lyselle looked up at him with eyes of ice. "It's a pity that you stoop to seducing mortals, Goblin King. Then again, you were never as good a lover as you thought you were."
That barb would sting any man, and as they stepped apart and bowed to each other, Jareth allowed his teeth to show again, this time with no pretense at a smile. "Urylas disagreed," he told her sweetly, and had the satisfaction of watching her flush with rage.
Then it was on to the next dance, and a more congenial partner.
