Chapter Eighteen
Darkness in ones soul
Jareth looked at the transformation of the grand gallery. Gone were the vultures and nests. Gone were the strange things the goblins had dragged in, including the bats and skulls. Now it resembled a traditional hall. Something was plaguing Jareth, something Sarah had said in the bath….He smiled slyly. "You will show restraint when dealing with my subjects. No more open shows of affection."
"Oh you can't mean that!"
"No more giving your hugs and kisses to the three traitors," Jareth said with a great deal of personal satisfaction.
"That's cold," she moaned. "You know how I feel about them."
It was her feelings toward one of the traitors in particular that he was still inwardly raging over. Hogwart, no Hogbrain, no… he purposely thought up variations on the dwarf's name. He thought of the moments when he'd given him the enchanted peach, and the order to give it to Sarah.
"Come, come, come, Hogbrain," the
Goblin King laughed teasingly, "I'm surprised at you. Losing your
ugly head over a girl."
"I ain't lost my head," Hoggle scowled.
"You don't imagine that a young girl could ever like a repulsive
little scab like you, do you?"
Hoggle was stung. "She said we was ..." He stopped himself in
mid-blurt, but it was too late.
Jareth gave him a coy, sideways grin. "What? Bosom companions? Was
that it, Piggle? Piggly-Wiggly? Friends, are you?"
Hoggle, red-faced, was blinking at his boots again. "Don't matter,"
he muttered.
Jareth's voice came back crisply. "You give her that, Hoggle, or I'll
have you tipped straight into the Bog of Eternal Stench before you
can blink."
In miserable obedience, Hoggle nodded. "Yes."
The dwarf had not liked the order. 'Little scab,' Jareth sulked. 'How could she have preferred him to me?' He was still bothered. 'How dare she prefer that scab!' He wanted Hoggle to suffer, and he wanted Sarah to be the reason for the suffering. He left the gallery and entered the now empty throne room. He paced; it had to be diabolical, something Hoggle would never forget, or forgive. Something so wicked, the dwarf would never be able to look at her again. Jareth looked at the throne, his draped throne, in the form of an interrupted circle. The curved crown was mounted heraldically above the throne, decorated with ram's horns. He looked from his seat of power to the curved viewing crystal, and his plan took form. All he had to do was make sure Hoggle was hog-tied to a chair somewhere where he could be forced to watch. He chuckled, imagining Hoggle's face when he found herself forced to watch Jareth beguile Sarah. Then he threw back his head and roared.
A goblin peeked into the throne room, hearing the sound of the beloved King's throaty laugh. The goblin launched himself into his full routine of cackles and snickers with Jareth. The little goblin began to dance around the throne to the delight of his King.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Sarah found a note from Jareth waiting for her when she went back to the bedchamber. He had left instructions for her to change her gown, and join him in the throne room. The garments he wanted her to don were on the bed. Just looking at them made her uncomfortable. He was up to no good, of that, she was sure. The peach colored lawn shift and the russet colored bodice over a rich brown skirt spelled trouble with a capital T. Sarah was certain of one other thing; there was no room for arguing. His note had been menacingly clear on this point. She was to dress and join him, no questions, ifs ands or buts about it.
The garments smacked of magic, not seamstress. She knew the fit would be exacting, and revealing. He was dressing her as his whore, letting her know just where she stood. Yet, there was a cloak to wear on her trek from this room to the throne room where he was waiting. He was still up to something, something evil, and she knew it in her soul. By the time she had laced up the bodice, her hands were shaking with foreboding and dread. Even the little slippers looked tartish, if slippers could look tartish.
Sarah fastened the Chatelaine to her bodice at a place that looked to have extra fabric and padding for just such a reason. She ran her hands though her hair, he had even left instructions on how she was to wear her hair! He wanted it long and straight, much as it had been when she first visited his kingdom. Looking at her reflection, she reminded herself. 'You are the kings Consort, His bonded concubine. What he wants, he gets.' Wrapping the cloak about her, she moved quietly to the door.
Jareth waited in the throne room. He had sent guards to Hoggle's cottage outside the Labyrinth gate. They had reported that the dwarf was tied to a chair seated before the crystal wall Jareth had gifted him with. There was not a goblin in sight. Jareth now just had to wait, be patient, let nature take its course. He looked down at his garments; there was no way she could not react to the sensuality. Then again, he was taking no chances. He looked at the copper pitcher with its teaming brew.
Sarah had not lived in the castle long enough to know whether the empty corridors were normal. She had heard Carlin tell the king they had only six servants in the castle. Still, even with the halls empty, she felt eyes on her. She reminded herself nothing here was what it seemed. Standing at the arched entry of the throne room she steeled herself for what ever he was up to. "You sent for me, Sire?"
Jareth turned and looked at her, eyes dancing with evil mischief. His lips didn't smile, his face was taunt, haughty. He leaned back slightly and eyed her with a steady gaze that was almost degrading. "Join me," he said in a lascivious manner.
Sarah felt her knees shake as she stepped into the room. She looked about, wondering if a dozen goblins were about to pounce on her. She looked at Jareth and damned him silently for being overtly sexual and dressing in garments he knew had an effect on her. He was once again in the leather jerkin he'd worn in the tunnel, and the same dove gray form fitting breeches. 'Don't look down Sarah!' she warned herself.
Looking at his face, trying to look nowhere but his eyes, she halted directly before him.
Jareth saw the defiance in her eyes, those green eyes with hearts of gold and blue. 'Good,' he thought to himself, 'enjoy the spectacle Hoggle.'
Drawing a crystal from the air, Jareth spun it and it turned into a perfect crystal goblet, clear, and almost too perfect to look at. "Join me in a drink."
"I shall not be drinking any wine for some time to come, Sire," Sarah said with a hint of the same smug tone he was using. "It's not good for the baby." She placed a hand to her abdomen.
Mismatched eyes darkened and narrowed. "This is not wine, Sarah. It's mulled cider." He poured from the steaming copper pitcher. "Drink." He nearly shoved the goblet at her his hand had moved so quickly.
Sarah stared at the goblet held before her. Refusing was not an option "Mulled cider?" Cautiously, she took the goblet into her hands and placed her lips to the rim. She wondered if she could fake a sip.
"Drink," he commanded watching her.
Sarah sniffed; the heady scent of cinnamon and nutmeg was there. Sipping the liquid, she tasted the cloves, and brown sugar, as well as a touch of lemon peel and cardamom. "That's very different," she said as she tried to hand the cup back.
"Take a deeper drink," he ordered, moving around her. He watched from over her shoulder as she raised the cup again and took a long deep drink of the warm liquid. "Good girl."
Sarah lowered the cup. "This tastes so strange. Not like apples at all." She looked down into the cup. "What is this?"
Jareth moved so his lips were at her ear, just as he had stood when she was on a windswept hillside outside the Labyrinth. "Peach Cider, Sarah." Jareth's voice was low, yet icy. He took the goblet from her hand. "You know how fond I am of peaches." He watched for a moment as the enchanted brew entered her system. One gloved hand reached round her shoulder, and unfastened the clasp of her cloak. He pulled it off her shoulders, tossed it casually over into the throne. "Turn, I want to see how you look."
Feeling that she might faint, she took a step towards Jareth, for support. She feared she if she stumbled, she would never remain upright. She wanted to fight the effects of the mulled cider. However, she felt the same sensation she had had when she had taken a bite of that damned enchanted peach. This time he was doing his own dirty work, she told herself.
She looked at Jareth, and found that her eyes would not focus. She began to sway. He was a blurred, shimmering shape. "Jareth," she said quietly. "What have you done?"
He knew the dizziness would quickly pass; soon she'd feel nothing but what he wanted her to feel. All her thoughts would be of him, of pleasing him. He only had to wait. He knew that Hoggle would be watching, wondering what was being said in the quiet whispers spoken between King and Consort. He took a long sip from the crystal goblet. "Mulled peach cider is a realm favorite. You will have to get use to it, Sarah."
Sarah watched him drink deep of the cup, and knew it was not going to have the same affect on him it was having on her. "You and your damned peaches," she muttered.
Jareth raised his head, and placed the cup beside the copper pitcher. "You look fetching." His eyes moved over her indecently. He reached out a gloved hand, and one finger traced the line of the bodice over the soft swell of her ample and exposed bosom. "Very fetching," he growled. She shivered involuntary at his touch and he snickered. The gloved hand went to her waist. He pulled her closer, causing her body to make contact with his. "Feel the heat?"
Sarah licked lips that had gone to parchment, "Yes."
"Dance with me, Sarah." He imposed his will as his hand gripped her waist. The other gloved hand took her hand prisoner.
"There's no music," she offered weakly.
"Isn't there?" He asked back. "Listen."
Sarah did not have to; she knew he would fill the throne chamber with music. She feared the song would be the one he'd sung her in that enchanted Ballroom. It was not. The music that filled the air was more primitive, much heavier, darker, more sensual. When he pressed his body against hers, she knew all was lost. The music, the enchanted brew, and his charisma were working against her. He moved and she followed in an arousing dance around the throne room. His hips moved against hers, then he placed his knee between her legs and pulled her against the muscle of his thigh. The hand at her waist migrated down, to cup her derrière. He bent his knee, and they dipped lower. He brought her up and watched her face as his dance awakened longing in her. Repeatedly, he forced her to do this bump and grind. Dipping and rising up, his face never revealing one emotion.
Suddenly he stopped, released her and moved to the throne. Taking a seat, he threw his leg over the arm of the rounded back. He looked down at her with dark eyes, his nostrils flaring only slightly. Leaning back, he waited while the music played on from wherever it was coming.
Sarah moved toward the throne, her only thoughts now of pleasing the King. She looked at him lounging, tapping his boot with that riding crop. He was dangerous, and she didn't care anymore. He was overconfident, and that too didn't matter. Jareth watched her with an amused smile. He could feel the corners of his mouth tightened, and that mocking smirk was there, hiding but there.
Sarah now stood on the top stair of the throne dais. "What do you want from me, Jareth?"
He cocked his head to one side, "What do you want to give me?" he countered.
Sarah looked down. The riding crop under her chin caused her to raise her head, and look at the man. "What ever you want." She said carefully.
Jareth looked into her eyes, she was enchanted, but fighting it. "Still the defiant little girl, Sarah?"
"You really think peach cider, mulled or not, would change what is inside me, Jareth?" she asked.
Moving over, he tapped the seat of the throne with the flat of the riding crop. "Sit, my girl." His voice was condescending.
Sarah placed her hip on the edge of the seat. "As you wish, Sire."
The other end of the riding crop held a crystal, unlike the ones he liked to play parlor games with and spin to amuse himself. This crystal was round but not smooth, it was diamond cut. Jareth flipped the crop in his hand, so that the flat was now at his wrist, and the crystal extended. He placed it on Sarah's throat, and brought it down slowly until it rested at the valley between her breasts. "Do you like the garments I've given you?"
Sarah looked down at the riding crop resting on her breasts. "They are very nice."
"I didn't ask if they were nice." His voice hardened.
"Yes, I like them." She winced.
He slid the crop down though his fingers. The hand moved up, cupped her breast. "You are going to take them off for me, now…slowly."
Sarah swallowed, closed her eyes and prayed there were no eyes watching. "As you wish." Her voice shook with more emotion than she wanted to betray. He lowered his hand, watching with only a faint look of interest. Sarah moved her hands up to the lacing. Taking one of the strings in each hand, she gave a gentle tug. Shortly, the bodice lay open wide, the long lace in her hand.
The facets on the crystal moved against her skin, pulled the shift neckline and revealed more of her peaches and creamy breast. "You have lovely skin," he commented. "It is such a shame to have to obscure such treasure from sight." He knew his lip curled slightly, and hoped it gave her fear.
"Do you intend to take back the garments you've given me?" She asked politely.
Jareth snickered. "I might." He watched her eyes. She was loosing the battle and the enchanted brew was winning. Soon she'd stop fighting, she'd give in.
"Are we alone?" she asked.
"Alone?" He traced the neckline of the shift with his gloved fingers.
"Yes, are we alone?" she looked around the room. "Is this room really empty?"
Jareth shifted in the throne. "Does that matter?"
"Perhaps not to you, but to me…yes… it matters." The last threads of resistance were failing. "It matters."
Jareth pulled her into his lap. "The only ones in this room are you and I." It was honest and truthful to a point. They were the only ones in the room, Hoggle was in his cottage, watching. But he was not in the room.
Sarah looked at the wall where the curtains had been drawn, and the strange glass, "What is that?"
Jareth watched her face. His voice was quieter now, and huskier. "A crystal, nothing more."
"It doesn't show my dreams?" she was suspicious.
"Nightmares for some," he teased. "Worried?"
Nodding, Sarah closed her eyes, her lips parted, and the sound that came out was a cross between a sigh and a sob. She shrugged her shoulders and removed the bodice. Her fingers pulled the tie that held the shift closed. As the neckline loosened, breasts were fully revealed to him.
Jareth took one in his hand, "Lean toward me, wench," he growled harshly. Not waiting for her to follow the order, he gripped her waist and dragged her closer. His lips touched her skin and she gasped, jumped and reached for the side rail behind his back. He rested his head between the dangled breasts. Turning from side to side, he placed a kiss on each one. He moved his mouth over one rounded mound, taking the nipple between his teeth. He heard the shape intake of breath and the hissing exhale. Long strokes of his tongue tortured the hardened peak, making it ultra sensitive. When he knew she was near the edge, he took the rosy peak deep in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the peak then sucking down hard. She cried out and shuddered. He smiled faintly to himself. He took his time, then repeated the same maneuver on the other breast. Sarah shivered, panted and moaned. Jareth pushed her back and gazed at her with a simpering smirk. He wondered if Hoggle was enjoying watching his King touching what he could only dream of.
Sarah now completely overwhelmed by the enchanted cider looked at him with trembling lips and shallow breathing. Whatever control she had been hanging on to had collapsed.
Jareth shifted, turned her so she was straddling his lap, her legs on either side of his thighs. He made a great show of taking his gloves off and tossing them to the floor of the throne room. Long, lean, strong fingers slid up under the skirt and shift. She rose to a kneeling position as the hands began to arouse the heat within her. The music on the air was now becoming driven beat. His hands were moving to the same rhythm as the music.
"Jareth," she was near begging. "Please."
He paused, looking at her with the amusement fading. "Are you pleading with me Sarah?" She nodded. "What is it you want?"
It was futile, she could not fight the need burning within. She could not halt the desires or the craving. "I want what you alone can give," she whispered not wanting to really say the words. One look at his face told her he was going to make her speak the words she dreaded. "I want you."
Jareth took a deep breath. "How? How do you want me, Sarah?" His hand moved between her legs.
"I want you inside me."
Long fingers unfastened the breeches, slid the waistband down over the narrow hips revealing his hardening shaft. He watched as she rose, moved forward to take him with in her. He took hold of her waist, preventing her from moving up or down. Her eyes opened wide, her lips parted and she cried softly. She placed her hands on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt, under the leather tunic. He took a long breath, lowered her inch by inch. As he had in the tub, he kept her captive, held off on the last inch of penetration. Sarah began to pant, her breasts heaved with anticipation. Her head rolled back and she moaned his name. He was now in absolute control, and he knew it. His hands pulled her hips down as his rose to meet her.
Sarah cried out. "Oh God! Yes."
He growled darkly against her skin. The woman did bring out the savage in him, each time he took her. "Say it again, Sarah. Say it again."
"Only you." She panted. "Only you."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Tears filled the eyes of the dwarf forced to witness the savage breaking of his beloved heroine. Jareth had won. It had taken him twenty years but he had won. He had taken from Hoggle the only thing in life that he ever sacrificed for. Hoggle hung his head and wept for himself, and for Sarah.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Sarah lay spent against him, Jareth randomly stroked her. He looked toward the crystal wall and smiled. He glanced down at the woman resting. Pulling her closer, he transported them naked to the center of his bed. There, he began his thrusts anew. Her eyes fluttered and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, hanging on as if for dear life. Her hips met his until both were spent.