Far away in Galeraessian, a certain blond minstrel sat up from the princess' bed, shoving his thoroughly tousled hair back from his eyes. He was panting with exertion, but trying to keep his noisy breathing quiet, because it looked as if Princess Lyselle had finally succumbed to exhaustion. Perhaps now he could make his escape. He'd had enthusiastic lovers before, but this night with her had reminded him uncomfortably of the time he'd seen a rabbit caught up in a threshing machine.

He slipped from the bed, dressed in quiet haste, and picked up his shoes and his gittern. Tiptoeing toward the door, he finally felt safe…

She spoke, from the bed behind him, and her voice was barbed frost. "Wherever do you think you're going, Jareth?"

His name was Agrayni. She'd been calling him Jareth since she tossed his instrument carelessly aside and slipped into his lap, and he hadn't argued with that. One did not quarrel with royals, not in Galeraessian. So he bowed, and said in honeyed tones that did not betray his racing heart, "The hour grows so late that it has become early, my lady princess. I seek to freshen myself, to be more worthy of your sight – though I can never truly be worthy – and to ask that breakfast be brought up to us."

He thought he'd struck the right note of solicitation and obsequiousness, but her eyes narrowed and his heart plummeted. "Breakfast? You think I want half the castle staff to know I warmed my bed with a pitiful rag like you? Braggart, you are not worth the time it would take to magic you into a toad."

She didn't have that power … did she? He groveled, abjectly, bowing until his face touched the floor. "No, Princess Lyselle, of course not. That is why I would bathe first. I am a minstrel, it is my task to soothe you to slumber with restful songs, that you slept poorly is all anyone would guess if I remained here until dawn. None could imagine that so lowly a man as I would ever be desirable in your eyes."

"Is that what you think you are to me. Desirable." Her voice was flat, making the question a statement. Agrayni swallowed; last night she had been lovely, graceful, her violet hair flowing like a waterfall, her voice sparkling flirtatiously. Now, her mouth turned down in a cruelly graven line, and her eyes … her eyes were not sane. They flared red in the darkness, and Agrayni remembered that he'd gotten this post because the last three minstrels had left the kingdom, singing praises for their generous benefactress.

It was time he left, too, and no petitioning the king or queen for permission, either. Time to change his name, cut and dye his hair, and climb the wall some midnight. A good singer could find a place in any kingdom, and though he was not the best of his kind, he would not starve.

He could not think of that now. If she saw it in his face or heard it in his voice, Lyselle would be outraged, and a princess' outrage could be dangerous for a lowborn minstrel. Instead he bowed again. "Of course not, Princess. I am not desirable. I am a mere man, with a little skill at song, no one of any consequence."

"Then why were you in my bed?" she asked him, and a glance showed him a vicious smile. "Perhaps I ought to call the guards. Surely I would not want such as you, Jareth."

Oh gods, she was truly mad – and worse, capricious. "My lady, I was in your bed for the same reason a true bed-warmer is placed beneath the sheets on a cold night," he said fervently. If he challenged her, at all, she'd turn on him. "The same reason a lamp hangs at your bedside, or a brush sits on your table. To be used, at your need."

Lyselle laughed and clapped her hands like a child at a particularly charming party trick. "Very good! You exist to be used. You mean no more to me than a hairbrush. That is lovely, most lovely."

"You are too kind, Princess," he murmured, praying for an excuse to leave.

"Perhaps I am," she replied, and he began to sweat from fear. "Surely I've shown too much favor to a half-talented minstrel."

"I am unworthy, but your kindness is the mark of your royal birth," he said, almost stumbling over the words.

"Command is the mark of my royal birth," she told him, rising from the bed and padding barefoot over to him. It was almost enough to make him burst into wild laughter, that he should be shivering in terror from a beautiful naked woman a handspan shorter than himself, but she was a princess. She needed no weapon, nor even magic, to destroy him.

And she knew it, as proved by her next words. "Compose me a song, minstrel," she demanded, her arms crossed imperiously. "Make a song of how beautiful and good and kind I am, and how lowly a worm you are to even sing of me. If it pleases me, Jareth, you may go forth with gold in your pocket."

She snapped her fingers, and a chair skidded across the floor to stop just behind her. Lyselle took her seat like a queen taking her throne, and continued, "If it does not please me, I shall call the guards and tell them you took liberties. If you leave alive after that, it will be with your own balls in your pocket. And the mark of a rapist branded on your face. More likely, my father will have you hung in a gibbet outside the walls, to die slowly as the raven peck out your eyes. A fair enough bargain, wouldn't you say?"

A deep chill crept over him, and Agrayni breathed silent thanks to his old master, who'd drummed speed-composition into him. The old man likely hadn't even needed it in a situation like this, but a minstrel who couldn't compose a song to his hosts on the spot was worthless, he'd said.

"More fair than I deserve, Princess," he told her, and sat up a little, his nose wrinkling at the smell of himself. Last night's wine, sex, and the stink of fear-sweat were an unlovely combination … much like the slender legs of a beautiful woman, who would be just as pleased to hear him scream for mercy as to hear him sing her praises.

"Then sing, Jareth," she said prettily. "Sing for your life."

Strumming his gittern, he spared a thought for this Jareth, and hoped whoever that man was, he was far out of Galeraessian's reach.

The stars shone in Umardelin, and Sarah leaned against the balcony, letting the breeze waft her hair back from her face as she reflected on the past day. She'd woken from a thin and dream-filled sleep, deciding to go stand on the balcony for a bit and let the wind blow the cobwebs out of her mind. Since it was their private balcony, and the middle of the night, she hadn't bothered to find the nightgown that Jareth had slipped her out of with such ardor a few hours ago, and simply walked out nude, comfortable in her own skin.

Sunday dinner had come to an equable conclusion, Jareth had shaken hands with her father and bowed over Karen's hand charmingly, but he had not ridden back to New York with her. One near-death experience per day was sufficient, he'd told her, and popped out of existence as soon as they were out of sight of the house.

She'd had that ride home to herself, to think about the turns her life had taken and muse on the road ahead, which led to much stranger places than New Jersey. Sarah had skipped becoming the princess she'd always dreamed of being, and leapt straight into becoming Queen, complete with crown. She'd skipped fairytale romance and dove into bed with a King, and now wore his ring – as he wore a matching one that declared his own status as very definitely 'taken'.

Sarah had to chuckle. It was so very her, to do things out of order, to skip ahead to the 'good' bits, which were also the challenging and difficult bits. She was going to learn to rule a kingdom part-time, while also learning the magic that now wove itself around her. She was going to live a very long time, if all went well, but she couldn't help her very human impatience to get good at magic, and rulership, right away.

And good at relationships, too, because the man asleep in the bed behind had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't going anywhere. She had to figure this out, and so did he, make it work between them, because they were far too bound up to let go of each other.

That thought might once have haunted her with an image of chains locking her down to someone else's expectations. All Jareth expected of her was that she would be magnificent, and turn his world upside down frequently. He loved her for her, quick temper and all, and she loved him for his arrogance, too, no matter how she bristled at it.

The night breeze kissed her bare skin with the faint scent of the forest, moss and oak leaves and secret things, and Sarah closed her eyes and drank it in. The starlight gave way to a rising moon that bathed her in its glow, and she felt her body thrill to that, to being naked under this sky, cool stone beneath her feet and under her hands on the railing. It felt daring, true, but mostly it felt like home.

"You look most tempting, precious," Jareth murmured behind her, and she turned to see the moonlight flaring opalescent in his eyes. "Like a goddess of the moon descending to my balcony, to bless me with your favor."

She could've said something romantic back to him, flirty or frankly sexual even, but instead Sarah laughed softly. "Look, I just upgraded to Queen, let me get used to that before you promote me to godhood, okay?"

Jareth laughed too, and came to her, nude as she was. Between them, all they wore were four rings and one necklace. He wrapped his arms around her, for once more loving than desiring, and nuzzled her temple affectionately. "You are a delight, whether mortal or goddess, social worker or queen. You are my Sarah, my Sarai, my love, and there is no one in all the worlds who could replace you."

"Keep thinking that," she told him, kissing the line of his jaw … and then nipping his neck playfully. "But watch that 'my' business, Jareth. I'm only yours the same way you are mine. The day you start thinking you own me is the day I kick your ass to Etaron and back."

He tightened his embrace. "No man owns you, Sarah. I am not so great a fool as to assume that much. At least, no longer. Perhaps when you first ran this Labyrinth, but you swiftly disabused me of the notion that I had or ever will have any real power over you."

For once in their lives, he didn't bother to make a sex joke out of that, and Sarah squeezed him tightly. "Yeah, well, it doesn't need to be about power over each other, anyway. We have more power together than we ever would if we just tried to control each other. And … I'm glad it's you at my side, Jareth."

"As I am glad that you are the one who rules beside me," he told her, stepping back just enough that both of them could look out over their moonlit kingdom.

Sarah sighed, leaning against him. "With everything that's happened, everything we've gone through … what happens next?"

Jareth kissed her hair. When he spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful. "I do not know, precious. I only know that we shall face it together … and be the better for it."

Closing notes: Well, readers, this concludes And My Kingdom as Great. It's been one helluva fun ride, and we are so grateful to all of you who have read, and especially those who've commented. Comments are muse-fuel. Thank you all for sticking with us through forty-one chapters.

And yes, there WILL be a sequel (if not two sequels). We already have some preliminary work done on Like a Raging Storm, but it will be a while before we start posting. If you need us, we'll be working on the prequel fic Alone Among the Wreck, and on a long-delayed DC fic that's nearly complete and just needs to be polished and posted.

We shall return. We can't leave you wondering what happens next for TOO long, after all!

Thank you again for reading - we love you!